Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lately, Daniel just took things as they came. He wasn’t sure if his blasé attitude was a result of his age or of not being human anymore. Maybe it was a combination – things often were.

He found out an entire week of his life had been deliberately erased from his memories? He took it in stride. That was on him, really, for all the cracks about telenovelas. He wound up ending a marriage a couple days later? Sure, it was a likely enough thing to happen. He’d ended two of his own before, why not branch out for a change of pace. He drunkenly stumbled into bed with a 500-year-old freshly-single monster a night later? Well, it wasn’t all that big of a surprise, he’d made worse choices before. Maybe. He was transformed into a monster himself in that same bed? Should’ve seen that one coming. He picked himself up and kept moving. His maker ditched him less than a month later? Fine. It was perfectly fine.

(He wondered from time to time if maybe his nonchalance was, perhaps, not nonchalance at all, but shock masquerading as indifference.)

After so much upheaval that directly touched his personal life, all the global-scale vampire melodrama felt kind of unimpressive. Daniel got the updates via Louis’ increasingly urgent telepathic messages. Apparently, there was an evil ancient Egyptian vampire queen (ridiculous) and somehow Lestat dropping an EP had woken her up from an enchanted coma (absurd) and it was bad fucking news and not something Daniel should laugh about. According to Louis, Akasha was making her way around the entire world laying waste to the vampire population. Indiscriminate slaughter, blood-suckers young and old wiped out wherever she went. Daniel would’ve loved to not give a shit about all that, but since he was a part of the blood-sucking community now, he had to care a little bit.

But Akasha never came knocking for him. Daniel waited, and Louis kept up the newsfeed. Next he heard she’d apparently kidnapped Lestat and Louis insisted this was a serious problem for everyone, not just himself. Evidently, it was serious enough to convince the surviving vampires to converge for a big war council, a ‘what the fuck are we gonna do’ planning session for the ages. Daniel’s presence was required. Obnoxious, but Louis’ obvious distress pierced through the armor of his apathy. Fuck, it wasn’t like the guy had any other friends, and whatever his feelings about Lestat, Daniel ought to show up for Louis’ sake.

So he came.

He knew Armand was going to be there. Every surviving vampire, Louis had said, and Daniel knew Armand was still around. He’d been compulsively checking their bond every few hours since Louis first told him about Akasha’s trail of destruction, after all. Just a light fingertip touch on the invisible thread between them, to feel it warm and taut and still connected on the other end. Daniel had no idea if Armand could feel these check-ins, if he was doing any of his own.

So Daniel had at least anticipated seeing the guy for the first time since he’d bailed on him. But what he hadn’t expected was how his façade would crumble the moment he laid eyes on Armand.

Daniel had had such big plans! He was going to be aloof and devastatingly sarcastic if Armand said so much as one word to him. He was going to waltz in, identify whom amongst this pack of ancient vampires Armand looked up to or envied the most, and he was going to be on them like a moth on a porchlight. He was going to laugh at their jokes, if he could get them to make some. He was going to flirt outrageously. He was going to pull out all the fucking stops.

Instead, he took one look at Armand and his defenses melted. It was as if the other vampires milling around vanished completely and all the details of the grand foyer with them. Daniel could not have told you if the floor was wood or tile, if there were two dozen other people present or only three. Armand was right there. Daniel knew those curls at once, knew the eerily perfect posture and unnatural stillness. Armand’s arms were folded tight over his chest, his thumb rubbing a worried path back and forth into his sleeve. His face was as blank and serene as a statue, and through their connection, Daniel felt a sudden roiling terror.

For just a moment, he assumed he was responsible. He’d walked in the room just seconds before. Armand had not been feeling afraid earlier, Daniel was certain of it. But before he could start to spiral about it, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“My love. My beautiful Amadeo.”

Daniel watched as a pale-haired man swept into the room, brushing right past him on his way towards Armand. His brain scrambled to catch up, trying to reconcile what he was seeing and feeling through the bond with what he’d been told. Once he’d gotten back to New York, Daniel had gotten the Talamasca to provide another copy of their files, and this time he’d actually looked at them. Well, some of them. He had studied a scanned sketch, its title declaring: “SELF PORTRAIT – MARIUS DE ROMANUS”. That face matched the one he saw now: high forehead and thin arched brows, a narrow nose, a mouth that seemed to have a patronizing patient smile permanently affixed to one corner. His eyes were a paler blue than Daniel had guessed from the sketch, unblinking as he drew ever closer to Armand. With the stranger’s every step, Daniel felt the echo of Armand’s panic twisting tighter inside him, until with a sickening lurch, it cut off completely. There was a humming deadness the likes of which Daniel had not felt before.

It seeped through their bond, numbing Daniel as he watched the man – watched Marius – pull Armand into a tight embrace. Armand uncrossed his arms, yielding to allow it, but Daniel saw that he did not hug back. Rather, he tucked his arms behind his back, neat and practiced. Daniel had seen him in that posture a dozen times, back when he’d been playing the diligent servant as “Rashid”. Not playing, now. Marius had been his master, hadn’t he? His owner.

The hollow, staticky nothing filtering through from Armand continued as Marius let him go but kept touching him. Pale fingers threading through Armand’s curls, lifting handfuls of them to kiss. Those hands running over Armand’s shoulders, up his neck. Pulling Armand in for a hard and possessive kiss, the fervor of which was undaunted by Armand’s blank motionless acquiescence.

Marius was supposed to be dead. Daniel knew that; Louis and Armand had been plenty clear in the interview. Armand had watched Marius burn back in Venice when he’d been taken by the Children of Darkness. Could’ve been a lie, of course. Daniel always considered the possibility with his interview subjects, and doubly with Armand, who had such a loose relationship with the truth. But it had never pinged his radar as a lie. Never seemed like something either Louis or Armand didn’t absolutely believe.

Yet there the man was, stroking Armand’s hair like he was a beloved runaway pet rediscovered at long last.

Pieces of the puzzle assembled themselves in Daniel’s mind far slower than they ought to. It was so hard to think through the deadened torpor coming from Armand. Marius had survived the attack on the palazzo and been kicking around this whole time without contacting Armand. So this big, showy, tearful reunion was a sham, at least on some level. It wasn’t as if Armand would’ve been hard to find. He’d stayed right where the Children of Darkness had put him, obediently, for about 300 years. His name on playbills, Armand Marius. Marius had survived, but he had not bothered to let Armand know it, or go in search of him.

Louis’ voice on that recording – how many times had he listened to it? – slurred and scornful. I’m the vampire Armand, and my daddy vampire groomed me into a little bitch.

Daniel had drawn closer at some point. Near enough now to clearly see Armand’s hands clasped behind him. A drop of blood dripped from his dangling fingertips; he had jammed the nail of his thumb so deep into the opposite wrist Daniel was surprised it wasn’t coming out the other side.

Marius had gone back to kissing Armand again, on the forehead, on the chin, on the tip of his nose, on the cheek right underneath his hollow, dead-eyed stare.

“I love you. I have always loved you,” Marius murmured against Armand’s skin.

Daniel decided that that was enough of that.

“Heyyyy, fellas, hate to break up the touching Hallmark moment, but I have business with this one and, well, you kinda cut in line, there, gramps!”

He looped his arm through Armand’s and pulled him away; Armand put up no resistance at all. Daniel did not glance back at Marius, moving with purpose. He headed out an exit at random, no idea where he was going, apart from a room that that man was not in. A series of rooms, and then a set of double doors leading out to a garden. Daniel went through without hesitation, Armand still allowing himself to be towed, pliant and deafeningly silent. Daniel had felt no shock from Armand through the bond at seeing him – no acknowledgement at all. Nothing piercing that thick, sludgy emptiness.

The night air was just the right side of chilly, the smells of dirt and growing things pleasant after the stuffiness of the grand house. Daniel directed Armand to a nearby wooden bench, sitting them down side by side.

“Here, let me –”

Daniel pulled Armand’s mangled wrist into his lap. He nicked a little gash into his own forefinger, pressed the welling blood into Armand’s wound, watched with satisfaction as the flesh knitted back together. He wiped away the remaining blood with the cuff of his shirt, making sure it had all mended, then settled Armand’s arm on his own knee – giving it back to him. Deliberately, he scooted away from Armand on the bench. Giving him space. Not touching him, now that he didn’t have to.

Armand turned his head just enough to look sidelong at Daniel. His eyes were vivid orange, the color as intense as Daniel had ever seen it. At last, through the heavy fog, Daniel picked up on a trickle of an emotion in Armand. Confusion. Dread. Tiniest hint of affection.

(Or was he only imagining that last part? A little wishful thinking from the heartbroken fledgling?)

“Oh, that was a total lie in there, by the way. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve got plenty to say to you. But not tonight, I think.”

Daniel sighed, a distinctly old mannish sound, draping his arms along the back of the bench and letting his head fall back to look at the stars. So bright, out here. From the corner of his eye he saw Armand look up, too. Armand wrapped his arms around himself tightly, not saying a word. At some point, he started to shake. Daniel noticed, swallowing around a knot of helpless rage in his throat. Armand could probably feel it, but there was no helping that.

All he could do was offer, simply: “Not mad at you.”

They would have to head inside at some point; Daniel knew that. He and Armand would be expected to participate in the weird little conclave. But like hell was he going back a second before he had to. The night air wrapped them in a blanket of peace, the quiet chorus of insects thrumming under the sound of Armand’s erratic, thin gasps. Daniel couldn’t help it; his resolve broke and he looked, saw Armand dry-eyed but trembling like a leaf. It hurt, not reaching over and hauling him into a crushing hug. Daniel wanted to hold him more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

He didn’t know where all the love he felt for Armand had come from. Not just the vampire bond, he was sure. Louis might have made a big deal of it between himself and Lestat, but Daniel had listened carefully enough to know that pattern didn’t hold true for all makers and fledglings.

When had it even started? The first time he had made Armand really laugh and seen the way it changed his face? Or was it the morning Armand had fallen asleep with his head on Daniel’s shoulder and he’d stayed still for hours, just listening to him breathe? Was it that early hunt together, when Daniel had spotted the hunger in Armand’s eyes looking at him – as if he were something worth looking at?

Oh, what did it matter, anyway. He loved Armand hopelessly, and no amount of love that he could pour out would ever erase Marius telling Armand I love you. Poison words. Calculated words, Daniel thought. Aiming to remind Armand of old lessons: that love was a thing to be done to him, to yield to even as he turned to stone from the inside out.

Daniel ground his teeth, swiping a tear angrily from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure if it was his own emotion or Armand’s despair leaking through, or if there was even a meaningful difference anymore. Louis had been surprised, when Daniel had explained how intensely and precisely he felt everything his maker was feeling. Not so with him and Lestat. Louis needed to focus in order to pick up on Lestat’s moods, and even then, they were more often than not an incomprehensible muddle to him. Louis had shrugged and told Daniel that every vampire came out a little different.

He turned his eyes away again, certain that his staring wasn’t going to make Armand feel any better. But Daniel’s full attention remained fastened on every shift and sound coming from his maker. Slowly and deliberately, he set his hand down on the bench between them, palm up. An offer, to be accepted or ignored as Armand saw fit.

A hitch in Armand’s breath, when he understood the gesture. A moment or two of indecision, and then Armand slipped his hand into Daniel’s, laced their fingers together, holding on tight.

It relieved some of the helplessness Daniel felt, made it easier for him to think. Marius de Romanus was not dead. That information necessitated a considerable restructuring of Daniel’s priorities. He could no longer categorize Marius as a ghost from Armand’s past, an old wound that Daniel hardly yet knew the shape of. Until today, if he did think of Marius, Daniel had dismissed him as a topic that Armand should probably reckon with eventually, but hardly an urgent concern.

Not so, anymore. Marius was alive, and after all these centuries he had evidently decided that Armand was of interest to him again. Daniel realized, with a wave of nausea, that what he’d witnessed between them in the house could happen again. Worse could happen. Would Armand even utter a word of objection? Or would he revert again to that docile creature he’d been while Marius was kissing him? A doll, to be petted and posed, accepting everything?

Daniel cut off that thought, his stomach turning. He couldn’t let it happen. No matter what, he was not going to let that man lay a fucking finger on Armand ever again. And honestly, at that moment, he didn’t much care what Armand’s opinion on the matter might be. Maybe that made him a bastard. Maybe it was all backwards, and he was just as bad as Marius, taking away Armand’s freedom for his own good. Well, not just as bad. Daniel had done a lot of fucked up things in his life, but at least he’d never bought a child.

Daniel’s voice was rough with emotion when he broke the silence.

“Enough with the running. You’re staying with me. After this Akasha shitshow is over with, you can come back to New York with me, or I can go to wherever you’ve been staying lately. Give me time to pack a bag and I’m there. Your call, boss. But I’m not leaving your side and you’re just going to have to get used to the fact.”

He gave Armand his best ‘I’m an asshole but you can’t help loving me for it’ smile. It felt wrong on his face, while panic and uncertainty were gnawing at his insides, but he forced it. Fake it ‘til you make it; not the worst motto out there. After a beat, Armand lifted his head and met Daniel’s gaze. It still took Daniel’s breath away sometimes, just looking at him. His beauty was like being hit with a bucket of ice water.

Armand squeezed Daniel’s hand. Very softly, he replied, “Okay.”

The sound of the double doors opening drew Daniel’s attention. Louis was there, framed in the warm light spilling from the house, looking lost and distressed in a too-large sweater. Daniel remembered, with a jolt of guilt, that Lestat was missing, that he’d come here to comfort his friend.

But the guilt did not last. Fuck it, how many times in his life had Daniel Molloy been told that he was simply too much? Plenty of him to go around. He would help Louis, support him and be the best friend to him that he could possibly be. And he would guard Armand, too, keep him safe the way no one ever had before, and be… whatever to him that Armand wanted him to be. Fledgling, friend, lover. They could sort out the particulars later. The point was that Daniel loved them both and he was going to help them both.

And he was going to fucking kill Marius de Romanus.

He wasn’t actually planning, yet, the first time he imagined it. It was pure self-indulgence. They were all sitting around a huge table, like some kind of fucked up board meeting, talking about The Akasha Problem. Daniel had stopped listening almost immediately, veiling his mind the way Armand had taught him and putting on his best ‘engaged but respectfully silent’ face. It wouldn’t have fooled Louis, who knew him too well, if Louis had had any attention to spare for Daniel right now. But he was hanging on every word, eyes locked on the woman in charge, Maharet.

Armand would’ve seen through it, too, but he was checked out in an entirely different way to Daniel right now. Daniel was hardly an expert, but he was pretty sure Armand was dissociating, that the flat staticky feeling once again coming through their bond must be dissociation. Not a great sign, probably, but not a lot Daniel could do about it. He only half understood what that word even meant. Maybe he should do a little research. Or maybe that would be a disaster.

Daniel hadn’t let go of Armand’s hand since the bench; he’d waited stubbornly until Marius picked his place so he could steer them to the spot at the table furthest away from him. Daniel had thought for a moment it would mean not being able to sit together, until a broad-shouldered brown-skinned guy – Daniel had already forgotten his name, something with a K – had gotten up, moving so the two of them could be next to one another. Maybe all the ancient vampires weren’t complete dicks 100% of the time.

So Daniel kept holding Armand’s hand, tuning out the debate around him, staring at a spot halfway between Marius and the woman sitting next to him. And he started to imagine fire.

All these years, Armand had believed Marius burned to death. It would be fitting, if Daniel were to do it that way. More like correcting a continuity error than anything else. Marius still breathing was a mistake in the script of the universe, and Daniel was ready and willing to play editor. Sure, it hadn’t stuck the first time, but that was… oh, what was the phrase he’d heard his publisher’s assistant use? A skill issue.

By this point in his life (his undeath?) Daniel had seen how a vampire burned compared to how a human being did. A grim comparison to be able to make but useful in this instance. Vampires went up in a blaze without any need of an accelerant. Even so… it would be better with gasoline, Daniel decided. The stink of it! Particularly offensive, he hoped, to someone who had spent the majority of his time on the Earth before the invention of cars.

So. A huge canister of gasoline and Marius on his knees. Daniel didn’t bother with the buildup or the logistics; he’d learned long ago that brainstorming and outlining were two very different processes, and nothing killed a good brainstorm like trying to put things in order.

Where would he do it? It didn’t matter all that much, but the right setting could add ambiance. Something squalid and modern and very mundane, for the humiliation factor. Parking lot, featuring scattered cigarette butts and miscellaneous trash for effect? Or a gas station, perhaps? Spray him directly from the pump? Some fun to be had, there – an element of playfulness, a kind of visual rhyme with the idea of pissing on him. Daniel had always been quick on his feet with crude jokes, he knew he could work out a punchline in the moment.

Douse him, get some of it in his mouth, make him splutter and spit. Then what? Toss a lighter? Was a match less likely to go out mid-flight? Would he say anything first? This is for Armand. This is for my beloved. Eat fire, you creepy sack of shit.

Marius was speaking, now, jolting Daniel out of his imagination. Something about the ‘queen of the damned’ – three guesses who that meant. Daniel fought not to roll his eyes. Hey, had Lestat had his phone on him when he was kidnapped? Had anybody thought of sending a text? Something along the lines of ‘Get your ass back here, Louis is crying his eyes out and whatever game you think you’re playing isn’t funny anymore’?

Maybe he would suggest it to Armand, when he returned from wherever his mind had gone into hiding. For now, Daniel double-checked the walls around his thoughts and picked up where he’d left off. Cheesy one-liners. Very Schwarzenegger, very action hero.

Hell, why not. If he was going to do the damn thing, why not go all out? Daniel didn’t know where one would go if one wanted to buy a flamethrower, but Armand could probably figure it out. He’d spent how many years eating arms dealers? Surely he must know a guy who knows a guy.

It was extravagant, and silly, and exactly what Daniel’s brain needed to push against the leaden, hollowed-out feeling radiating off his connection with Armand. Marius, kneeling and begging, soaked in gasoline, and the spray of flame. If he focused hard enough, Daniel could practically touch the scene. He smelled the chemical tang of the gasoline, heard the faint buzz from the station’s flickering fluorescent lights, felt the weight of the flamethrower strapped to his back, the heaviness of the nozzle or whatever the hell it was called in his hands.

And the fire. The fire was the most important part. Well, other than the screaming. Marius, screaming until his throat tore, thrashing and writhing as his body burnt. Seeing his skin blacken and crack, the thick oily dark smoke coming off him. Such agony, with fire. Would it hit him differently, this man who had lived through times when burning at the stake was a respected cultural institution?

Daniel would not leave any room for error. He would keep the fire on Marius even after he had gone silent, even after his writhing had turned into little jerking spasms of what were barely recognizable any longer as limbs. He would feel the heat of the fire on his face and watch until the last second and beyond. If, once the flames finally went out, any of the snarled mass of charcoal that used to be Marius remained clumped together, Daniel would fix that quickly enough with his boot. Kick it apart, spread the ashes thinly on the ground, then set the flamethrower on them full blast again for good measure. Better safe than sorry. Burn away any trace of the man, any scrap of matter that once was the tongue he had used to kiss Armand, to violate him, to lie and tell him violation was an act of love…

A commotion jarred Daniel from his reverie. A tiny tongue of flame had erupted from the sleeve of Marius’s red velvet blazer. Exactly the place Daniel’s eyes had been fixed on, as he drifted through his little fantasy of violence.

The fire was quickly extinguished with a splash of wine by the woman at Marius’ left, but moments later every head around the table was turning to look at him. Daniel swallowed, frantically bracing the walls around his thoughts, suddenly uncertain now that they would be a sufficient barrier against the combined strength of… well, practically every vampire left on Earth.

But before any accusations could be uttered, Armand spoke up. His voice was distant, to Daniel’s ear, yet there was smooth confidence in the words.

“You must forgive my fledgling’s interruption. He is exceedingly young, as I’m sure you all can tell, and I am afraid he is not entirely the master of his own powers, yet.”

That was an understatement and a half. Hell of a way to discover he had the fire gift. But then, Daniel had always had a knack for screwing things up in the most public way possible; why would that change, just because he wasn’t human any longer?

In a strangled voice, he said, “Sorry. I- uh. I’m just so worried. About Lestat.”

From the outside, Armand’s face remained a mask of contrition and slight disappointment. But Daniel felt, through their bond, a burst of amusement, a bright bubble of hilarity breaking through the sludge. It was enough to keep him going through the rest of the meeting. Whether or not the other vampires entirely believed their explanation, none seemed to care enough to investigate further.

Daniel, chastened, tucked away any little indulgent murder fantasies. For the time being.

Chapter Text

Daniel wondered if, out of all the vampires that had ever been made, he might’ve been one of the most fully informed before he was turned. Of course, it wasn’t much of a competition, if he was only comparing himself to the vampires featured in his book. Lestat had his gothic horror-show, and perhaps the less said about that the better. Daniel had tried, just once, to ask a follow-up question about Magnus. He couldn’t help himself; a primary source was always preferable to a secondary one. The look on Lestat’s face had been enough to convince Daniel never to ask again. He loved to mock Lestat, to prod at him and undercut his melodrama and generally refuse to give him a moment’s peace. But as it turned out, Daniel didn’t take any pleasure in actually hurting him. Who would’ve predicted it?

Lestat’s baggage around his transformation had not, however, actually worked out in either Claudia or Louis’ favor. Claudia, well… no one had told her shit. She hadn’t been given any kind of a choice. Louis might have given his assent, sure, but Lestat had not explained the nasty practicalities of life as a vampire to him ahead of time. Maybe a lot of shit would’ve gone down differently if he had. But then again, maybe not.

Madeleine seemed to be the only one who had been given anything like proper information before receiving the Dark Gift. Daniel had no doubt that Claudia would’ve walked her through the ins-and-outs, even if he didn’t have the diaries to back him up. And, of course, she’d had Armand doing his best to frighten her off with dire warnings about grief, and suicidality, and disconnection from her culture. Listening back to his recording of that session, now that he was both in love with Armand and no longer blind with rage about San Francisco, had been – to put it lightly – difficult. It was painfully clear to Daniel that Armand had been talking about himself, using his own suffering as evidence that a human life was always preferable to vampirism.

As for Armand, well. Daniel couldn’t even make an educated guess at how informed he’d been. Since Armand had moved in with him three weeks ago, Marius’ name hadn’t come up once. They both knew why it was that Daniel insisted on tagging along any time Armand left the apartment, why he refused to let his lover out of his sight when they were stalking the streets of New York together. But they didn’t talk about it.

Still, Daniel was pretty certain that whatever Marius had told Armand before turning him, it couldn’t hold a candle to the afternoon PSA that was Louis de Pointe du Lac’s particular cocktail of Catholic guilt and relentless navel-gazing. Daniel had heard in detail about all the shittiest parts of being a vampire from a guy who made self-loathing into an art form.

He’d been extensively informed. But that didn’t mean he’d been prepared.

Maybe it had been a little different for the rest of them because they’d been so young when they were turned. Not as big of a shock, slipping from the appetite and vigor of one’s 20s or 30s into the hungers of a fledgling vampire. But Daniel had been a sick old man when Armand gave him the Gift. Between the meds and the looming specters of his cognitive decline and death, he hadn’t had much of an appetite in years. Or energy. Or libido.

(He’d scoffed, when one of his doctors had brought up depression, but in hindsight, Daniel wasn’t so sure they’d been wrong.)

It had been a hell of a contrast, his first few months as a fledgling. He had even more sympathy for Claudia’s metabolism, now. The hunger was constant, an ever-present ache in the pit of his stomach that only went away if he drained three victims a night. But he wasn’t complaining. It was enchanting, to be hungry again. To feel the purr of it inside his body as he stalked his victims, the thumping rhythm of their blood deliciously hypnotic. Just hearing the word ‘blood’ was enough to make his mouth water. According to Armand, Daniel even dreamed of feeding, all panting breaths and muffled sleepy snarls, his throat moving with the imagined swallows of blood.

As for the libido, well, he wasn’t complaining about that, either. Especially not once Armand was around. It took a little while for them to settle, of course. Their early sex life was not without a few bumps. Predictable and cliché, really: Daniel – self-conscious of his own body and seeing only flaws – made mean little jokes at his own expense. Not the healthiest way to express his insecurities, but old habits died hard. He was a worn-out rug. He was a wrinkled old basset hound. He was a glass of spoiled milk.

Armand put up with it for a few days, until he evidently decided the problem was not going away on its own. After that, he strapped Daniel to their bed, naked and spread-eagled, and just stared at him with that predatory look in his huge orange eyes that always made Daniel’s stomach do flips.

“What is this, boss? Did the antique store—”

“Do not. Finish. That sentence,” Armand cut him off, voice clipped, all cold authority. Daniel swallowed and, for once, shut his trap.

Armand tilted his head to the side, the way he only did when he was too intently focused on something to keep up his usual pretense of normalcy. The gesture was eerie and inhuman in a way that made Daniel shudder, fear and arousal indistinguishable from one another inside him. He felt like a specimen being examined. Hard to avoid following Armand’s gaze and looking at himself. The gray of his chest hair and pubes; the looseness of flesh on his bones; the roundness of his stomach; the evidence of time written on his skin in a hundred little imperfections. Before he’d tied Daniel down, Armand had turned on the overhead light and both bedside lamps; no flattering shadows to hide behind here. Daniel shut his eyes. The shame was thick enough to swallow; Armand must feel it through the bond, Daniel was sure.

“It’s not your fault, of course. I understand that you are a product of your time, Daniel. You have had seventy years’ brainwashing, teaching you that no one could possibly desire a body like yours.”

Daniel was surprised by the sudden burn of tears behind his eyelids, the tightness of his throat. It was all so humiliatingly banal. Daniel didn’t think it was fair; vampires ought to have more esoteric problems than body image. But he didn’t argue with Armand, who was, of course, right.

“As I said, I do understand the origin of your attitude. But I have no intention of allowing it to continue. Look at me.”

Daniel opened his eyes, ignoring the heat of a bloody tear slipping down the side of his face. Armand loomed above him, eyes locked on Daniel’s body, manic with undisguised lust. Armand’s mouth was hanging open slightly, his tiny sharp fangs visible, his breaths ragged and loud. He looked like he wanted to eat Daniel alive.

“I am fond of your body, Daniel. Extremely fond, if you couldn’t tell.”

Armand gestured, the movement of his wrist fluid and lazy, to the obvious evidence of his own arousal. Daniel’s breath hitched, halfway between a sob and a laugh. Armand was that hard, just from looking at him? Even in an unflattering position, in such harsh light, without being touched, without even the rush of the recent hunt to get his blood flowing?

“When you denigrate yourself like this, whether you mean to or not, you are calling me a liar. I won’t have that. So. It’s time we worked to undo all that programming, yes? I am going to show you how badly I want you. And I’m not going to let you up until you believe me. Okay?”

Daniel had never loved anyone more in his entire life.

“Okay.”

Since then, they’d been, to quote Louis, ‘at it like rabbits’. (Hard not to feel smug, when Louis called to see what he’d been up to since they last spoke and, at Daniel’s pointed silence, groaned, “What, all week?!”). Sex with Armand was a revelation, and it wasn’t only because he was a fledgling. He had never been in a relationship where his sex drive so closely matched that of his partner. He was insatiable, Armand was insatiable, and they’d had to buy a new bedframe twice already.

Of course, there was also the fact that Daniel had finally hauled himself out of the closet for good. What a thrill it was, after decades of harsh self-surveillance – don’t walk like that, don’t talk like that, stop looking at him, stop thinking about him, stop it – to have Armand’s tongue halfway down his throat at the subway station. People stared, but what the fuck did he care? They were nothing more to him now than meat. If any of them thought a little too loudly about him being a fag or a degenerate old pervert, well. It just made the nightly ‘who’re we having for dinner first?’ conversation quicker.

With Armand, every hour had become a feast. They hunted, they fucked, they devoured each other.

It was a honeymoon period. Daniel knew that, underneath it, there was work that needed doing. They had not spoken about why Armand had abandoned him without so much as a goodbye. They had not discussed how Daniel was going to gracefully detach himself from the remnants of his mortal life—his career, his ex-wives, his kids. They had not talked about Marius or any kind of long-term plan for how to deal with him.

Dazed and distracted by love, Daniel allowed himself to become complacent. Perhaps they could let the past lie, after all. They hadn’t seen or heard from him since Maharet and Mekare had dealt with Akasha. Maybe it would be alright, if Armand went along to the library while Daniel, still famished, hunted for his third victim of the night…

The package arrived by courier at dusk; a few rays of sunlight were still peeking through the windows in the hall, so Armand went to the front door to sign for it. Daniel draped himself on the couch and watched him go, half-awake and boneless. Unbelievable, how perfect Armand looked in Daniel’s old saggy gray sweatpants, in a tattered band t-shirt two sizes too big, his curls all rumpled and mussed from their lazy bout of ‘good morning’ sex. How did he make even those ratty clothes look so elegant, so neat and prim?

Armand returned with the box and motioned for Daniel to lift his legs. He did so, lowering them again when Armand was settled, so that they draped across his lover’s lap. A small furrow formed between Armand’s dark brows.

“Curious. No return address.”

Armand ran his long fingers along the front of the package. Their address, typed and printed on a generic sticker. No handwriting to help guess the sender. Daniel’s old instincts prickled and he sat up straighter.

“Maybe, uh- we shouldn’t open that.”

Armand arched a brow, his amusement fizzling through their bond. Threats to Daniel’s life had arisen, after he published Interview With The Vampire, but that had died along with all the vampires Akasha had killed. Of the vampires who remained, none really minded about it, apart from Lestat and, well. Present company.

“Paranoia, my beloved. It’s much too light to be a bomb.”

“Oh, yeah, like you’re some kind of expert—”

But Armand had already sliced through the tape neatly with a sharp fingernail and was pulling the thing open. A single folded sheet of creamy paper lay at the top, above what looked like a protectively-packaged… frame? What could it be, some kind of painting?

Daniel watched Armand pick up the paper and read. Watched the warm little smile nestled at the corner of his mouth vanish. The change was dreadful to see, underscored as it was by the sour flood of fear through the bond. Armand’s eyes stopped scanning at the bottom of the page but he did not move. He was frozen, tense and unbreathing, a mouse in the shadow of an owl.

“Armand? Armand, what does it say?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Daniel sat up and pried the paper from Armand’s unresisting fingers. The handwriting was old-fashioned but legible; Daniel’s hands shook as he read.

My Amadeo—

Forgive my silence these long years. I allowed my love for you to make me weak, as it so often has, and in that weakness, I fled from the sight of your suffering. I had believed my bright boy, that dear child I pulled from the brothel, was lost to me forever. I feared he lived only in my memories and in the few of my pieces, such as this one, which survived the fire. As soon as I laid eyes on you in Maharet’s sanctum, I knew how wrong I had been. You welcomed me with all the old sweetness, and I knew that things could be as they once were. Won’t you come to me and be mine?

—M

Daniel dropped the note on the floor in disgust. The box lay open on Armand’s lap, its contexts still obscured beneath fill material to keep the painting from shifting in transit. Daniel lifted it from Armand’s hands and set it on the coffee table. He would deal with that later.

Gently, very gently, he took Armand’s face in his hands. Armand startled but did not recoil from the touch. Daniel rubbed his thumbs against Armand’s cheeks; Armand’s gaze remained lowered, glazed and unfocused. Daniel leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. Armand’s fear and betrayal had risen in pitch to a howl, seismic and all-consuming. Daniel did not attempt to shut it out. He breathed through it, slow and even, and before too long Armand was breathing again, mirroring him. They clung together, weathering the storm, until they could both hear the silence of the apartment again. Daniel didn’t know how long had passed: 20 minutes? 2 hours?

“What do you need?”

Armand opened his mouth, seemed to search for words, and closed it again. He grabbed two fistfuls of Daniel’s shirt, anchoring him in place. Daniel understood, more or less. He stayed where he was.

A while later, Armand had composed himself enough to announce, shakily, that he was going to take a shower. Daniel opened his mouth to offer to join him, but Armand was shaking his head even before Daniel could ask.

Daniel waited until he heard the water running to pull the painting from the box. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to just ignore the damn thing, but Daniel had never been great at leaving things be. He had to pick and pry and know.

It was a small canvas, hardly larger than an old vinyl cover. He hadn’t been sure if he would recognize Armand, but of course, he did. Those were Armand’s eyes, the perfect shape of them, half-lidded and dark the way they’d been back when he was still wearing those contacts. That was Armand’s neck, his forehead, his perfect mouth.

Some details did not line up. A few alterations were predictable, given what he’d heard from Louis: the shape of his nose was wrong, his skin was much too pale, and the color of his curls had been lightened to a reddish brown. Other particulars caught Daniel off guard. Armand’s frame was slighter in the painting, narrower in the shoulders and chest. Hairless, of course, but then, he looked young.

Very young.

Daniel knew the dates involved; he had come up with a rough visual timeline for the book. According to Louis, Marius had bought Armand when he was around fifteen.

He did not look fifteen in the painting. His face was babyish and round, even with the knowing small smirk Marius had painted on his mouth. What accounted for the discrepancy, Daniel wondered? Differences in puberty onset, between the early 16th century and late 20th? Stunted growth, thanks to the deprivations he’d faced while at the brothel? Something misremembered, either by Armand when he told Louis, or by Louis when he related it to Daniel more than half a century later? A lie Armand had told all along, to soften the truth? Or a lie that Armand had been told and believed?

The boy in the painting was sprawled naked on a large, ornately-carved wooden chair, the only concession to his modesty a carefully-placed bowl of grapes on the table before him. Laid out on this table was an overflowing, messy feast: torn bread with its crumbs scattered along the rumpled tablecloth, shining apples and delicately fuzzed peaches spilling from an overturned basket, a carafe of dark wine half full and a fallen goblet leaving a creeping red stain. There were walnuts scattered haphazardly among the platters, a curl of orange peel, petals from a flower that must have fallen from the table itself.

Daniel stared, his nausea deepening. The banquet had been upturned. Something about its disorder was inexplicably but unmistakably sexual. It mirrored the disheveled boy who Daniel was trying very hard not to think of as Armand. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink, his curls in disarray, his posture revoltingly languid.

Hell, Daniel wasn’t an art historian. Maybe all of that was perfectly ordinary and innocent. Maybe he was just superimposing a sinister reading due to his knowledge of the fucked up relationship between artist and model.

He didn’t think so, though. The juxtaposition seemed too overt to be an accident. The food and the boy, held up side by side, rendered in obsessive and hungry detail. Delicacies to be consumed.

Daniel shoved it back in the box. It was that or set the damn thing on fire and he wasn’t going to do that without Armand’s permission.

Daniel got up; he had to move, had to find some way to get the seething rage out of his body. He paced tight circles in the apartment’s tiny kitchen, but that didn’t help. He stopped by the fridge, pressed his forehead against it, comforted by its cool surface, by the familiar hum. They only kept it for show these days and because Daniel said the apartment was too quiet without it. Daniel didn’t know how Louis could stomach eating human food once a week. He hadn’t been able to get through a single chocolate bar, the one time he tried.

He had wondered before, if cooked human flesh would be any more palatable to a vampire. What about vampire flesh? Just how badly was Marius going to gag, when Daniel force-fed him a slice of his own sautéed dick?

Daniel exhaled a huff of bitter laughter; that thought had been the first thing to even slightly relieve the unbearable pressure of anger in his chest. This was what he needed. A pretty picture of violence to unseat the after-image of that painting.

He sank into it with relief. So easy, to conjure up the image of that table, the ravaged banquet. Simple, really, to add one more dish. Marius, hogtied and cursing in Latin or whatever the fuck. Maybe on a big shiny silver dish, like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Naked, of course, for easier access to the meat. His hair in a little ponytail, perhaps? Couldn’t risk any of it getting in the food.

Daniel would cut his jugular first, bleed him into a punch bowl. Not to be consumed of course, he would rather drink hot horse piss than a drop of Marius’ blood. But bleeding him would make him docile, and it would be easier to butcher him neatly if he stayed still.

Where to cut first? There were so many options. A week or so ago, Daniel and Armand had had a wonderful date in the autopsy room of a pathologist in Queens who had made the unfortunate error of muttering a racial slur at Armand in the park. Armand had ‘gotten an idea’ from the man’s memories while draining him. He’d carried the guy’s body over his shoulder all the way back to his office, Daniel trailing along after him, grinning and pestering him to know where they were going. Once they were in the autopsy room, Armand had arranged the corpse nicely on the metal table (hot), stripped it dispassionately (very hot), snapped on some sterile gloves (illegally hot), and announced that he was going to teach Daniel a lesson on efficient human dismemberment. Daniel had been extremely well-behaved and had waited until Armand was finished to pounce on him.

But he wasn’t trying to take Marius apart for disposal, was he? He was looking for the choicest cuts. He couldn’t start by slicing off Marius’ balls, tempting as it might be. Daniel wanted him to know that was coming for a little while. Let him marinate in the dread.

After all, he deserved every second of terrified powerlessness that Daniel could possibly subject him to, didn’t he? It wasn’t just about killing him this time. It was about making him feel helpless. Turning the frozen terror he’d made Armand feel back on him.

(It had been calculated. It must have been. The letter, the so-called gift. A relic from Armand’s past to remind him of a time when he had been so small and so brutalized that Marius seemed like a savior by comparison. And the other side to that coin, a reminder that he was soiled goods: that however he grew, wherever he lived, whatever he made of himself, Marius would always be near, ready to change him, just by his presence, back into that naked boy at a banquet table, making a mess and taunting the viewer to come punish him.)

If terror was the object, why waste time on the muscles, the limbs? Daniel would cut the tie between Marius’s ankles and wrists, roll him to lie on his back, arms pinned beneath him. So convenient, how any tool he might want was at his disposal here. A shiny carving fork – like the kind he’d used back when he still did Thanksgivings with Alice and the girls – could conveniently appear in his hand with a thought. Daniel would take his time, watch Marius’s pale eyes roll in terror as he decided just where to stick it. Dangle it over his eye. Press the tines into his Adam’s apple hard enough to leave two bloody punctures, a comical mimicry of vampire fangs. Drag it lower, laugh at any weak thrashing as he let it hover above Marius’s genitals.

In the end, Daniel would opt for the ear – turn Marius’ head just enough to get the correct angle, then push it in. The flesh would be tough but would give way under pressure. Stick it right through the shell and a few inches into the wood, pin him like that. Shocking, the amount of pain you could coax out of an ear, if you knew what you were doing. Daniel would enjoy the shrieking so very much. Maybe he would make a recording of it as a keepsake. Now that was a gift worth giving Armand. And all that agony would keep Marius occupied while Daniel opened him up from sternum to navel.

How many of Marius’ organs could Daniel feed to him, before he died? Lestat was always droning on and on about the boundless power of the ancient ones. It all sounded like propaganda and bullshit to Daniel. He figured if Akasha could get her head ripped off, then anyone was on the table (ha). You just had to be committed. You just had to be resourceful and not skimp on the follow-through.

As much of a fuck-up as he was in so many areas of his life, Daniel had always been relentless when it came to finishing what he’d started.

He wondered if there were any paintings on the internet, any pastiches of the kind of still-life Marius had been going for, where amongst the roast pheasants and dates and endless fucking fruit bowls there was one of those cute little tabletop yakitori grills. Daniel hoped so. It would be so convenient, to have one of those things all set up and ready when he reached into Marius’s guts and pulled out his liver. But then, it would probably be too big for the grill all in one piece, wouldn’t it? Livers were so much bigger than people realized.

No need to feed him the whole thing, of course. Just a portion of it. Toss the rest on the floor. Scraps for the dogs.

It would be the liver, first, then the kidneys. Spleen? Could you eat a spleen? Marius was going to eat his, whether or not it was traditional. Daniel pictured himself prying Marius’ jaw open, careful of the teeth. He would set a hunk of seared flesh directly on his tongue, then clamp his mouth shut again. But how to make him chew and swallow? Harder to force feed someone who didn’t need to breathe. No need to overthink it. A sharp enough knife held to Marius’ perineum and a simple command of eat it or else ought to do the trick.

Daniel would roll him on his side after that. Use that same sharp knife to flay a nice wide strip of skin from his ass. Disgusting, really, how much Daniel would be forced to touch Marius for all this. Still, Daniel was willing to put on some gloves and take one for the team. He would lay the skin out on the grill, get it nice and crispy, let Marius enjoy the hiss of little droplets of fat dripping down onto the heating element, let him smell of it sizzling.

A sound jostled Daniel from his thoughts. It was soft, only just audible even with his heightened vampiric senses. Under the hiss of the running shower two rooms over, the unmistakable sound of quiet, shuddery sobbing.

Armand had never cried in front of Daniel. He didn’t know if that was because Armand hadn’t cried since they moved in together, or if it was because he always hid when he did it. Judging by how much it sounded like he was trying to muffle the noise, Daniel was starting to suspect the latter.

Daniel turned, leaned his back against the fridge and let himself slide down to sit on the kitchen floor. He rested his face against his knees and pressed his hands over his ears. He couldn’t bear the sound of it. He couldn’t bear not knowing what Armand was remembering or reliving or dreading for the future.

He pulled the fragments of the imagined scene back around him like a shelter. Enough with the fucking buildup already. He was going to yank out Marius’s entrails and toss them on the ground like slop. He was going to crack open the bastard’s ribcage with his bare hands and shred his lungs to strips with his fingernails. He was going to chop off Marius’ cock with a cleaver and feed it through a meat grinder, one of those hand-cranked ones they were always using on the dumb cooking shows Armand loved to watch even though he hadn’t eaten human food since before Christopher fucking Columbus. Make sure he was watching as the mashed-up pulp was extruded out in pink strands. Feed his balls into the grinder next, then his tongue, then his heart. Could a vampire live without a heart? Daniel would decapitate him with the cleaver to make it a sure thing.

He was going to kill him. He was going to kill him. All this, all the daydreaming grotesquery, was nothing but a distraction, a pathetic way to cope. Armand was never going to be safe until Marius was dust. Daniel had to stop being childish and start making a real fucking plan.

Chapter Text

“So why’d you leave, anyway?”

Daniel was stretched out in bed; Armand’s head was pillowed on his stomach, rising and falling with every breath. They were passing a cigarette back and forth, blowing billows of smoke at the ceiling. Daniel loved the intimacy of sharing. You, then me, then you, then me. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the comforting familiar motions of smoking—how many years had it been, since his daughters convinced him to quit? No reason not to light up anymore.

Armand stiffened, caught off-guard by the question, and froze with the cigarette halfway to his mouth. Daniel had expected as much. He’d been letting Armand get away with dodging the hard stuff thus far, but if they were going to last, that needed to change. Daniel wasn’t going to them end up the way Louis and Armand had: so many things left unspoken that any hope of reconciliation was suffocated under their weight.

They had to talk sooner or later, and Daniel’s never been big on procrastination.

Through the bond Daniel felt Armand’s instinctive response. There wasn’t a word for the emotion, at least not any that Daniel knew. He might not be able to read Armand’s thoughts, but he remembered all his old tricks for reading people from the outside. If he had to hazard a guess, Daniel would bet money that Armand was scrambling. He’d seen Armand do this before: assess the situation, review the context to confirm what information Daniel was privy to, project all the potential outcomes and how they might harm himself or Daniel, and put it all together to deduce the right answer. The one that Daniel secretly wanted him to give, the one that would make Daniel keep on loving him. Truth never entered into it.

“Wait, just—before you get in your head about it, let me say something, and I need you to try really hard to believe this, okay, sweetheart? I want to know the real reason. Not the nice version that leaves half of it out and not a lie that means I won’t get hurt. The actual truth, awful as it might be. I can take it.”

Armand avoided looking at him, jaw cocked with anger that Daniel felt simmering through their connection. At least he’d stopped Armand’s strategizing in its tracks. That was…probably a victory?

“You assume that I was going to lie.”

The words were terse with resentment. Armand had not grown any less sensitive to comments he perceived as allusions to his past wrongs. Daniel had been doing his best to respect that and allow his lover as much of a clean slate as possible. But there were limits.

“Well… you were gonna. And don’t give me that pout, come on. We both know it.”

Armand ground his teeth, turning his face away from Daniel, but he didn’t deny it. Daniel counted that as progress. He got to enjoy a few seconds of feeling hopeful before Armand reached down, stabbing out the burning cigarette against his own arm. He picked a spot on the inside of his elbow, where the skin was softer. Where it would cause him the maximum amount of pain.

Daniel let out a deliberately slow breath. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d seen Armand hurt himself, but it never got any easier. However, that was going to have to be a discussion for another day. One difficult topic at a time.

“Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole. I don’t want to fight, Armand.”

Self-doubt rose in Daniel like a tide. Armand’s last relationship might’ve ended thanks to his compulsive deception and abysmal communication skills, but Daniel had his very own set of damaging patterns that had ruined both his marriages. He always pushed too hard; he avoided vulnerability with sarcasm, flippancy, and viciousness; he needed to win confrontations that ought to end in compromise.

He had to do better this time.

“I’m sorry, Armand. I just—I need to know the truth, or I’m never gonna feel safe.”

His voice wavered embarrassingly on that last sentence, and Daniel felt Armand’s anger evaporate in an instant. Daniel hadn’t been aiming for that, but he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Daniel kept going:

“It makes me so jumpy all the time, not knowing if I did something wrong, or if it was about Louis, or something totally different! I feel like…like at any second, I’m going to step on a landmine, and boom! You leave again. And I really really don’t want you to leave. I need to know exactly what went wrong, so it doesn’t happen again.”

Armand sat up and Daniel followed suit, heart pounding, expecting Armand to swing those long legs of his off the bed and stalk out of the room without a word. Daniel made himself meet Armand’s gaze. There was so much sadness in his lover’s expression. Sadness and understanding.

Armand reached out, settling his hand at the nape of Daniel’s neck, still sweat-damp from the sex they’d had just prior to this disaster. He twisted his long fingers into the gray curls there and pulled. A hard, constant pressure at the scruff of Daniel’s neck, just the way that he liked. Daniel’s eyes slipped closed involuntarily and he leaned into the touch, exhaling a shaky breath.

“My beautiful boy. I am not going to leave you.”

Unfair tactics. Daniel was trying to have a mature conversation and—consciously or not—Armand was using every one of his weaknesses against him. He had to fight not to become putty in Armand’s hands. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to melt into the praise and the firm grip. Let Armand take care of him, the way he was so good at doing.

Stubborn, determined, Daniel murmured, “I—I believe you believe that. But it’s...not enough. Until I know why, part of me is always gonna be afraid.”

Armand sucked in a sharp breath, his grip loosening with surprise. At the same moment, Daniel felt a pulse of hurt through the bond, followed by shame.

“That is exactly why I—” Armand began, but then his voice gave out halfway through the sentence. Brow furrowing, Armand took a deep breath and tried once more, “Don’t you understand, I didn’t want you to feel—”

And it happened again; Armand couldn’t make it through the sentence before his words failed him. What’s more, the silences didn’t seem voluntary. Armand’s frustration was palpable through the bond and outside it. Daniel watched Armand’s throat bob, saw him struggle in vain.

As if it explained everything perfectly, Armand insisted, “I was doing you a favor.”

Daniel waited, but no further elaboration seemed forthcoming. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say that’s it? He didn’t break the silence. He waited, refusing to take his eyes off Armand or ease the silence between them.

Armand snapped: “I do want to tell you. I am trying. It’s not easy for me, making sense of things. Talking about myself.”

Armand let go of Daniel’s neck, sitting back and crossing his legs. He curled his fingers into his palms and settled his hands on his knees. Every movement so precise, so controlled. He dropped his gaze to somewhere near his ankles.

“What is it about the men I’ve loved? All you so articulate on the subject of your own minds. You had your four-hundred-page memoir. Louis had his never-ending compulsion to confess. Lestat was always performing for attention, every day a new version of the fairytale of himself. But I can’t, Daniel.”

Armand lifted his face again, eyes wide and vivid orange now, terrible in their desperation to be believed.

“I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—”

Daniel’s heart wasn’t made of stone. Armand’s panic was frenetic and the conversation had just officially spiraled out of his control. Something else was clearly going on here beyond simply avoiding uncomfortable confrontation. Armand was freaking out, beyond all proportion to the circumstances.

“Okay, baby. You can’t. I hear you. We don’t have to—”

“Unless. Oh!” Armand’s expression of stark panic shifted rapidly to something like wonder. He scooted closer, smiling, all eagerness now. Daniel had whiplash from it all. “Unless you make me.”

The silence was deafening.

“What?” Daniel said, though he had heard and understood perfectly.

He had discovered his little ability a few weeks ago by accident. It was so stupid how it happened. He’d been visiting New Orleans, and Louis and Lestat were bickering. It hadn’t even been that long ago but Daniel had forgotten whatever nonsense it was about. Louis had pulled Daniel in as a referee, which was fine; he’d offered a while back and if it meant keeping the two of them from blowing up quite so often or quite so spectacularly, Daniel was willing. He counted it a fucking public service.

He remembered the gist if not the details. Lestat had slipped up, because that was what Lestat did, and now he was lying about it, so terrified he would lose Louis again that he was escalating a tiny mistake into a gigantic conflict.

The point was, Lestat had been lying. Louis knew it, Daniel knew it, and Lestat knew they both knew it, but he was too cornered and too proud to confess and just end it. Daniel had had a fucking migraine, which he thought was pretty unfair. Vampires ought to be immune to all forms of headache. Yet there he’d been, suffering and listening to Lestat dig himself deeper and deeper until he pinched the bridge of his nose and, frustrated out of his mind, barked:

“Oh, just tell the truth already, you fucking idiot!”

There had been something about it. A reverberation in the words that all three men had clocked at once, which Daniel had never heard in his own voice before.

Lestat had opened his mouth at once and begun spilling every detail. The veins had stood out on his neck and he’d hardly stopped for breath. Words poured from him like a torrent, uncharacteristically and unflatteringly honest. When his confession was done, Lestat had gasped, body rocking as if it had been released from a vise.

And that was that.

Daniel told Armand about it at once, of course. Armand had been intrigued and delighted when Daniel demonstrated it on their mortal dinner upon his return to New York. With practice he found he could summon that reverberation at will, and further experimentation had allowed him to establish the possibilities and limitations of his new power. It didn’t work for actions of any sort (Armand had been so cheerful, shouting suggestions: Make him touch his nose! Make him stand on one foot, Daniel!). It didn’t work on all kinds of speech, either. He could not compel someone to lie or give him knowledge they had no access to. Hell, he couldn’t even compel them to shut up.

What he could do was crack people open so that the truth—or at least their most honest understanding of it—came spilling out. It wasn’t all that different to what he’d done as a human. He was still shoving past all the obfuscations and justifications to pry up the painful, plain, awful reality. It was simply that now he had a supernatural shortcut. Now he wrenched people’s secrets from them against their will, forced them to expose their hypocrisies and admit their self-delusions.

And Armand wanted that done to him?

“You can’t be serious,” Daniel said.

“Why not? It seems a remarkably efficient solution to me. You want to know, I want to tell you, I can’t seem to—” Armand gestured at himself, towards his throat, as if there were some physical impediment blocking his windpipe, until the words he wanted to say withered to nothing.

“That’s… you get that that’s completely fucked up, right? I mean, just because I can force you to tell me doesn’t mean I should.”

Armand looked genuinely perplexed, because of course he did. Coercion had been a part of the background noise of Armand’s life for so long that he’d stopped hearing it entirely. How like Armand, to see Daniel violate other people’s privacy and free will and think, of course he should do that to me.

Now and then Daniel had these moments of insight, where some offhand comment or assumption of Armand’s reminded him of how monumentally fucked up his lover’s life had been. These moments always came with a bone-deep fear that he was just the latest installment in that story. Was he taking advantage of Armand’s conditioning without meaning to? Was that what was happening, when Armand shot him coy little looks from under his eyelashes, or soothed him through his inevitable stormy moods, or begged him to leave bruises when they fucked? Was he, in the end, just the newest Marius for Armand to serve, always so eager to show off what a well-trained boy he was—

“Daniel.”

Armand was not nearly so adept at interpreting the emotional feedback from their bond as Daniel was, but evidently enough of his worry had come through for Armand to notice. Armand was the one being gentle now. He laid a hand on Daniel’s thigh and rubbed his thumb across it, little soothing circles.

“Your fear is unwarranted.”

Both of them, feeling sad for the other’s point of view. It could not have been clearer that Armand regarded Daniel’s scruples as a childish idiosyncrasy, a remnant of—what did Armand call it? ‘The neuroses of his era’? At another time, Daniel knew, Armand might have scoffed at him; right now, he was being very careful with Daniel.

With perfect enunciation, speaking slowly so that Daniel could catch every syllable, Armand said, “I am giving you my permission. My consent, if you prefer. I am soberly, knowingly telling you that I want you to compel me to answer your question. You were correct, earlier. It is a matter that should be addressed, or else it will fester. I do not wish for my own- my own inadequacies to be the cause of that festering. So, please, I am asking. Help me to tell you.”

Daniel opened his mouth to argue, but he shut it again when he couldn’t think of a good counterpoint. Armand’s words were too difficult to refute. Any argument he could make would be condescending, implying as it must that Armand couldn’t make informed choices for himself. He didn’t want to infantilize Armand.

Besides… deep down, Daniel wanted to know. Needed to know.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna…” Daniel ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. “You’re sure?”

Armand leaned forward, kissing Daniel’s temple. Daniel felt his confidence through the bond. Nerves, yes, and an unsettled anticipation, but no fear.

“I am sure, my beloved.”

Fuck it. He was going to regret this.

“Armand, why did you abandon me?”

The compulsion buzzed through Daniel and he saw it take hold of Armand, the strain in his shoulders and neck as the words burst from him like a dam breaking.

“I never told you why I vowed to never make a fledgling. There were many reasons, but one that I could hardly admit to myself was my worry that having a fledgling of my own would bring up memories of that time in my own life. Painful memories that I have tried for many years to bury. I did not regret making you, my Daniel, my beautiful Daniel, not for a second. And yet you proved my worries correct.

“Being around you in those early days was profoundly painful for me. I do not think you noticed. No, I can tell from that look on your face that you did not. You were so full of joy at finally being one of us. You were irrepressible. Do you recall the night we went down to the marina—” the smile that spread across Armand’s face was blinding, affection eclipsing all other emotions momentarily, “—and you slipped away from me and stole a speedboat, because you wanted to make me chase you? I still think of it sometimes, following the sound of your laughter over the dark water. Your antics only made my love for you grow.

“You were so hungry, just like Amadeo was. And you would whine for just one more victim, still hungry after your third, and I would stop being myself. I would become Amadeo in Venice trapped in his coffin, weak after four days without feeding, begging for the lesson to end.”

Daniel’s insides felt as if they’d been turned to lead. Of all the explanations he’d considered during the months of Armand’s absence, this had not been one of them. He thought he knew where this was headed and almost wished he could take back his command. But its momentum had hold of Armand, now, and there was no stopping him.

“Marius had a degree of patience for Amadeo’s insolence when he was a human boy. As Amadeo grew older, and in particular after he was given the Dark Gift, that tolerance ended. As a fledgling, I angered him often. The new powers made Amadeo defiant, and his defiance had to be corrected, repeatedly.”

Armand pulled a pillow towards himself and began picking at a stray thread, eyes fixed on it as he continued to speak. He left no room for Daniel to respond, barely took the time to draw in enough breath to keep forming words.

“I told myself that these unwanted recollections would cease, given time. But they only grew more frequent. Any time I was near you, incidents I had forgotten for centuries jostled to the surface. Beatings. Scoldings. Calculated humiliations. More beatings. A rape or two. Threats to Riccardo. All of it earned, of course. Amadeo was a terror. He brought it on himself. Marius was doing his duty as a maker to curb Amadeo’s wild nature. It was necessary. It was kindness.”

Daniel shut his eyes tight, losing the thread of Armand’s words for a few seconds. The weight of it was hitting him all at once. Armand must believe it. For him to say that under the influence of Daniel’s power, some part of him must be convinced, down to the bottom of his soul, that Marius’ abuse had been not only justifiable but kind.

He struggled to focus again, shoving down the impulse to shake Armand by the shoulders and scream that he was wrong.

“—and you see, you were so much like Amadeo. You know that I was sick, too, before I was turned? Maybe that is why. Other fledglings I’ve known have not been quite so rambunctious. You were reckless as I had been reckless. You took risks with your safety. There was danger if you kept along that path, but it wasn’t your fault. You needed your maker to take a firm hand with you. And I couldn’t.

"Do you understand, Daniel? I was failing you. Every day I knew I was failing you, my beloved, my fledgling, because I couldn’t bring myself to do what needed to be done. It was selfish and inexcusable. I was unfit.”

Armand had picked the loose thread free and was unraveling the stitching of the pillow, pulling it away with tiny precise tugs.

“On one particular day, I did not return to the hotel room we shared until late afternoon. I had spent all day among mortals, attending to the tedious financial arrangements of my separation with Louis. I came in and found you, sleeping soundly as a kitten in our bed, with blood drying all over the carpets, and the walls, and the ceiling. You’d left the body on the floor, in plain view, with its throat ripped out. If the staff had come in, if anyone had even been standing in the hall as I opened the door… we could have been discovered.

"I was so angry with you, because I was so scared for you. For both of us. I knew what I had to do. I should haul you out of the bed by your hair and whip you until you wept and begged me to stop and promised never to do it again. I pulled one of my belts from the drawer, since I had nothing else to use. You looked so peaceful in your sleep. I could feel you.”

Armand paused in his destruction of the pillow, splaying one hand against his sternum. His voice had become thick with emotion, eyes pinking at the waterline with the beginning of tears.

“You felt so safe.” Armand’s voice cracked on the word, but he kept going, the compulsion holding fast. “As you slept, some part of you knew nothing bad was going to happen to you. No one would hurt you.

"That was— that was always the hardest thing for Amadeo. He never knew when he would be beaten. At times, yes, his transgressions were obvious and the punishment immediate. But many other times his errors were inadvertent and went unnoticed by him. He would be laughing with Riccardo, or sitting on the balcony watching the boats on the canal, or sleeping, and his maker’s rage would be as terrible as it was unexpected. One moment everything calm, and the next, fury.

"There was no clear set of rules, you see. A behavior would be smiled at fondly one day and the next it would be met with a slap. Amadeo had no pattern to memorize and follow. I think it must have been easier for Marius when I was a mortal and he could read my thoughts. If his human child made a saucy comment, teased him in some way he found disrespectful, he could simply check that no malice had prompted it. He used to read all the boys’ thoughts like that. Once he gave Amadeo the Dark Gift, their minds were closed to one another. Marius never had any real capacity for the- the emotional interchange that fledgling and maker can share.”

Armand let out a shuddering breath, trying to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall. Daniel’s powers had never held anyone in their grip for this long. Then again, he’d never asked a question this big before, or compelled someone with as much truth stashed away as Armand. If such a person could be said to exist.

“Amadeo had never felt as you did while you slept. Never. And I experienced a revelation. I understood all at once that underneath it all, you were nothing like Amadeo. Nothing at all. And if I- if I woke you from that peaceful sleep to beat you, it would be the first step towards making you like Amadeo, and making myself like Marius. And I thought, I realized that perhaps—”

Armand’s voice was thin and strained, his expression eloquent with confusion. Daniel recognized what was happening. He’d seen this in the humans he’d tested his powers on. So he’d gotten to the core of it, to the ugly foundations that even Armand was probably not consciously aware of.

“—perhaps it would be monstrous to treat you that way, and in turn, that it had been monstrous for Marius to do it to Amadeo. I thought, perhaps it had not been benevolence after all, that led Marius to whip Amadeo until he couldn’t even remember how to speak. But if that were true, that would mean—too much. About all of it. I couldn’t let it be true. I couldn’t think it.

"I had to be away from you. You were doing this to me, making me think things I did not want to think. And you were not safe from me. It would be a favor to us both if I simply left. And it would be easier for me.

"I opened the drawer, but instead of putting the belt away, I took out all my clothes, packed them, and left. To keep you safe. I didn’t even stay long enough to help you with the cleanup—I regret that, now. But I was… distraught with thoughts of what I had nearly done to you.

"I didn’t go far. You returned to your home and I killed a banker from the building across the street and began living in his apartment. I watched you. Stalked you. Every night I followed you as you hunted. There were dangers that I have not told you about. Close calls. Other vampires who were angered by the publication of your book, who took you for easier prey than Louis. They were sadly mistaken. I killed at least a dozen of them.

"I know you will be angry about this but I went through your mail, looking for threats. Checking for attacks. When… he sent me that letter, you joked that I would not know a bomb if I felt one, but you were incorrect. I spent days researching mail screening on your behalf.

"I told myself it wasn’t a real abandonment because I remained close. Still taking care of you, my precious fledgling. My beloved. But I see now that my silent departure wounded you as surely as the belt would have. It is too late to undo my mistake, and I am afraid you will never truly forgive me, as Louis never forgave me. I am afraid that I have ruined our chance at happiness for the rest of eternity, and I will be alone again, and it will be my fault again, because I am a broken thing who cannot resist breaking the people he loves to so that we match.”

With that dire admission, Armand slumped, a puppet with its strings cut. The grip of the compulsion released him and he collapsed, curling forward and clutching his bent head between his hands. Little tremors ran through him. Daniel understood now, why Armand had been unable to say all that on his own.

It was Daniel’s turn to be lost for words. He opened his arms, relieved when Armand surged into them at once. Daniel drew Armand’s head down to the curve of his neck, tilting his head in invitation. Armand sank his teeth in and drank in slow swipes of his tongue, less from hunger than for the warm comfort of it. After a while, his trembling stopped.

“Thank you,” Armand murmured, lips dragging against Daniel’s skin, his voice impossibly small, “For—doing what I asked. I don’t want to do that ever, ever again.”

“Me either.”

Armand asked for some time alone in the apartment that evening. Everything he had admitted to under the compulsion had left him drained; Daniel couldn’t blame him. He felt fucking exhausted and he’d only listened. Something told him that at least half of it had been a revelation to Armand himself.

It was so rare that his lover ever requested anything purely for himself; Daniel agreed without hesitation. He told Armand to text him if he needed anything and promised to return half an hour before dawn.

He fed early (bicycle cops) and was too distracted by his own thoughts to even appreciate the blood. After that, he found himself in a bar, a notepad and pen sitting next to his piña colada.

It was time to approach this seriously. When he had thought of killing Marius before, they had been the angry daydreams of Daniel, man who was desperately, hopelessly in love with Armand. Now he needed to think about killing Marius as Daniel Molloy, exposer of lies and downfall of tyrants. Okay, maybe that was taking it a bit far. But certainly, he was, at the very least, Daniel Molloy, stubborn motherfucker who wouldn’t stop until he got it done.

At the top of the page, he wrote: METHODS.

Daniel did not want to eliminate anything prematurely, so he copied out the list that Louis had given him during the interview.

STARVATION
DEAD BLOOD
FIRE
DECAPITATION
SUN

Those were the basics. Now, which ones would actually work on a vampire with Marius’ powers? Starvation was too complicated and much too risky. Anything that involved keeping him over a long period of time would give him the opportunity to escape or be rescued. Besides, considering how infrequently Armand needed to eat, how long could a vampire of Marius’ advanced years go without blood? Too many variables, too slow.

He crossed out ‘STARVATION’ and, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘DEAD BLOOD’. If Marius fed infrequently, tricking him into drinking old blood would probably be extremely difficult. Anyway, Daniel didn’t know how much he would need to drink, or if ancient vampires had any kind of tolerance to it. He could revisit it as a last resort, but for now, it was out.

Daniel let his pen hover near ‘SUN’, considering. He entertained the idea of a tanning bed. Obviously, just getting Marius outside during the day would not be enough—Armand walked in the sunlight for hours at a time and Marius was considerably older than him—but if Daniel hired someone to soup up a tanning bed, maximize its intensity? Was UV radiation the key to the sun’s effect on vampires? He would need to do some research. But the thought of tripping that fucker into one—slamming it shut, grilling him like a panini in a press—was appealing enough that Daniel did not cross it out.

Decapitation was, of course, the simplest and surest option. If it worked on the mother of all vampires, surely it would work on a pathetic creep who had to beat his helpless fledgling to make himself feel big.

Fire was a solid option too. Daniel took a sip of his drink, searching in his memory. What had Louis said about fire, back when he was discussing his plan to kill Lestat? Something about consuming the body completely so that it could not house a soul. Fire would do that, sure. But there were other ways to disintegrate a body completely. Did it need to be fire? What about a very strong acid? That might not have come up simply because chemistry had advanced so much since Louis plotted his maker’s murder.

Daniel added it. His list now read:

STARVATION
DEAD BLOOD
FIRE
DECAPITATION
SUN (UV? tanning bed?)
ACID ???

“The fuck is that about?”

A mortal woman had settled herself on the stool beside Daniel and was staring openly at what he wrote. Pretty fucking rude, but the fact that she was so brazen about it charmed him. Most people would’ve snuck a peek, but they would’ve been discreet, pretended they weren’t doing it and denied it if asked. Daniel appreciated the bluntness.

“Oh, you know. Brainstorming ways to kill a vampire. I’m a writer.”

It was always so amusing, flirting with that line between truth and deception. The woman looked skeptical still. She was five, maybe ten years younger than him. Salt and pepper hair in a braid, no makeup, scuffed hiking boots. Trace of an accent he couldn’t place. Intriguing. Daniel had never stopped being interested in the lives of strangers, even though he’d stopped being the same species.

“Daniel Molloy,” he said, since she didn’t seem to be buying it. “Interview with the Vampire?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of that book. My sister loved it. You wrote that?”

Daniel gave a smug little shrug, eating up the attention. So what? He liked being famous. Liked being infamous, too. Maybe it should’ve freaked him out, what Armand said about killing a bunch of vamps that came after him because of the book. But Daniel had never been great at worrying about consequences.

“You’re working on a sequel?”

“Something like that, yeah. Brainstorming, anyway.”

She turned her eyes to the list again and reached over, tapping the question marks after ‘ACID’.

“Base is better. You gotta use lye. That’s how the cartels do it. Way faster.”

Their conversation had drawn the attention of the bartender, a young Black man with a neat beard who seemed pretty bored. The bar had only a handful of customers, and he’d already served them all their drinks. He leaned in, pushing up his glasses and peering at the list.

“No way, if you do lye you have to boil it to like, a zillion degrees in these specialized tanks. Where’s somebody gonna get one of those? You want piranha solution. Sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide. It’s slower, but it’ll dissolve the bones, too. Lye can’t do that. And you can do it in plastic. I don’t remember what kind. There’s a specific kind that’s cool with acid.”

Daniel was taking notes by this point, uncertain about the actual reliability of two random people in a bar, but it gave him a place to start. A little inspiration.

The woman gave a dramatic shrug, gesturing with her beer, “Suit yourself. I still say lye.”

“Pi-ran-ha!” the bartender countered, but he was grinning at her. Daniel got the impression the two of them must know one another. Maybe she was a regular. He felt a pang, then, a needle of grief in his heart. Hard not to think of all the places where he was once a regular—his deli, his bookstore, his barber. He hadn’t gone back to any of them, since being turned. He couldn’t, at this time of year, with the sun going down hours after they all closed. What must they think? That he’d gotten famous again and decided he was too good for them? He wondered if any of them missed him, or even remembered.

It had been a while, since he was alone with his thoughts like this. Daniel checked the connection to Armand, felt the telltale staticky whine of dissociation through it. He pulled out his phone and texted, simply, ‘Love you. There in seconds if you need me.’ Armand replied with a single heart emoji. Usually his texts were charmingly formal and long-winded. Doing very badly, then. Daniel wanted to rush home to him, but Armand had asked.

He flipped to the next page in his notebook. Coming up with how he would do it was the fun part. But there were plenty of other logistics to consider.

Daniel wrote:

REPRISAL FROM ALLIES?
LAWS STILL APPLY?
GETTING ARMAND ON BOARD?

Much as he hated to admit it, Daniel knew Marius probably had friends. Most predators and abusers did. He also had a dismal view on the possibility of luring them over to his side. When had that ever worked for anyone? People always bought the DARVO bullshit, and it sure seemed from how he’d acted around Armand during The Akasha Incident that Marius was hiding nothing.

He needed to find out who would bear a grudge after he did Marius in. Eternity was way too fucking long for anything to stay buried. Daniel would need to be ready for it to come out, even if he was sneaky.

And what about the Great Laws? Breaking those sure backfired for Louis and Claudia, and they hadn’t even been aware they were doing it. Had anything really changed since then? 70 years was nothing to a vampire. If killing another vampire was still forbidden, well, surely there had to be exceptions. Could he petition for clearance? Please, Ms. Maharet, your majesty, may I melt the rapist into soup?

Of course, he intended to do it, permission slip or no.

The real obstacle was Armand. Daniel needed Armand to know Marius was dead, so he could feel safe again, maybe even start to heal a little. Selfishly, Daniel wanted Armand to know that he was the one who’d killed Marius. He sipped his drink, scoffing quietly at his own outrageous and fruitless vanity. Look at him, knight in fucking shining armor, 500 years too late.

But how would Armand feel about all of it? Honestly, he was worse than Louis with Lestat when it came to denying his own victimhood. At the very least, Lestat had recently shown remorse and appeared to be trying not to act like such an absolute shit-stain. Daniel wasn’t about to applaud; if Louis left Lestat tomorrow Daniel would throw a party. But Lestat managed to clear the extremely low bar of being better than Marius de Romanus.

Could Daniel convince Armand that Marius deserved to die? How?

He had no fucking idea. He wrote ‘HOW?’ on the next line in the notebook, which did not help at all.

Fuck it. He was here—couldn’t hurt to try. He turned abruptly towards the woman on the stool beside him who had advocated for a lye-based murder and asked: “Hey, I got another question. What’s the best way to get someone to turn on their abuser?”

He more than half expected shock, bafflement, offense. He certainly did not expect her to answer without hesitation, “Oh, easy. Find another victim, ‘cause there’s usually another one if you look hard enough, and redirect their sympathy for their abuser to that person. It’s not foolproof, but you’ve got a way better shot with that than trying to convince someone they didn’t deserve it.”

Daniel stared for a few seconds. Then he wrote it down.

In the following weeks, Daniel and Armand didn’t talk about what he’d said under the compulsion. For the first few days, Daniel was careful with Armand, haunted by certain phrases that echoed in his head unprompted. Begging for the lesson to end. A rape or two. It was kindness. I am a broken thing.

Armand bristled at the treatment, volatile and hypersensitive to what he perceived as pity. Daniel gave it up; kid gloves had never really fit him anyway. He was still haunted, of course, but he kept it to himself. Equilibrium returned by degrees, until Daniel thought it might be safe to broach the subject.

He waited for a night when Armand chose to feed; he was always more emotionally resilient with his belly full of blood. Daniel was starting to think Armand ought to be eating more than he did. Just because he wasn’t starving to death didn’t mean going weeks between meals was great for him.

It was just past 3 AM and the two of them were wandering the Guggenheim. Museums weren’t all that bad, it turned out, if they were empty of crowds, with only Armand there to chatter away happily. His opinions on modern art were eloquent, educated, and frequently catty. Daniel loved listening to him: how he swung between sophisticated disdain for one piece and childlike enthusiasm for the next.

He waited for a lull in conversation before pulling the trigger.

“Hey, I have a question. When I used my powers on you, you mentioned somebody a few times and it wasn’t a name that’s come up before. Riccardo?”

Daniel felt an awful lurch of fear from Armand when he brought up the incident, but at the mention of Riccardo it subsided.

“Hmm. No, I haven’t told you about him, have I?”

They walked side by side, their footfalls now the only sound in the huge unlit gallery. Daniel knew how to use silence like a lever. He waited.

Eventually, Armand said, scarcely above a whisper:

“I never told Louis about him. Not in all that time. I think… that night was the first time I said his name since he died.”

Daniel slipped his hand into Armand’s silently, lacing their fingers together. He neither pushed nor gave Armand an out by responding. Armand exhaled.

“Riccardo was…my first friend. I think, maybe, my only real friend in my whole life.”

Armand smiled, a faint and nostalgic expression. Through their bond, Daniel felt affection, wistfulness, grief.

“He took care of me, from the very first day I arrived at the palazzo. I was—”

Armand’s hand spasmed, his grip tightening. Now and then, in casual conversation, Armand would mention Venice: some detail of fashion or a remembered song. But he never spoke of the brothel. Daniel waited.

“I was a shattered thing. Feral, skittish, almost entirely mute. Riccardo… took it upon himself to rehabilitate me. He was always like that. Looking after the younger boys when they were homesick. Feeding skinny stray dogs at the door. Tender-hearted. He read me books to teach me Italian. He comforted me, when memories of—when I would become overwhelmed. He told me nothing would hurt me, now.

"When I was a little better, we became inseparable. At night, Amadeo belonged to his master, but by day the city was ours. There was so much to see, and do, and learn. We gambled and got drunk at taverns. I fell in the Grand Canal, once, and he had to fish me out. I would…attract attention at times, and Riccardo was always there with a sharp word and a hand on his sword. He was always distracting me during our lessons on history and law and other subjects we both found tedious. We were the best out of all the boys at dancing and fencing. He would always insist on being my partner.”

Armand’s voice warmed, a tremble of fierce pride coming into it at being someone’s first choice.

“He played the lute more beautifully than anyone. We would secretly sing lewd songs he picked up here and there around the city, or we would sneak off so he could play me some love song he had composed himself that he was too shy to share with anyone but me. My sweet Riccardo.”

Daniel bit his tongue with considerable effort. Armand seemed genuinely oblivious to the fact that this boy had clearly been in love with him.

“Most of the boys at the palazzo would leave after a few years. Marius would send them to university or other apprenticeships. Riccardo left for a few years. Just long enough to learn what he needed to come back as a tutor for the younger boys. Dancing, and fencing.

"Reuniting with him, after all that time—I was afraid he would have forgotten me. But as soon as he saw me, he lifted me off the ground in his arms and wept. So happy to be with me again.”

Armand stopped walking. Something shifted; all the fondness that Daniel had been feeling through their connection was snuffed out. Now there was only grief, opening up beneath him like a chasm. Grief and terrible guilt. Daniel had to swallow, nauseating by the intensity of it. He was no stranger to Armand’s self-loathing, but this was unlike anything he had experienced before.

Armand’s eyes had gone shuttered and distant. He did not attempt to wrap up the story, or make excuses for ending there. He simply stopped.

This time, Daniel did not leave Armand to stew in the silence. He swept in, pointing at a nearby installation by an artist that Daniel knew for a fact Armand loved.

“What the fuck is that even supposed to be, anyway?”

Daniel and Armand moved.

It had been a little over a year, now, since Daniel had gotten that package of old tapes in the mail. He had made the choice to fly to Dubai and leave everything behind; he just hadn’t realized at the time that it would be a permanent goodbye.

Faking one’s own death was, it turned out, a great deal easier with an obscenely rich lover who could edit people’s memories. They settled on a fire. Tragic, sudden, not implausible. It simplified arrangements when it came to swapping in a different body, and would allow Daniel to actually bring a few keepsakes with him without their absence being noticed.

Daniel knew it would have been safer to leave New York entirely, but Armand had not forced the issue. Besides, there was a risk of him being recognized no matter where they went. Why leave his chosen home?

Armand had left Daniel unpacking in their new apartment, kissing his temple as he headed out the door. Daniel was foggy with exhaustion – the sun had been up for hours – but he could not sleep knowing that, somewhere, his funeral was happening. Armand had promised to report back to him with every detail.

Daniel did not want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about his daughters, his ex wives, his old friends, his life that was no longer his.

So he thought about acid.

Acid on its own would be too slow. Daniel would have to incapacitate Marius first. He would need to be very careful with his first blow; it had to be something that would take Marius out before he could react. Daniel didn’t think he stood a chance against Marius in a direct fight. Even if he was, as Armand had told him, strong for a fledgling. He was Armand’s first and apparently that mattered; according to Lestat, it was also a big deal that Armand was an ancient and had himself been made by someone with a powerful bloodline.

(Honestly, all the discussion of so-called bloodlines grossed Daniel out. How much of it was actually, provably true? Sure, he could get on board with the fact that vampires grew stronger as they aged. He’d seen evidence of that in Armand and Louis and Lestat. But the idea that it mattered who gave you the Gift had always rubbed him the wrong way. What if it was all just remnants of old bigotries? Vampires who came from a time when people bought into the inherent superiority of the noble class, clinging to their beliefs? Or maybe the idea had been added later, by vampires hailing from an era when scientific racism was the new hot trend? Anyway, he wasn’t fucking convinced.)

The fact was Marius had been alive since Caesar or whatever and Daniel had no hope against him in a fair fight. So he would make it unfair.

He would find a secluded spot somewhere. Industrial basement, that kind of thing. Private and with no windows, since it was going to take a few days. Get himself a plastic tub (the right kind of plastic). Prep the acid, get it all set up. Then what? Dial up Marius on the old vampire telepathy network, tell him that Armand wanted to see him? He would have to make it good. Could he manage that? Would he be able to keep the anger in check?

Maybe some other lie would be better. Daniel had time to come up with a good one. The problem he kept running up against was the step in between the luring and the acid. Ideally, he would get Marius inside, distract him, decapitate him, and let the acid do the rest. But what did he know about cutting off heads?

The idea hit him like lightning. Inspiration was like that, sometimes.

—Louis! Hey, Louis! You reading me?

—Hello, Daniel. I was just reading a tribute in the paper. It was very complimentary. My condolences on dying. I know it isn’t easy, setting aside your mortal life–

—Yeah yeah, not calling to talk about that.

—Oh?

—I’m planning something.

—I’m listening.

—What if I told you I was planning on killing another vampire?

—Things going that poorly with Armand already?

—Ha ha, very funny. No.

—In that case, I would advise you to text me. You never know who might be listening.

—Sure. It’ll come from a new number. I am dead, and all that.

Daniel switched to his phone, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake. Not that he thought Louis would rat him out or anything of the sort, but it could be difficult to know what would trigger him. Going against the Great Laws… plotting to kill another vampire… it was all tricky stuff, given Louis’ history.

He typed:

‘What would you say if I told you, hypothetically, I was planning on killing Marius de Romanus?’

Louis’ reply was immediate: ‘I would say it was understandable and long overdue.’

‘And what if, hypothetically, I asked if you were willing to help?’

‘I would say that it would be my great pleasure.’

Daniel grinned, rubbing a hand over his mouth, feeling more optimistic than he had in ages. It wasn’t just that Louis knew his way around a decapitation: it was having an ally. Someone who thought he could do this and should.

‘You’re a great friend, you know that? The fucking best.’

This time there was a pause in the tempo of their conversation. Three dots, there and then gone, there and then gone, as Louis agonized over his response. Daniel spared him.

‘You don’t need to say anything back. I just wanted to say it to you. I’ll be in touch about the details once I’ve got them worked out.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Yes, a plan. It was coming together, piece by piece. Slow, steady, inexorable. Like the chemical action of acid, lapping away at Marius’s skin. Loosening it, stripping away layer after layer. Taking everything that was solid and distinctive about his body and reducing it down to soft uniform sludge. Just like he deserved.

Chapter Text

Things were better than ever.

Daniel had not anticipated what a weight off his shoulders it would be, setting down all the ties to his mortal life and starting anew. Maybe it was because of Louis; losing his family and his place in the community had been a harrowing drawn-out ordeal for him. For Daniel it had honestly been easy. He thought maybe he ought to feel guilty at what a relief it was for him, just letting it all go. Probably meant he was a selfish fucked-up bastard. Not exactly news to him.

He had big plans for the future. Just because he couldn’t write books as Daniel Molloy anymore didn’t mean he had to become an aimless unmoored dilettante. Plenty of good journalism still to be done; he thought maybe he’d pause on the writing for a while and become the best fucking anonymous source the world of investigative journalism had ever known. It would be a thrill, wouldn’t it? Do all the research, all the fun digging and prying he’d always loved. Get the real fucking story, helped along by being able to read minds and also compel confessions to record. Package it all up neatly with a proverbial bow and leave it on the doorstep of whatever bright young reporter caught his eye that year.

Armand listened to his plans with a soft, indulgent, infuriating smile. Probably thinking Daniel was very young and that his little hobby wouldn’t last long. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe in another 200 years, Daniel would get bored with it. But also, maybe he was wrong. Just because Armand was old didn’t mean he was always right.

Already, Daniel had discovered what a delight it could be, surprising Armand. It was rapidly becoming one of his favorite things.

Armand had booked them a fancy hotel room, while renovations were ongoing at their new apartment. Nothing too drastic—a touch-up here and there and, most importantly, treatments to all the windows like they’d had in Dubai, to keep Daniel safe from the sun. Armand had not even let him see the bill for how much it cost. He had simply said that it was worth it, for Daniel not to feel entombed. Daniel had nearly argued he’d be fine just covering them all with drywall, until he’d remembered how much of Armand’s life had been spent underground. Maybe this wasn’t only for his sake, even if Armand didn’t want to admit it.

Never one to be ungrateful, Daniel decided on a way to pay Armand back. One of the many absurd features of their suite was a bathtub big enough to fit five people in it. Daniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d lived somewhere that had anything more than a shower so small he’d bang his elbows washing his hair.

After he fed, Daniel engaged in some light breaking and entering at several overpriced stores and returned to the hotel with his arms full of shopping bags, feeling extremely pleased with himself. He tossed a wink at the cute guy behind the reception desk and headed for the elevators.

Armand wouldn’t be back from the movie for another hour or so. Plenty of time for Daniel to get all set up. The hotel probably had a ‘no open flames’ policy, but since when had he ever cared about rules? He didn’t want to burn the place down, however, and so he was careful with his placement. It took a surprising amount of time to fill the palatial bathroom with candles and get them all lit. Daniel admired his handiwork, grinning from ear to ear.

He’d found that, when it came down to it, Armand was a sucker for the most cliché romantic bullshit imaginable. Flowers. Jewelry. Books of poems. He ate every gesture up with wide-eyed wonder, like he couldn’t believe it was actually for him. Like he was starved for it.

It made Daniel feel proud and fierce and protective. He wondered how many years of loving Armand as extravagantly as he could it would take, until Armand stopped reacting with stunned disbelief.

He checked the time and saw that Armand was due back in ten minutes. Daniel ran the bath as hot as it would go, tossing in half a dozen brightly colored bars that fizzed and frothed, covering the water with a thick layer of faintly pink, sweet-scented bubbles.

Perfect.

The tub had only just finished filling when Daniel heard the beep of Armand’s keycard at the door. He undressed quickly, slipping into the water with a little sigh of pleasure at the heat of it. One thing no vampire could ever seem to get enough of, no matter their age—heat.

“Daniel?”

“In here, baby. I’ve got something for you.”

Daniel did his best not to make it sound too suggestive. Yeah, he was already half hard under the surface of the water, thinking about how he’d pulled out all the stops and how Armand was going to love it. But that was beside the point.

Armand opened the door to the bathroom, coming to a halt at the threshold. Well, Daniel didn’t blame him. It was a lot to take in. Daniel beamed at him, arms stretched out along the rim of the tub, gesturing to its foamy surface.

“Join me.”

It took Armand longer than Daniel would’ve expected, to move. Damn, he’d really outdone himself this time. After a long pause, Armand stepped into the room and started stripping off his clothes. Daniel felt a little put out at the lack of praise, but probably Armand was too stunned even to know what to say. Or he was having one of his quiet days, when he didn’t like talking much. Daniel had learned not to worry that those were a bad sign; they accompanied contentment just as often as melancholy.

He watched in open appreciation as Armand got naked. It was unbelievable, that a man this beautiful was his lover. That Daniel got to look at him, to touch him, to make him feel good.

Armand slipped into the water at entirely the other side of the tub, his shoulders straight and prim. So it was going to be like that, huh? Making Daniel come and get him? All shy and bashful. It fit the romance novel vibe of the candles and bubble bath; Daniel got the hint. Honestly? It was kind of hot. He crossed the distance between them, reaching out for Armand’s hair, about to start telling him just how beautiful and special he was, how he filled Daniel’s heart up until he thought it would burst.

He never got the words out. Before he could even make contact, Armand flinched away. He stayed sitting exactly where he was but shrank from the touch, recoiling inward. It was not a coy or playful movement. Daniel hadn’t been able to see, in the flickering candlelight, but he noticed now that he was a little closer: Armand was shaking. Daniel frowned, pulling his hand away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Armand’s voice sounded all wrong. Terrified, small. Childlike. Armand grabbed for Daniel’s hand, tugging it towards him urgently, setting it in his hair just at the place Daniel had been reaching for. The intended meaning of the gesture was clear: you can touch me. But now that Daniel was looking properly, every aspect of Armand’s body language screamed stay away. He was tense all over, trembling even worse now, his knees drawn up close to his chest to shield his body, his eyes lowered and saucer-wide.

“Armand…”

Daniel pulled his hand back once again, moving out of reach. Armand did not relax. He darted quick looks up at Daniel before dropping his gaze again, shoulders curled forward. Daniel had never seen him look so scared.

It occurred to him, with a jolt, that he could not feel that fear through their connection. In fact, he did not feel anything. He had been too wrapped up in his own anticipation and love to realize it until now. Daniel touched the bond between them, felt no resonance at all. Armand was blocking him somehow. He’d never done that before.

Daniel felt around for the barrier and found it. He didn’t mean to break it, but just his exploration was enough to tear the paper-thin thing down. Armand’s emotions hit him like a tsunami, a wall of terror and dread so intense that Daniel heard a whimper fall from his own lips. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He had never felt like this. Not even in San Francisco. He thought he might throw up.

As soon as he could make his limbs move again, Daniel hauled himself out of the water. It wasn’t even a conscious choice; Armand’s frantic desire for escape had him by the throat. Armand himself hadn’t moved a muscle, hugging his knees, staying frozen exactly where he was. Where Daniel had told him to be.

Fuck.

Daniel reached into the tub, fishing around for the plug and yanking it free. All that tinted, sweet-scented frothy water began to noisily drain away.

“I’m—bedroom.”

It was the best he could manage. Daniel staggered away, dripping, leaving a trail of wet footprints and stray clumps of bubbles behind him. It would’ve been funny, if anything were capable of being funny right then.

—Louis, I’m going to ask something and I need you to answer me, even though I know it’s shitty of me to ask.

—Ominous. Ask away, Daniel.

—And don’t make any fucking jokes, okay? Today is not the day.

—Got it.

—You were with Armand for 70 years. What should I avoid? Like…specific triggers.

Louis was silent for a while, but Daniel could tell the connection was still open. He knew it was fucked up, asking something so intimate behind Armand’s back. It was cruel to Louis, too, making him pick at the (very) slowly healing scab of his relationship with Armand. But at that moment, Daniel didn’t give a shit. This was what he did, when awful things happened. He dissected. He analyzed. He came up with strategies so that they wouldn’t happen again.

—Boats. Short trips are fine but nothing overnight. Certain kinds of perfume and cologne. I can send a list if you want, but basically, it’s better to avoid anything smoky and anything with sandalwood. Metal restraints. He’ll insist it’s fine, but trust me, don’t. Depending on the day, rats can set him off, too. There might be some I’m forgetting.

—Hmm.

—May I ask what prompted this, Daniel? I’m assuming something happened.

—Tried to get him to have a bubble bath with me.

—Oh. Yes, that’s another big one. No joint showers and definitely no baths. Don’t even be in the room if he’s washing.

—Yeah, well, now I fucking know that! I mean, Jesus, Louis, his face–

—Daniel? Daniel, listen to me. You can’t beat yourself up over this. It won’t do him any good. This is part of it. Being with Armand means hitting a tripwire now and then. There’s too many of them not to. But you can’t let the guilt get to you.

Daniel thought, privately, that maybe Louis could’ve been a little more careful of those tripwires himself over the years. And who was he, to tell anyone not to beat themselves up over something? Mister Catholic Guilt himself, dishing out hypocrisy.

—Daniel?

—Still here, yeah. Lemme know if anything else occurs to you, okay?

—Of course.

An awkward pause, and then Louis’ voice, reluctant and worried:

—Is he okay?

—I don’t even know how to fucking answer that.

Armand joined Daniel after an eternity, or possibly an hour. Daniel watched him moving through the dark, pulling pajamas from the drawers and putting them on. He didn’t look like he was shaking anymore. His voice, when he spoke, was a close approximation of normal.

“I put out all the candles and hooked the smoke detectors back up.”

Daniel made a small, wordless noise of thanks. He hadn’t even remembered to worry about that.

Armand slipped into the bed. Daniel made no move to draw closer to him; his chest ached with how much he wanted to. Armand was the one who crossed that gap, turning to face away from Daniel and fitting their bodies together, pressing his back against the comforting warmth of Daniel’s chest.

“I ruined your surprise.”

It was not a question. Armand’s voice was thick with tears. Daniel curled an arm around him, splayed his hand against Armand’s sternum, applying pressure. Armand sagged against him, exhaling a shuddery breath.

“My surprise ruined your night. Let’s call it even.”

Armand let out a sound that was halfway to a sob. Daniel pressed his mouth against the knot at the top of Armand’s spine. Not quite a kiss.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Daniel said.

That was their usual pattern, after all. When Armand got upset, whether or not it was Daniel’s fault, once he had calmed down enough, Daniel expected him to explain, as best he could, what had been going on in his head. It had worked for them so far. It allowed Daniel to identify whatever insane patterns of logic—more often than not entirely disconnected from reality—had led Armand to jump to conclusions.

It would probably be better for them in the long run, if Armand did tell him. But tonight Daniel was not inclined to force him to do anything.

“He made me sleep, during the journey from the brothel. I’m not sure why. I was so weak I could hardly stand. I had been starving myself. Trying to die.”

Daniel closed his eyes, nausea clenching in his gut. He didn’t interrupt.

“I woke up in a room with a huge bath. I was afraid of the water, but he pulled me in.”

Daniel controlled his breathing, keeping it as slow and steady as he could. Nothing to be done about his sick, racing heart.

“It sounds stupid, after all that time at the brothel, but I– I didn’t even understand what he was doing. My mind was all in pieces then. I tried to cover myself with my hands, but he moved them away.”

The tears were hot in Daniel’s eyes; he let them fall, not even trying to hold back.

“I meant what I said before. I am sorry. I was hoping this time I could. That with you, it would be enough to… rewrite the association. You looked so excited. I just wanted—” Armand’s voice cracked, “—I wanted to be excited with you.”

A sob wrenched its way out of Armand’s throat, then another. Daniel rubbed his hand against Armand’s chest and he wept as Daniel had never seen him weep before. It was pitiful, a complete surrender, unbearably childlike. Daniel held him through it, until Armand’s last hiccupping gulps had settled into steady breathing.

Conventional logic dictated that he should offer soothing, careful words. Tell Armand his trauma was valid, that none of it was his fault, all of that. Daniel thought probably someone ought to tell Armand all that stuff. But maybe it should be a trained professional.

Daniel was not a trained professional. He was just a jerk in love.

“Eh, bubble baths are lame, anyway. Next time I surprise you it’ll be something good like a 3-D printer.”

Armand’s weak, hiccuping laugh was the best sound Daniel had ever heard.

For once, it was Armand who fell asleep quickly while Daniel lay awake. He didn’t think he was going to be able to sleep for the next year.

He stared at the unfamiliar hotel ceiling, the spin of the fan hypnotic in the bedroom’s dim light.

Daniel had loved to play baseball, growing up. He was never all that athletic, but that didn’t really matter when it was just a gaggle of neighborhood kids whiling away the summer days, ignoring most of the rules and switching teams halfway through the game. Daniel’s favorite part had always been going up to bat. There was nothing like the feeling of swinging the bat as hard as he could and landing a hit: the burn in his arms, the jolt of contact, the satisfying THWACK!, the ball rocketing so far away that all the other kids groaned.

Something about a bat just felt good in the hands. Heavy, balanced, solid. Daniel liked the metal ones that made a tinny note upon contact.

Daniel would get Marius in the back of the head, first. One blow, hard as he could, to knock him down. Blood would stand out in such a satisfying way in that pale blond hair.

Once he was on the ground, Daniel didn’t intend to give him a moment to recover. He could practically feel it in his arms, as he lay motionless in the bed beside Armand’s sleeping form. The bunch and stretch of his arm muscles, his tight grip on the handle.

No elaborate buildup, this time. Just hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, feeling the spray of blood against his face and neck, a fine mist of droplets on his skin. Daniel closed his eyes and let the hatred wash over him in waves.

Pinning Marius’ wrist to the ground under his boot to keep it still, so he could bash his hand, make a mess of all the delicate finger bones. One hand, then the other. I tried to cover myself with my hands, but he moved them away. Daniel would take his time with Marius’ hands. He wouldn’t stop until they were pulp. Then he would smear that pulp under his shoe, grind it into the cement with his heel. Return the filth to where filth belonged.

Once he was sure Marius wasn’t going anywhere, maybe then he could add some variety. Nothing too cerebral. Not possible, while Daniel was an animal of white-hot rage. But he would enjoy ripping Marius’ throat with his teeth. Maybe roll him over and bite away hunks of his back, spit them on the ground—just enough flesh to be able to see Marius’s spine as he picked up the bat again and pounded it into a fine-ground meal.

The same day he bought Armand. As soon as he got him to his house. Palazzo. Whatever the fuck it was. Marius had not even given him an hour to adjust, to eat a good meal, to understand where he was. Hardly waited to shut the door behind him before he was raping a child.

Swinging the bat down to break his face in. Get him in the teeth, first. Hitting him again and again and again until his head was a wet, red, concave mess.

Daniel’s hands curled to fists at his sides. It wasn’t enough. He exhaled a short sigh, rewinding, restarting the fantasy from the beginning. Back of the head, not as hard this time. Let him be conscious. Tie his hands to a long rope, loop it around something high and haul him up to dangle like a piñata. Maybe Louis could help with that.

He would make sure Marius was looking, as he lined the baseball bat up with his dick, carefully taking aim, winding back for the swing. Daniel ground his teeth imagining it. Swing, thwack. The singing reverberation of the bat’s metal and the wonderful sick wet thud. God, he couldn’t wait to hear that man scream. Daniel hoped he sobbed. He hoped he begged. He would laugh his head off.

Daniel replayed it over and over in his head, starting fresh every few minutes to add some variation on the theme. In this version, Louis had Marius in a headlock and Daniel hit him in the stomach until he puked. In another version, Armand was watching—arms folded, orange eyes glowing out from the shadows—as Daniel beat him into nothing more than a smear.

Eventually the repetitions lulled him to sleep.

—Hey, Louis. Louuiiisssss. Are you there, man?

—Good morning, Daniel.

Louis’ voice always got a little more New Orleans and a little more polite when he was annoyed. Daniel had probably woken him up. Tough shit.

—When’re you available to come to New York? I want to show you what we’re doing with the new place. And you and I have got some… long overdue brainstorming to do.

—Oh, I see.

Louis clearly caught the reference to his own words, understood what Daniel meant by ‘brainstorming’. If he connected this sudden invitation with their conversation about Armand the day before, Louis was kind enough not to mention it.

—I can be tomorrow.

—Perfect. I’ll get a guest coffin all set up for you.

Chapter Text

Most of the time Daniel’s bond with Armand was a blessing. It felt like cheating; he’d struggled with empathy as a husband and as a father. Hell, in hindsight he’d struggled with it as a son. Daniel was great at reading people if it was for an interview and terrible at remembering he ought to consider his loved ones’ feelings when conflict emerged. He got too wrapped up in being right and proving it, too focused on finding the objective truth. It made him a nightmare to live with and he knew it.

That was not possible with Armand. It wasn’t that Daniel had grown into a better person; he simply could not be oblivious to Armand’s insecurity or annoyance when they were beamed directly into his central nervous system in 4K and surround sound. He might not always know how to respond to whatever Armand was feeling, but at least he was aware of it.

Daniel honestly didn’t know how Louis had managed to maintain a relationship with Armand all those years without that direct access. Daniel had lost count of the amount of times he had hurt Armand, only for Armand to turn around and try to deny it. Sometimes the lie was intentional, but mostly, Daniel was pretty sure Armand didn’t even realize what he was doing. He’d grown accustomed to ignoring his own pain that at some point he stopped being able to identify it.

(How did that quote go again? ‘A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort’? Daniel had met Gillian Flynn once at a fancy cocktail party thrown by one of his publishers; he wondered what she’d make of Armand if they ever met. Probably be her new muse.)

The only disadvantage to their connection was that, under certain circumstances, it could create an emotional feedback loop. Not a bad thing at all, if Armand was feeling smitten or enthusiastic or horny. But it was a serious problem when Armand was angry at Daniel and Daniel was trying very hard not to be angry at Armand.

“When were you going to tell me that he was coming?” Armand hissed icily.

“It’s not like we planned it! It was a spontaneous thing. We were talking, I mentioned wanting to show him what we’re doing with the new place, he said he could come by tomorrow.”

Not strictly the truth, but as close as Daniel could get without bringing up his plot to kill Marius, and the last thing the argument needed was more fuel on the fire.

Armand’s jaw was tight; he and Daniel were carrying a large crate between them, Louis’ guest coffin concealed inside. They’d gotten it from storage and were bringing it up the back way through the hotel, Armand snappishly hypnotizing any humans who caught sight of them. The freight elevator was taking forever.

“You could have woken me up and checked with me.”

Daniel felt the ribbon of hurt laced through Armand’s anger. What sucked was that Daniel knew he was right. He’d seen firsthand how much sudden changes of plan threw him off. Consistency and routine were essential to Armand; inviting someone to stay with less than 24 hours’ notice was already inconsiderate, and that wasn’t even factoring in the guest being Louis.

He knew it was shitty and he felt guilty about it. But the guilt made him defensive, as it so often did, and the steady stream of Armand’s irritation flowing into him wasn’t helping.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed permission before seeing my only friend, maît—”

“Do. Not. Call me that.”

Armand’s voice had gone low and dangerous. Daniel’s stomach clenched in alarm and more than a little arousal. Why was he like this?

The elevator doors slid open and they shuffled inside, both seething. They slipped into a tense silence that remained unbroken all that way to the hotel room. Neither of them spoke or looked at one another while opening the crate, removing the coffin, and getting it settled in the hotel suite’s second bedroom. Wordlessly they separated to tackle different tasks: Daniel hauled off the empty crate to tuck in a corner until they needed it again; Armand fashioned makeshift window coverings of thick poster-board—cut to exact size with a slice of his fingernail—to prevent any traces of sunlight from even reaching the hotel’s fancy but not all that effective curtains.

Effortless teamwork, even as they fumed.

Armand was the first to give ground. Once the windows were done, he drifted out to join Daniel in the little kitchen. Daniel was brewing a pot of the complementary hotel coffee, just to enjoy the smell of it. Armand slipped his arms around Daniel’s waist, linking his hands on the other side and pressing his face into Daniel’s hair. Daniel felt him exhaling slowly. He had no idea what could be going on in Armand’s head, but the anger diminished, bit by bit, until it was mere embers.

“Next time,” Armand’s voice was stiff and formal but no longer as cold, “Please warn me.”

“Yeah. Yeah—okay. I will.” It felt like pulling teeth, but Daniel made himself say it. “Sorry.”

“Armand still loves him. You know that, right?” Louis said.

Daniel had printed out Marius’ self-portrait from the Talamasca files and pinned it to a giant corkboard that the renovators were due to install in his office sometime in the next few days. It was currently propped against a recliner in the living room, which was a mess of plastic sheeting and caulk and smelled strongly of the paint drying on the walls. Earlier, Daniel had stolen a set of darts from a local bar and was taking great pleasure in hurling them at the smug bastard’s face.

“Yeah, kinda hard to miss that. Don’t worry about Armand. I’ve got him covered. I need your help with the rest of it.”

Louis raised his eyebrows skeptically, but when Daniel didn’t take the bait, he gave a shrug.

“If you say so Daniel.”

The two of them were sitting on the floor with their backs against the sofa; all the windows were open to air out the paint fumes and the quiet sounds of the city at night filtered in, a steady background thrum. The guy Daniel drained while stealing the darts had been drunk, so now Daniel was buzzed. Probably why he was sitting with his shoulder pressed up against Louis’, a knee resting on his outstretched thigh.

The contact was nice. Daniel loved this kind of touch, friendly and casual, but he’d always been terrible at initiating it himself. Probably all the internalized homophobia, toxic masculinity, blah blah blah.

Daniel threw another dart. It hit Marius in the eye and Louis chuckled appreciatively.

“So. What’ve you got so far?”

Daniel told him. Louis listened without interruption, nodding now and then. (Daniel wasn’t going to read his thoughts about it, but he was pretty sure Louis enjoyed sitting like this, too.)

When he’d finished, Louis digested it for a few moments.

“It sounds like you have some viable ideas on how to do it. The big things still to figure out are…” Louis began ticking them off on his fingers, “Convincing Armand—I know, I know, you’ve got that covered—getting consent from Maharet, deciding how to lure him in without causing suspicion, and settling on a method.”

“So, basically, all of it,” Daniel joked, his next dart going wide and missing the printout entirely.

“Basically all of it,” Louis echoed in confirmation. His voice had gone thoughtful and distant; Daniel sat up a little straighter. It sounded as if Louis was mulling over an idea.

Daniel’s guess was right.

“You should talk to Khayman, too,” Louis said.

“Who?”

“Khayman. You met him in Sonoma. The Egyptian guy? He was talking to Armand for a while before you got there. I was distracted at the time, as I’m sure you remember, but I got the impression Khayman really liked him. Not like that—” Louis held up a quelling hand before Daniel could start, “—for once, before you go getting jealous, not like that. He offered to help Armand find you.”

“Huh? Find me?”

Louis turned to face Daniel and gave him a look. Once he’d evidently decided Daniel was not feigning ignorance, he went on. “Akasha was killing everyone. None of us knew yet why she’d kidnapped Lestat, or if he was the only one, and you were late to the conclave. Armand was freaking out.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

Louis laughed softly, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. He leaned more of his weight against Daniel’s shoulder.

“You two are unbelievable,” Louis said fondly.

“Okay, mister, I think guys in glass houses really shouldn’t start throwing stones about other people’s relationships…”

Louis raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smile didn’t fade from the corners of his mouth.

“So, right, this guy offered to help Armand before. Sure. But what makes you think we need to involve somebody else? More people, more potential for failure,” Daniel said. He already resented that he was going to have to ask for authorization before killing Marius. Why assemble a goddamn committee?

“I’m not so sure about that logic. Collaboration is an important tool. I–”

Louis broke off, rubbing the backs of his fingers against his neck, an unconscious self-soothing gesture Daniel recognized from their interview. He kept his mouth shut for once.

“Wish I’d had backup when I took down the Paris coven. Wasn’t anybody I trusted.”

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Daniel offered Louis a dart; he took it and threw it, piercing Marius’ upper lip with a satisfying thunk!

“So,” Daniel said, gently nudging the conversation back to their plan, “You think Khayman will help because he likes Armand, and that an extra set of hands will be good?”

“He’s more than an extra set of hands, Daniel. You really weren’t paying attention at all during that meeting, were you?”

“Mostly I was imagining setting Marius on fire, so…no.”

“Khayman is the third.”

“Third what?”

“The third vampire, Daniel. Ever.”

Daniel couldn’t help but be charmed any time Louis was distracted enough or sarcastic enough that his carefully bland non-accent slipped and a little New Orleans showed through. Lately, Daniel had noticed traces of it creeping back into Louis’ voice more and more often. He didn’t point it out, didn’t want to make Louis self-conscious, but it made something in his chest go warm and soft with fondness.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered that you think I could take on Marius, but in a vampiric scale of time, I’m barely older than you are. He could easily rip me to pieces. Khayman is… what? 6,000 years old? Made directly by Akasha? He’s a much more suitable reinforcement.”

“Hmm. I guess.”

Thunk. Another dart, this one in Marius’ throat.

“Come to think of it, if we play our cards right, this could really work. Once we tell Khayman about the abuse and convince him Armand deserves justice, he can talk to Maharet for us.”

“What, are they friends?”

“Daniel,” Louis groaned and covered his face with his hands, but Daniel saw the smile underneath. On an unrelated note, making Louis smile had officially entered his top ten favorite things to do in the entire world.

“Lemme guess, something else I missed at the big bad Akasha summit?”

“I can’t believe you. World famous journalist shows up to the single most important gathering in modern vampire history and doesn’t listen to a single word anyone says. Lestat had been taken and even I was paying attention!”

“Yeah yeah, alright, nothing to do about it now. So, you think he can convince her for us?”

“He’s got a much better shot at it than we do,” Louis said, lowering his hands from his face. And if one of those hands settled back on the ground close enough that Louis’ wrist was bumping up against Daniel’s leg, well, he acted like it was an accident. Trainwrecks, the both of them.

“Plus, I bet you a hundred bucks, right now, that back in Sonoma, Marius said something so unbelievably racist to Khayman that even a guy from ancient Egypt would get offended. He might already want the motherfucker dead for all I know.”

“Are you kidding? No way am I taking that bet. You’re rich enough already.”

Louis plucked another dart from Daniel’s fist, sending it right into the bridge of Marius’ nose.

“Okay. So that’s settled. Contact Khayman, get him on board, delegate persuading Maharet to him. What about the bait? I mean–” Daniel hesitated. Throughout their planning, he had mentioned Armand as infrequently as possible. Still, no avoiding it now, “–I know it would probably work, using Armand as bait, but–”

He didn’t even get a chance to finish the sentence.

“We’re not doing that,” Louis cut him off with finality.

Daniel exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Good. But I mean, what else works?”

“You make good bait, too,” Louis said, playfully.

Daniel scoffed, “I don’t think I’m his type.”

Louis shot him a darkly amused look.

“Much as I would like to tell you you’re everybody’s type, in this case I think you’re right. But I wasn’t talking about your boyish charms.”

Daniel laughed, jostling his shoulder against Louis’ and making him laugh, too.

“Okay, then how am I bait?”

“Marius,” Louis began, voice pained, “Loves talking about himself more than anyone I have ever met.”

“Even—”

“Yes, Daniel, even more than Lestat.”

“Damn.”

“Just call him and tell him you want to write his biography. Or that you’re working on a book about the Code of Justinian, or how awesome white Western civilization is, and say you want to interview him as a source. He will be at your door and talking your ear off before you can blink.”

“You think it’ll work? I mean, not just as a joke?” Daniel asked

With absolute certainty, Louis said, “It will work.”

Daniel threw the last dart, which landed in Marius’ hair. He got to his feet with an exaggerated old man groan to gather up the darts and start again.

“So, let’s talk methods.”

“Yes, let’s.”

When Louis and Daniel returned to the hotel suite, Armand was waiting for them. He acted like he wasn’t—carefully posed on the couch with his chin propped nonchalantly on his hand, staring at the television—but they both knew Armand’s poses too well by now to be fooled.

Louis said, “Well, I’m exhausted. Off to coffin. Armand?”

At first Armand would not look at him. Louis waited. After a few moments, Armand’s gaze flicked over. His eyes gave him away completely, irises the searing orange color that accompanied feelings of intense vulnerability. Louis couldn’t feel it, of course, but Armand’s insecurity and loneliness were so thick that Daniel ached from just the echo of them.

“Thank you for having me. I know it was short notice. I…” Louis trailed off, choosing his words carefully. History weighed heavily in the air between the three of them. “I’m glad you have him and he has you.”

Armand said nothing, moved not a muscle. Louis smiled tightly and nodded like he wasn’t the least bit surprised. He waved goodnight to Daniel and headed to the guest room.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Daniel made his way over to the couch, dropping onto it heavily and slumping his entire body against Armand. He was exhausted, too, from talking and thinking and planning all night long. The sun would be up in ten minutes and Daniel wasn’t sure he was even going to make it to their bed without Armand’s intervention.

“You’re heavy,” Armand grumped.

“You love it,” Daniel said, voice muffled by Armand’s chest, where he had buried his face.

“Nuisance.”

“Mhmmm, that’s me.”

“Pest.” Armand was stroking Daniel’s hair now, careful long fingers sliding through his thin gray curls.

“Can’t deny it.”

“Did he…like the apartment?” Armand pronounced each word carefully, as if he were handling a bomb.

“C’mon, baby. We were gone for 7 hours. You know I wasn’t showing him the apartment that whole time. Louis thinks it’s fine. He honestly doesn’t care. We just went there because it was somewhere to talk.”

Armand’s panic crackled through the bond like lightning; even though Daniel was braced for it, his heart rate skyrocketed in sympathy. At least it woke him up a little.

“Shhh, hey, don’t. Don’t worry, okay? We weren’t talking shit about you. He wasn’t convincing me to leave you. We weren’t talking about how much we wanted to tear each other’s clothes off. We weren’t—help me out here, what other nightmare scenarios has your brain been cooking up these last few hours, boss?”

Armand exhaled through his nostrils, a short huff, annoyed and fond and trying not to be the latter.

“Discussing my failings as a lover and a man. Comparing notes and laughing at my– my inadequacies.” Armand’s voice was airy, but every muscle in his body was tense with misery.

Daniel might not be able to read Armand’s thoughts, but the insight hit him anyway. Armand was talking about what happened in the bath. Referring to his panic and the tears that followed as an inadequacy. He was right about it being the inciting incident for Louis’ visit, of course, but as wrong as it was possible to be about the underlying motivations. Armand thought Daniel and Louis had been gossiping about him. How did Armand envision the tone of their conversation: Mocking? Pitying? Disgusted?

Words came so easily to Daniel when he wanted to hurt—at times it was all he could do to hold them back. But his vocabulary for giving comfort was barren. Daniel pulled away from Armand’s chest, cupping his lover’s face between his hands. He ran his thumbs against Armand’s cheekbones, bumping their noses together. Daniel kissed Armand, softly at first, but then fiercely when Armand opened his mouth and kissed back.

Daniel focused on the bond, visualizing it as a bright golden vibrating thread. He didn’t know if it would do anything, but he kept the connection in his mind and focused on his love for Armand. It was a wordless wash of overlapping emotions—attachment, fondness, admiration, comfort, pride, attraction, possessiveness, safety, fascination, need.

“Oh!” Armand gasped the sound into the kiss, his eyelids fluttering, his expression soft with surprise and wonder.

Huh. So maybe that did work.

Daniel kept it up, kissing Armand and sending wave after wave of love towards him across the bond. Armand’s tension bled away until he was loose-limbed and heavy against Daniel. Only then did he break the kiss and say:

“I promise, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow after Louis leaves. But we both need some sleep. Come to bed, okay?”

Armand went.

Louis left right after sunset the next night. In his pocket was a list of tasks they’d brainstormed the night before—tasks he could accomplish from New Orleans to further their plan.

Daniel walked Louis out, standing with him at the curb as they waited for the car that would chauffeur Louis to the airport.

“By the way, I’m not starting any of this—” Louis tapped the pocket with the list, “—until you talk with Armand and give me the go-ahead. Just in case you were thinking of procrastinating.”

Daniel, who was doing exactly that, scowled.

“He has to actually want it, Daniel,” Louis said, “or the whole thing falls apart.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Louis leveled a look at him, assessing but not unkind.

“I think that if anybody in the world can get him there, it’s you, Daniel Molloy.”

A sleek black car pulled up; Louis reached out and squeezed Daniel’s hand. Daniel wanted to hug him. He didn’t do it. Maybe it would be easier next time.

“You got too much faith in me, man.”

“No,” Louis’ voice was warm, “I don’t think I do.”

If he were smart, Daniel would’ve ducked into an alley for a quick feed before heading back up to the suite. Such a cliché, but he could never think clearly when he was hungry, even when that hunger had been only mortal-sized.

Instead, like an idiot, he went straight up. Armand was waiting for him, curled in a corner of the couch: clearly nervous, but working hard to be patient.

(Armand had been trying so hard since moving in with him; Daniel saw it every day. Armand wanted to be better for him, so the two of them could have this for eternity. Daniel loved him with his entire being.)

Daniel went for it.

“We were planning to kill Marius. That’s what we were talking about last night. I want to kill Marius, and Louis has agreed to help me.”

From there, it devolved rapidly into their first real fight as a couple. Not an argument or a disagreement—a fight. Daniel remembered hearing Armand and Louis shouting at one another through the walls of the penthouse in Dubai. He’d listened to the recording of their fight in San Francisco too many times to count. He’d been prepared for yelling.

What he hadn’t been braced for were the tears.

Armand brought up the Great Laws first. Not a big surprise there. Daniel had his counter ready, explaining the plan vis-à-vis Maharet. If she sanctioned it, it wouldn’t be breaking any vampire law (and the human ones were beneath even a mention).

Next, Armand insisted on the impossibility of it. Marius’ strength, his ancient years. Daniel joked (a mistake in hindsight) that that was why he and Louis had needed the whole night to plan.

After that, it got ugly.

Armand, pacing a tight circuit around the room by that point, called Daniel a hypocrite. If he was so fixated on punishing past wrongs, why stop at Marius? Why not Armand next? His long overdue comeuppance for his complicity with the trial, and Claudia and Madeleine’s deaths? Surely that was the worse crime?

It was a tactic Daniel hadn’t anticipated; he didn’t have a good response ready and stumbled over his words. Something about Armand’s atonement for the trial being between him and Louis alone. He told Armand he had no interest in weighing crimes against one another and used the opportunity to point out that Armand had implied Marius’ treatment of him was a crime, after all.

A cheap journalist trick, but it got them to the core issue that Daniel knew was fueling Armand’s entire response: his refusal to acknowledge his own abuse.

The justifications started just as Daniel had known they would. Armand insisted that Marius had saved him from Hell, that he would have died before long in that brothel; Daniel observed that it was possible to save trafficked children without making them your personal sex slave.

Armand shouted, at full volume by that point, that he had not been a child, he had been a man. Daniel had never seen him like this—face flushed, hair wild, stabbing the air with huge gestures as he yelled. Armand said that Daniel was fixated on Amadeo’s age when Marius bought him because of his stupid, neurotic, 21st-century anxieties about their own (incorrectly) perceived age gap whenever they were intimate in public. According to him, Daniel was superimposing his own discomfort where it didn’t belong and it was infuriating.

Daniel redirected, asking if the other boys at the palazzo, the ones younger than Armand, had been men, too. Armand’s fangs came out, then. He looked like he might start throwing things. Like maybe Daniel would be one of those things.

Armand shouted that Marius never touched any of the other boys. Only ever him. Armand got stuck there, repeating himself. Like Daniel wasn’t the only person he was trying to convince. It was only me. He loved me. He never touched any of them. I was special. He didn’t touch them. You think I wouldn’t have known? I slept in his bed. He wasn’t like that. I was special. We were in love. I was the only one he wanted. He only touched me. He wouldn’t have done that. You don’t understand. You’re wrong. It was only me.

That was when Armand had started to cry. Months the two of them had been together, and Daniel had never seen Armand cry. Now it was twice in one week.

Once he’d started, Armand didn’t seem able to stop. He stood, tears streaming down his cheeks, holding out a shaking accusatory finger at Daniel.

“You don’t get to take it.”

Daniel had held his own until that point, but all the fight went out of him with Armand’s first sob. His voice was more tired than provocative when he asked: “Take what?”

“My life. It’s mine. It’s mine. You don’t get to barge in and take it and rearrange it however you want. It doesn’t belong to you. I’m done letting other people decide who I am. You can’t cut me up and fit the pieces into the story you picked out in advance. You don’t get to tell me who I am and what happened to me. I was a man. He loved me. We were happy.”

Armand wiped the tears from his cheeks with the heels of his palms, shoulders shuddering. Daniel had never heard him sound more like a child than when his voice broke on the sentence I was a man.

He had planned to go further. To bring up the beatings and other punishments after Marius turned him. To dig into the ‘donations’ and make Armand see that prostituting him out was the opposite of an act of love. But Daniel could see they were getting nowhere; they both needed a ceasefire—a temporary one at least.

“Armand…”

Daniel approached slowly, half expecting Armand to send him flying across the room. He opened his arms and, when Armand didn’t pull away, folded him into a hug. Daniel held him as tightly as he could. Armand melted into him, chest heaving with the force of his sobs. By the time he wound down, the shoulder of Daniel’s shirt was soaked with blood and sticking to his skin.

They didn’t talk for a while. Daniel took Armand with him to the bathroom, running a washcloth under warm water and using it to clean Armand’s face. He pulled one of their emergency blood-bags from the hotel fridge and gave it to Armand, insisting that he drink. He got one for himself, too, and a change of shirt.

The discussion was not done. But the intermission gave Armand time to calm down and digest it all. It also gave Daniel time to pivot.

He had wanted to convince Armand as simply as he could, without any revelations that might cause him further harm. It didn’t seem like that was going to be possible. Armand’s frantic insistence that Marius had only had eyes for him didn’t line up with the other facts. Armand didn’t talk much about his past, but he mentioned small things on occasion. That was the danger of falling in love with a man like Daniel. He picked up every conversational crumb and kept them in an organized file in his mind until he had enough to reverse-engineer something substantial.

A passing comment that all the boys living at the palazzo fit a certain body type: Armand’s body type. Lithe, long-limbed, pretty. Artists liked being surrounded by beautiful things, Armand had said.

Then there was the day they’d gone ‘shopping’ after Daniel faked his death, replenishing his wardrobe, and Armand had had mentioned in an offhand way that Marius never let any of the boys wear boots because he liked the look of their ankles. They had to be bare for him.

Once, on a walk across the rooftops of skyscrapers, Armand carefully carrying Daniel from one building to another, he’d spoken about Marius reading the boys’ minds constantly. It wasn’t necessarily the fact of the surveillance, though that wasn’t great. It was the way Armand had said it, in such simple language, quoting a different language across the gap of centuries. Marius knew what was good and what was bad. There were good boys and bad boys. The boys had to be good, or they would be banished from the palazzo without warning and never spoken of again, except in careful whispers.

Daniel’s every instinct from a long career—not to mention a long life living in the world with few illusions about its cruelty—told him that Marius had abused at least a few of the other boys in his household. It wasn’t exactly a complicated conclusion to draw. Occam’s razor: why would Marius, a man who bought Armand as a boy and habitually raped him, go out of his way to acquire a household of vulnerable, beautiful young boys to be his apprentices, his slaves, his dependents? Hard to imagine it was an innocent coincidence.

Awful as it was, the fight had been useful—it showed Daniel that Armand was going to need more than words. He was going to need evidence.

Daniel knew how he was going to get it. But he couldn’t just spring it on Armand out of nowhere this time. He had to lay some groundwork. It might also be good to give Armand at least some choice somewhere in all this.

Armand liked being near the water when he was upset. So Daniel invited him for a walk by the harbor, not sure if Armand would agree, but Armand got up and followed him. Through their bond, Armand’s emotions were muted and soft as felt, not quite the hollowness Daniel had come to identify as dissociation, but adjacent to it.

When they’d been strolling for a while, listening to the dark water lapping at the sides of the boats, Daniel spoke.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. You’re right. You’re the only one who gets to decide who you are, and your…your story isn’t up to me.”

Armand tightened his arm in Daniel’s. But he wasn’t done; this wasn’t just an apology, but a second attempt.

“But…” Armand tensed as soon as Daniel began. “What I’ve been planning with Louis isn’t about the past. At least, not entirely. It’s about now. Me, and you, and our life together, and the future.”

Armand stayed silent. Daniel felt only the smallest ripple of apprehension, quickly muffled by the flat fuzzy affect.

“Marius isn’t just your past. He’s in our present and he isn’t going away. I know he’s sent you more letters since that first one.”

Armand’s voice was small, his answer coming too quickly out of guilt: “I don’t write him back. I haven’t. Not a word.”

Daniel had been lying; though he’d suspected Armand was receiving letters from Marius and hiding them, he hadn’t been sure. A risky gambit that paid off. He thought, but did not say (because he was being as gentle as it was possible for him to be) that of course Marius took silence as permission.

“Setting aside the past…you don’t want him to be in your life in the present, do you?”

Daniel thought please God if there is a God please do not say yes.

A few tense moments passed before Armand wordlessly shook his head.

“Then…I want us to have a deal. Write him back and tell him that. Make it clear that—whatever the past between you and whatever feelings there have been on either side—he isn’t a part of your life anymore and you don’t want any contact from him going forward.”

Armand looked like he was about to object, to list a dozen reasons why setting a single boundary was too much. Daniel’s heart sank. Was it really so much to ask?

“Daniel, I don’t know if I–”

All at once, Daniel’s patience vanished. He’d never had much, especially as an old man. His capacity for it was atrophied from disuse.

Before Armand could even finish the sentence, Daniel unlinked their arms and spun towards him. It only took one step forward, and Armand’s step away in response, to get Armand’s back pressed up against the brick wall lining the path. Armand inhaled a soft gasp but didn’t try to extricate himself.

“Marius is under the mistaken impression you’re still his,” Daniel didn’t say the words so much as growl them, with particular venom for the man’s name. “He hasn’t gotten the memo yet that you’re mine.”

Daniel’s fangs dropped as he was speaking. Armand’s eyes were wide in the dim glow of the harbor lights.

“He wants you back, but he had his chance. I have absolutely no intention of letting him take you, or of sharing any part of you.”

This wasn’t the plan at all. The plan was be so gentle. The plan was coax Armand into embracing his independence. The plan was say all the right words and make Armand feel so safe that he has no choice but to develop a healthier sense of selfhood. The plan certainly wasn’t assert exclusive ownership and back him into a wall.

He should really stop this. He should step back, calm down, be rational.

Daniel slotted his leg between Armand’s and relished the needy sound it pulled from him. He leaned in, his lips close enough to brush the shell of Armand’s ear.

“Is that what you want? You wanna be mine only?”

Armand gave a full body shudder. Gone was the muted felt sensation; the connection between them was singing with Armand’s desire—engulfing, obliterating desire. His answer was gratifyingly immediate.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes—”

“Then write him. You don’t have to tell him about this.” Daniel paused his persuasion for the very important business of licking a stripe up Armand’s neck, which he bared all too eagerly, whining in disappointment when Daniel did not bite. “But say you’ve already got a companion—” A dirty trick, that one. Daniel knew it made Armand go weak at the knees, “—and ask him to stop trying to steal you.”

“Yes, yes, I will, Daniel.” Armand’s voice hitched with eagerness. He gripped at the shoulders of Daniel’s leather jacket, it was obvious he was fighting a losing battle not to grind against Daniel’s thigh.

No qualms about boundary-setting, now. Wouldn’t even consider it for his own comfort, but couldn’t agree fast enough when the reason was Daniel’s possessiveness. Maybe it wasn’t ideal, but hey—Daniel knew he was a bad person. At least he was using his powers for good.

Daniel settled his hands on Armand’s hips, encouraging him to move, sliding his thumbs up under the hem of Armand’s shirt to brush against skin.

“Good. That’s good, baby.” Daniel didn’t clarify if the praise was for Armand’s words or for the way he’d started rocking his hips. Why not both? “And then, when he doesn’t listen, because he won’t, and he writes you, or calls you, or shows up out of nowhere…then you’ll let me make my case again for why I should kill him.”

Armand’s breathing was fast and shallow now, punctuated by tiny helpless whimpers every time he pressed forward against Daniel, chasing heat and friction. He looked so gorgeous like this, when he was properly desperate for it. In spite of all that, Armand had not lost the thread of the conversation; he nodded, lolling his head to the side, begging for a bite.

Daniel made him wait.

“Just one more chance to convince you. That’s all I’m asking for. If you hear me out and still say no, I’ll call Louis and tell him it’s off. Okay?”

“Yes, Daniel, please–”

Oh yeah, he was definitely going to hell if there was one. But Daniel had already known that. He sank his fangs into Armand’s neck, and after that neither of them were thinking about Marius at all.

It didn’t even take a month.

Daniel was with Lestat of all people when it happened. The two of them didn’t exactly hang out, but Lestat had gotten two tickets to see Miss Saigon on Broadway without bothering to check whether Louis was interested. Louis’ days of being dragged to theatre against his will were firmly in the past—his answer had apparently been an emphatic ‘hell no’. Lestat had offered the extra seat to Armand, who had said ‘absolutely not’.

So Lestat and Daniel went to Miss Saigon and both men were so engrossed in the show that they forgot they ought to be bullying each other.

Daniel got the first jolt right as the curtain dropped and the audience exploded into applause. One moment, he was happily clapping with the rest of the crowd, and the next, a shard of fear pierced his heart, icy and sharp. Daniel swayed from the force of it; Lestat reached out and steadied him, making some joke that Daniel did not hear.

He was all the way across the city and Armand was frightened. It wasn’t that unusual for Daniel to get flashes of fear from Armand, but most of the time that was all they were: flashes. Brief moments of alarm—jarring and upsetting, yes, but quick to dissipate.

This was not one of those times; Daniel felt the difference right away. The discomfort and unease were deepening steadily, shading towards panic. Something was happening to Armand.

“Lestat, ask Armand what’s wrong.”

Lestat opened his mouth and Daniel could just tell from the twinkle in his pale eyes that he was about to make some cute comment. Daniel didn’t give him the chance.

“Shut the fuck up, Lestat.” Daniel had said those words countless times before, but he’d never meant them like he did now. Lestat’s teeth clicked as he closed his mouth, the amusement in his expression giving way to curiosity.

“Something’s wrong with Armand, I can feel it.”

“That power of yours really is–”

“Be interested in me later, Lestat, he could be in danger.”

“Such worry. You underestimate your maker. He survived half a millennium without your babysitting.” But Lestat closed his eyes, a slight tilt to his head as he reached out telepathically. He was smiling at first—it dimmed and disappeared as the seconds stretched.

“He’s not answering,” Lestat admitted, opening his eyes again.

Fuck.

“How fast can you fly?”

They made it back to Daniel and Armand’s apartment in record time. Daniel’s hands shook as he dug around in his pocket for the key. If Armand wasn’t here, what was his next step? How would he find him? No bullshit vampire powers that would help, but Daniel had plenty of tricks from his mortal life. Call someone, get them to turn on the tracking in Armand’s phone? Why had he ever let him out of his sight?

But Armand was there, in the now-finished apartment. He stood motionless in the kitchen, one arm tucked across his chest. He was holding his phone pressed to his ear, eyes fixed on the ground.

Daniel was beside him in a blur; Armand didn’t look up at Daniel or at Lestat, who had closed the apartment door behind him and stayed there. Armand wasn’t remembering to blink or breathe. Daniel reached out and plucked the phone from Armand’s fingers, holding it to his own ear.

That voice. He had guessed, as soon as he saw Armand on the phone.

“But child, you’ve never known what’s best for you. I’ve left you on your own for too long, I can see that. The blame falls to me. I have been negligent in my responsibility to you as your maker, and look what’s happened? You–”

The sound of the phone shattering in his grip was deeply satisfying. He tossed the broken plastic husk in the sink and cupped Armand’s face in his hands. Armand neither raised his gaze, nor did he lean into the touch the way he usually did. He was a statue, mute and immobile. How much had Daniel missed? What else had that fucker said to make him like this?

—Okay, showtime’s over. Go away, Lestat.

Lestat exhaled a huff of annoyance, but he wasn’t (in spite of Daniel’s regular insistence) an idiot. He looked between Armand and the smashed phone in the sink, drawing conclusions that Daniel didn’t care about at the moment.

“Always a pleasure to see you, Daniel.” It almost sounded genuine. He turned to go.

“Thank you, Lestat,” Armand said, sounding very far away.

Lestat’s response was in French; Daniel did not understand the words, but they sounded warm.

Daniel knew there was nothing more to be gained from fantasies. He and Louis had already sketched out a good method, as close to safe and foolproof as it was possible to be. There were a few minor details to be filled in still, but the shape of it was decided. All that was left was the execution.

(If Armand agreed, of course)

He knew it was nothing but self-indulgence to imagine anything else. Still, self-indulgence had its place, didn’t it? If he wasn’t furthering the real plan, he wasn’t impeding it, either.

And if he was going to indulge, why not go all the way?

Daniel had never been to Venice. He’d seen pictures, watched movies, but never experienced the real thing. It must have been so different, back when Armand first laid eyes on the city.

It didn’t have to be accurate. Daniel conjured it in his mind; canals, church bells, people in unfamiliar clothes. But people had always been people, hadn’t they? The faces, the voices, the way they walked as they went about their day—none of it would be all that different. Daniel pictured himself in that city, leaning against a stone wall, hidden in a deep shadow cast by the moonlight. No streetlamps, back then. No electric light pouring from any windows. A dark that Daniel could hardly conceive of. He waited in it, like the predator he was.

There had been such joy in Armand’s voice, when he talked about dancing and fencing with Riccardo. Would it be too painful, if Daniel asked Armand to teach him fencing? Or would it light him up from the inside, in that way that always made Daniel fall in love with him all over again?

In this fantasy, he was already an expert. He had a sword dangling from a belt at his waist and a hand resting on the hilt, waiting for Marius’ boat to approach.

Armand was somewhere inside the building behind him. Not Armand. Not even Amadeo, yet. Arun, still. But Daniel couldn’t think about that child in whatever small black room where they had him chained, or the fantasy would fly apart. Stalking in there and killing them all—the owners, the customers—was a different fantasy entirely, for a different day.

He imagined Marius’ boat coming up to dock. Probably a servant to row it; Marius didn’t seem like one for even a smidge of physical labor. Daniel decided this man knew enough about Marius’ predilections that he would not interfere.

“Marius de Romanus.”

Drawing his sword. Leveling it so the point hovered near Marius’ throat. Staring him down and declaring:

“You don’t get to touch him. You don’t get to look at him. Not even once.”

It would be a duel, of course. Daniel played it out with motions and angles borrowed from adventure films. Getting in a small blow early on – not enough to begin to hurt an ancient vampire, but the dead blood on the tip of his sword would start to slow Marius down enough for Daniel to do the real damage. It probably didn’t work like that, but Daniel was aiming for Hamlet not accuracy.

He imagined Marius in tatters, panting for breath and swaying on his feet, cuts all over his face and limbs. Daniel had punctured him like a pincushion, and blood was darkening blotches onto his stupid red velvet.

In fact, fuck verisimilitude entirely. Daniel was doing human rules for this one.

(The real fantasy here was not the violence itself, after all, but the intervention. Getting there in time. Stopping any of it from happening in the first place.)

But even if it wasn’t the main draw, it would feel great to twist his fingers into Marius’ hair and yank him around by it. Haul him along while he stumbled and tried to regain his footing. Pull him to his feet so Daniel could look him right in those ice blue eyes as he slit his throat. Blood spilling from the gash, a waterfall of it, and Marius gasping like a fish.

“You think that this is a tragedy, but you’re wrong.”

Daniel would say it with all the cloying condescension he could muster as he let go of Marius’ hair, leaving him to stagger and flail.

“This is actually a happy ending. But…I’m not surprised you don’t see that. You’ve never known what’s best for you.”

And Daniel would run him through, twisting the blade as he went, making him really feel it—

“Daniel?”

Daniel snapped out of his reverie. Armand was tucked against his side, the two of them together on the sofa, an old familiar movie on the TV with the volume turned low.

“Hmm?”

“Just now, you felt…” Armand trailed off, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He was running his fingers along the surface of the blanket spread over them both, worrying the soft flannel.

“Are you mad at me because I didn’t want to see the musical and you had to go with Lestat?”

It would’ve been a hilarious question, if Armand had not sounded so small and so scared as he asked it.

Daniel kissed his temple.

“I’m allowed to feel things that aren’t about you, remember? You’re the one who decided to saddle yourself with a grouchy old man for all eternity. Don’t be shocked when you see spots on a leopard.”

Armand rolled his eyes, snuggling in closer to Daniel. He wasn’t convinced, though. Daniel could feel Armand’s uncertainty still. Daniel’s joke was funny because it was true; some part of Armand did always assume that Daniel’s negative feelings—his anger, his disappointment, his sadness, his boredom—were about him.

Daniel wasn’t sure if that was a thought pattern that could ever completely heal. On good days, Armand was aware of its absurdity and be charmed by Daniel’s callouts. On bad days—days when Marius dialed a number on a phone and reminded Armand once again that he wasn’t allowed to say no—he was defenseless against it.

“I’m not mad at you. Not at all.”

Enough with self-indulgence. Daniel wanted this done.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, the logistics of Daniel’s trap were considerably quicker and easier than he’d expected.

1. An invitation. Daniel wrote to Marius—his words supplemented with embellishments and flattery courtesy of Armand—inquiring if he would be interested in providing ‘expert historical testimony’ for a book Daniel was supposedly writing about 16th century Venice. Marius’ acceptance was prompt and florid.

(This meant he wouldn’t be able to use the same ploy when it came time to bait Marius for the actual murder, but it was worth it. Armand needed proof. Daniel was going to give it to him.)

2. A location. Daniel chose this with care, considering exactly what he needed; he settled on a meeting room in NYU’s Bobst Library. There was some risk of being recognized—he used to go there when he was midway through writing a book and needed to focus. But that was a possibility anywhere, and as a location it offered many benefits. It was open 24 hours for one, so showing up at night wouldn’t be an issue, and reserving a small meeting room for a few hours was a straightforward process even without a university ID.

The rooms in question were comfortable and private—but not too private. One full wall was made of glass, every angle of the small space inside visible to the broader library. Probably an architectural decision meant to discourage student hookups, but it would also deter any retaliatory violence. Too many potential witnesses to be worth it. At least Daniel really hoped so.

3. A livestream. They’d debated it back and forth and settled on a live feed. Daniel had been in favor of recording the whole thing and bringing it back to Armand so they could listen together. He wanted to be there at Armand’s side, to comfort him when he heard whatever it was Marius was going to say. But Armand had been adamant. He wanted to be able to communicate with Daniel during the interview itself. He could suggest questions via text to Daniel, and Daniel would ask those in addition to the ones he had prepared himself.

(Privately, Daniel was fairly certain Armand wanted this in part as protection against any censorship; Daniel would have no chance to edit the interview before he heard it. Maybe that ought to hurt, but he knew it was less about Armand’s opinion of him than about what Armand himself would be tempted to do were their roles reversed. Armand was a habitual, if not pathological, editor and censor, so he expected the same from everyone else.)

The technical aspects of the livestream were simple enough, the meeting rooms being set up with zoom conferences in mind. Daniel would simply configure the room’s computer to transmit sound and video to another meeting room on the same floor—reserved just as easily as the first—where Armand would be listening. (Not too far away, when it was time for the fallout.) Then, Daniel would simply turn off the monitor in his room and pray that Marius did not notice the little red light indicating the camera and microphone were transmitting.

4. An agenda. Daniel knew the most important question already. But he couldn’t start there. While he had this opportunity, he wanted to lay bare as much of Marius’ hypocrisy and cruelty as possible. This was one reason why he really would be recording directly to a backed-up file, even though Armand would listen in real time. Daniel would have the evidence saved and available if he needed it later to convince Khayman or Maharet to do what was right, or if any Marius defenders crawled out of the woodwork after the fact.

He and Louis collaborated on this part via text, working from their pooled knowledge of tidbits Armand had let slip over the years. Daniel felt Armand’s eyes on him frequently as he worked. Their initial list of potential topics was huge; Daniel gradually whittled it down to a manageable number of questions.

There was only so much preparation he could do. Either it would work or it wouldn’t. No point in hesitation.

He sent a second letter to Marius, letting him know where to be and when.

Daniel wanted to stay on Marius’ good side as long as possible. He had to repair the impression he made back in Sonoma, snatching Armand away from him and later accidentally setting him on fire.

(Un)luckily for their scheme, he knew an expert on Marius’ tastes and biases. Daniel let Armand pick his outfit and style him before he left—a burgundy long-sleeved shirt, diamond-patterned tie, dark gray slacks, and an honest-to-god tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. Walking into the library, he felt like he was cosplaying the most unbearable version of himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn a tie.

Daniel came alone; as soon as Marius walked into the meeting room, he sent a text to let Armand know the coast was clear. Armand, according to their plan, came the long way around so he could get to his room without being spotted. Daniel waited until he received a text confirming Armand was all settled, with the audio and video working, before he moved past pleasantries.

“So—do you prefer Marius or Mr. de Romanus?”

“Marius will do, thank you.”

“Got it. So, Marius, let’s start broad: tell me a little bit how you first came to Venice and also what it was like around the turn of the 16th century?”

It turned out Marius didn’t do ‘a little bit’. Not remotely. Daniel kept up the pretense of active attention and note-taking while the man droned on for a truly unfathomable amount of time. Daniel had prepared a dozen soft lead-in questions: standard for an interview. Most people needed a bit of warming up before they felt comfortable talking for long periods of time.

Not Marius.

Casually, Daniel scrolled past his other preliminary questions. They would be here all night otherwise. At the next possible pause, he interrupted:

“Fascinating. You know, I hope you don’t mind, but I wondered if I could ask a few…more personal questions. Not for the book! I’m just—I’m just so curious to know more about you. After all, you are my maker’s maker.” A pause, then he added with as much sincerity as he could muster, “Sir.”

Gag. Daniel told himself it was worth it. He worried he’d been laying it on too thick, but such a thing didn’t seem to exist, for Marius. He was smiling indulgently like a father parent pestered by a curious toddler. Eating up the obsequious act. Those piercing blue eyes of his were actively disconcerting in a way Daniel had not entirely planned for.

“Of course, of course. I am only too happy to act as a resource for the younger generation of vampires. I must say, I am surprised. Most fledglings from your era are sadly lacking in deference to their elders. Then again, perhaps your pedigree is responsible. You come from the very best blood.”

Not a goddamn hint of irony in it.

“Thank you, sir.”

It was a crucial moment in the plan. Daniel wasn’t going to use his compulsion until the last moment, the last question. He couldn’t ask anything overtly hostile. He had to make Marius believe that he was a kindred spirit, someone to whom he could open up and give honest answers, even if those answers weren’t anything he would breathe a word of in different company.

Daniel had been in this situation so many times before. He knew how to lull war criminals and zealots and politicians into seeing him as an ally. Get under their armor, make them trust that you felt the same way they did. Soon enough they would start confiding all those nasty little things they thought but usually didn’t say aloud.

Pretending he was still just organizing his notes, Daniel typed a quick text to Armand on his laptop:

‘Don’t mean it. Baiting.’

Then, aloud: “I hope it’s okay to ask...see, you and I, we’re alike. Both of us rational men. Just listening to you, I have a feeling we look at the world in similar ways. We understand the nature of things. But my maker, you know…”

Daniel felt a spike of panic through the bond. It started to seep into his own feelings and he couldn’t let it, not with so much at stake. Hating himself, Daniel threw up a hasty block between them. It was a flimsy thing—he’d never tried, before. But he felt it solidify and strengthen and knew Armand, sensing what he was doing, had fortified it from his end.

Understanding and helping him. God, Daniel loved that man to pieces.

“…He’s so, well, emotional sometimes. So superstitious and illogical. How did you deal with that, back in Venice?”

Marius took the bait. He sighed, the very picture of noble long-suffering benevolence. Daniel wanted to wrap his hands around his neck and strangle him so badly he could almost taste it. No, not right now. He couldn’t let himself feel any anger. For Armand, he had to keep it in check.

“You are right, of course. The sad truth is, my experiment with Amadeo was always doomed to be a failure. I was a foolish optimist at the time.”

Little woe-is-me smile. Daniel smiled back, all sympathy and attention, guts twisting with hate. Marius shifted his weight, leaning in. Conspiratorial. Daniel mirrored the movement, thinking: got you, fucker.

“My Amadeo was broken when I found him. Without language, without memory, on the very cusp of death. I had wanted it for a considerable time, you see. To find for myself a youth, one that I could shape into my perfect immortal companion. But I was loath to snatch any promising creature from its intended future. When I discovered Amadeo in that filthy brothel, I knew that to claim him would not be taking anything from the world. He was already forfeit. Unwanted and sold by his family, a burden to the brothel-keepers thanks to his wildness and resistance. No one to miss him. He could be mine without any loss.”

“I understand completely.” Daniel had to fight with every ounce of his willpower not to send a text asking if Armand was alright. He couldn’t let himself imagine what Armand was going through right now. He had to keep coaxing Marius, flattering and encouraging.

“I believed I could tenderly shape him into something other than what he was. I gave him everything. A new name, a new life. I ensured that he was surrounded by only the very finest of culture. He received every luxury and the very best education available, both as a mortal boy and once he was my fledgling. I hoped that my love and at times my…gentle discipline would be enough to perfect him.”

The worst thing was the bastard actually seemed to believe it.

“But…?”

“But his very nature resisted my molding at every turn. I had hoped, once I gave him the Dark Gift, my blood would be enough to counteract it. But you know…”

For the first time since they began speaking, Marius glanced out of the room, through the glass wall to the handful of students milling around the library. Young people, in pajamas for the most part, staring glassy-eyed at their laptops as they labored over homework.

“I know it’s frowned upon to speak of openly in this era, but the land of Amadeo’s origin is a savage place. I do not understand the 21st century’s willful blindness to this. Pretending there is no such thing as a national character, that all places and peoples are identical to one another. It is foolishness. A delusion as deep as the religious fervor of earlier centuries–”

Daniel couldn’t afford to let Marius wind up for another rant about world history. He cut in: “Right. And it didn’t matter how many books he read or what you taught him. His nature was still there.”

“Regretfully, yes,” Marius sighed, again with his patented air of noble tragedy. “I fell victim to the same error as many men before me. I forgot all my own knowledge of the nature of things and allowed myself to be bewitched by his dark beauty. I loved him too much, desired him too much, to let myself see there was no hope of altering his primitive soul. He resisted my teachings with open petulance and disrespect. I should have seen the futility of my project much sooner. He was always playing impish games to seduce me, tempting me into transgression after transgression.”

He couldn’t do this. He was actually going to throw up. Daniel swallowed bile and forced a tight, “Mhm.” It was unconvincing, but Marius was too lost in his monologue to notice.

“In truth, I don’t know how things would have gone, if we had not been separated. No matter how much love I showed him, no matter how careful and tender my instruction, he fell short of my expectations. Every day, the sweet companion I had dreamed of creating when I first laid eyes on him seemed further away. As a fledgling, he grew gluttonous, stubborn, ungrateful. I grew more certain with each act of defiance that my project was a failure. I mourned the ideal, the dream—and my forbearance for the reality of him began to run dry by the time Santino and his men burned down the palazzo.”

A flick of movement on the laptop screen—a text from Armand, prompting Daniel. ‘Is that why he never came looking for me? He didn’t want me anymore?’

Daniel only had so much self-restraint. He interrupted Marius with a quick, “I’m so sorry, just got a message from my editor. Gimme one moment to respond or she’ll keep nagging me, you know how it is.”

The little grace note of casual misogyny did wonders. Marius smirked and gestured indulgently with one hand for Daniel to proceed.

To Armand, he typed in a flurry: ‘If anyone ever took you I would never stop looking. Never. I’d tear the world apart. If they locked me up I would teach myself how to astral project. If they killed me I would come back as a fucking ghost. I wouldn’t ever stop.’

He hit enter decisively and looked up at Marius once more, forcing an apologetic smile.

“Right. Sorry again ‘bout that. Where were we? Oh, yeah, the Children of Darkness. So, can I ask…is that why you didn’t ever look for him, all those years he was in Paris? You were disillusioned with him?”

For a moment, Daniel worried it was a misstep. Marius just stared at him with those disconcerting blue eyes, Against his will, Daniel felt it, then: Marius’ age. The immensity of his power. How easy it would be for him to turn Daniel into a smear of gore. Why had he thought a glass wall protection enough? If Armand could freeze time, surely Marius could as well. Why hadn’t he fucking thought of that?

“I did find him in Paris. I approached without allowing him to see me, so relieved that my Amadeo had escaped the fire. But I found him horribly changed. He had succumbed to Santino and become a convert. After everything I had tried to teach him! All my careful instruction, years spent trying to civilize his superstitious mind, ruined. What a waste of time. The moment I was not there to guide him, Amadeo degenerated into fanaticism. He was nothing but a brainless zealot once more, parroting whatever puerile doctrine was thrust before him.”

Marius’ voice was all anger and disgust. Daniel saw Armand begin typing and stop. He bit the inside of his lip. Time to pull the trigger, he thought. Delay any longer and he might end up doing more harm to Armand than good.

“I was so hurt by his betrayal…the ingratitude! I did not have the strength to imagine he could be restored from this descent. I fled without attempting it and wept.”

“I don’t blame you,” Daniel affirmed distractedly. He sat back in his chair, heart hammering. The moment had come. Nothing left but to execute the plan and hope for the best. Whatever the fuck that looked like.

(He wasn’t absolutely sure. Daniel and Louis had agonized over this in their preparation. There were other ways to word the question, versions that had a higher likelihood of general success, but that might not convince Armand as thoroughly. Daniel had opted for the riskiest possible version. It was a gamble. But he’d never been one for the safe route. And if this was Armand’s only chance, he deserved the absolute truth. Whatever it might be.)

“I actually have just one more question, Marius, before I let you go.”

In the message window to Armand, Daniel sent: ‘Sorry.’

“Yes?” Marius prompted.

Daniel had been practicing relentlessly, ever since this part of the plan crystallized in his mind. He’d forced hundreds of mortals to spill their deepest secrets, stringing questions together, seeing how many he could stack before his strength failed. He was ready. He had to be ready.

“I was wondering…Armand told me about this guy he knew growing up: Riccardo. You remember him? I know it was a long time ago.”

“Yes, of course I remember Riccardo. He served me for many years.” Marius sounded bemused, like he didn’t know where Daniel was headed with this. Boy, was he right.

The time for pretense was over. In all his experimenting, Daniel had never succeeded at compelling the truth from someone without them being aware of it. No matter what wording he used, Marius was going to know Daniel was forcing him to speak. No more acting nonchalant and complicit. Decisively, Daniel brought down the barrier in the bond. Whatever Armand felt, Daniel deserved to feel it too.

“Yeah yeah, sure. I just wanted to know. Did you ever rape him?”

He saw the compulsion hit, Marius’ body going tense, his eyes wide as the words rushed from his mouth.

“Oh, dozens of times. He wasn’t as beautiful as Amadeo, of course, but he had his charms, particularly when he first came to my household. A broader frame than I usually like, and a darker complexion, but so docile in those early years. A little lamb at my feet. His father lost him in a card game to a merchant that worked him ruthlessly. I bought him for a necklace. He was so grateful to me, so beautifully meek, so willing. I never had to coax him or use force.

“It was only when he was older that that became necessary. He fell in love with Amadeo, you see. Besotted from the moment he laid eyes on him. At first, I enjoyed the tender picture they made. I had lost interest in Riccardo for the most part by that time, and he was usefully attentive to Amadeo during the months he was still half-human and untamed. His sniveling collapses were, at times, tedious to me, so I would simply dispatch Riccardo to deal with them.

“In time, though, I saw it had progressed beyond puppy love. Riccardo was devoted to him, heart and soul. He saved none of it for me any longer. I indulged this for a while—he still obeyed me as his master. And it was an amusement, his tortured, vain pining. Amadeo was utterly oblivious to it; his heart was full of me and me alone.

“I’m afraid I allowed myself to become rather boastful. I would leave such bruises on Amadeo for Riccardo to find the next morning and silently weep over. I ordered him, from time to time, to sit outside our bedroom and play his lute—how exquisite his singing voice was—while I fucked Amadeo. I listened to his heartbreak at the sound of every moan, and I made sure there were many.

“I diverted myself with such games, until one day I happened upon Riccardo when he did not expect me. I had returned a few days early from my duties to Those Who Must Be Kept. I discovered then what he had been up to. He had been hiding his thoughts whenever I was near: he was secretly planning an escape. He wanted to steal my Amadeo and run away together! For what? A small, simple dull little mortal life. A cottage in the countryside, just the two of them. An ignorant, insignificant existence together; pastoral bliss, until the end of their days.”

“I have never tolerated deceit in those who serve me. It was clear that my leniency had spoiled Riccardo. The error was mine and needed to be corrected. I raped him, right where I found him. That day, and the one after, and the one after. He hid this from Amadeo and the other boys, of course. Always there with salve for their skinned knees, but too proud to let anyone see him weak.

“He fought me, the first few times. He could not hope to harm me of course, but I found the struggling irksome. I promised that I would replicate his every blow threefold on Amadeo. He became much better behaved after that. I heard the resistance in his thoughts still, but in body he became pliant once more.

“I was, perhaps, more vindictive than necessary. I did not need to take him by force quite so many times as I did. But my ignorance of his planning had frightened me and disturbed the assurance of mastery over my own home. And it gave me a vicious kind of pleasure, to kiss my sweet unsuspecting Amadeo with Riccardo’s tears still on my tongue.”

With that, the compulsion ended.

Daniel had had a few exit strategies in mind. At one point he’d thought he might be able to bluff his way out: pull the ‘clumsy fledgling’ card a second time, as he had with the fire back at Maharet’s, claim he had little control over his power to compel.

But that play wouldn’t work with the phrasing he’d chosen. Besides, Daniel had been overestimating himself thinking he would be able to converse with Marius at all after hearing the truth.

Time for Plan B. Daniel blurted, “Tell me the story of how you became a vampire.”

Daniel had learned that people being forced to speak the truth against their will could not move very much. He’d never seen anyone take more than a few steps, let alone run. Marius tensed once again, started talking about the Roman empire, and that was all the confirmation Daniel needed. He scooped up his laptop and walked very quickly from the room without a backwards glance. He wanted to sprint, badly, but he was trying not to attract attention from the students picking at their essays and lab reports.

Daniel made his way to the meeting room he had reserved. He found Armand sitting at the table, phone held loosely in his hand, staring into space. Daniel heard Marius’ voice coming through the sound system, saw his face on the monitor speaking to Daniel’s vacant chair, telling his big origin story to an empty room. Daniel coaxed Armand to his feet. He moved when prompted, but the shutters were closed behind his eyes. Daniel fought the panic down. He could allow himself to worry about Armand when they were safe in their home.

He led Armand out to the library exit; the long way around again. It was safer for Armand if Marius didn’t know he’d been involved at all. His ire would be reserved for Daniel and Daniel alone.

Only when he had bundled Armand into a cab and told the driver their address did Daniel breathe again. How could he spin this? An attempt at blackmail, perhaps? Daniel could sell that. Drop some of the former junkie lore, make it look like he needed money. For all his unfathomable violence and cruelty, Marius did not seem to murder other vampires much. He hadn’t even taken a swing at Santino back during Maharet’s meetup, and Santino set him on fire once.

Plus, Daniel had used a P.O. Box for his letters to Marius. Louis and Lestat were the only vampires who knew where they lived. Marius wouldn’t know where to find them, would he?

Daniel reached out for Louis telepathically as the cab made its way through traffic, gliding across the city.

—It’s done.

—Did you get what you needed?

Daniel glanced over at Armand staring, vacant and wide-eyed, directly ahead. The bond between them buzzed with hollow static. Wherever Armand was at the moment, it wasn’t here.

—I’m pretty damn sure.

—What did he –

—Louis, I can’t talk about it.

It wasn’t fair, that telepathic speech mirrored all the idiosyncrasies of actual spoken language. Daniel would’ve preferred if his mental voice hadn’t cracked like that. Embarrassing as it was, it convinced Louis to back down.

—Of course, Daniel. I’m here if you need me. Okay? Let me know when you get the green light and I’ll book tickets and get in contact with Khayman.

—Thanks, Louis.

—Anytime, Daniel.

It had been nearly five hours since they returned from the library. Armand had not spoken or moved in that entire time. Daniel had settled him on the couch as soon as they came inside, with their favorite blanket draped over his knees and his iPad resting on the table within easy reach. Armand had not even glanced at it. He merely sat there, frozen, a statue.

In that time, Daniel had paced, stress-cleaned and stress-organized his office desk, googled ‘help a loved one with dissociation?’ and then bailed after skimming half an article, paced some more. He glanced out the windows without meaning to about every 10 minutes, half expecting to catch a glimpse of Marius, approaching their building.

By the time Armand came back to himself, Daniel was fraying at the edges. Dawn had come and gone half an hour ago, and his exhaustion was only amplifying his feeling of helpless distress.

“I want to help.”

Daniel was so caught off guard that at first the words didn’t register.

“What?”

“When you kill Marius. I want to help.”

Armand lifted his eyes to meet Daniel’s. His expression was still mostly blank, but there were stirrings of life behind the curtain. Daniel sank to his knees in front of the couch, reaching forward and taking Armand’s hands in his.

(It hadn’t been an ambush. Daniel had repeated that to himself about a thousand times since their return. Armand had known, in broad strokes, what Daniel intended to do. That he was going to ask Marius questions and let him damn himself with his own words. Daniel had made it clear that he believed whatever Marius would reveal would break Armand’s loyalty to him for good.

It still felt like he’d stabbed him in the back.)

“Alright. Yeah, of course, you can help. However you’d like.”

Armand gave a small nod. Daniel squeezed his hands, felt him faintly squeeze back. Through the bond, he felt the buzzing fog beginning to dissipate, bit by bit. It was an unspeakable relief.

“How did you know he hurt Riccardo?” Armand asked.

“I– I didn’t know. It was intuition. A hunch.”

“Ah. I see.” Armand sounded disappointed, which made no sense to Daniel, until he added, “I thought maybe you talked to his ghost.”

Another day, another conversation, Daniel would’ve had a crack about Casper ready to go. Even his sense of humor wasn’t dark enough to try one today.

“No. Just a guess based on—doesn’t matter. Lot of little things.” Daniel gave a small shrug. He was relieved to be right, because it meant that his plan worked. Armand was officially on board with ending Marius. At the same time…he couldn’t help wishing he’d been wrong.

“I would’ve been jealous if you had seen his ghost,” Armand said. A beat of silence passed, and then Armand added, as if only just realizing it himself, “I miss him.”

As the static dimmed, Daniel felt Armand’s grief welling up in its place, cold and thick as quicksand. His eyes were dry, his breathing steady, but his whole body began to shake. Little tremors at first, and then more and more.

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course not, baby,” Daniel reassured, his heart breaking.

“I didn’t know,” Armand repeated, an agonized whisper, his face starting to crumple. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

Daniel hauled himself up onto the sofa, drawing Armand into his arms. “I know.”

Daniel’s brain was too wrung out for telepathy—besides, no way was Louis awake at this hour. He was tired in ways he hadn’t even known were possible before today, but Daniel still found the energy to send off a single text to Louis before he collapsed.

‘He’s in. He wants to help do it. Greenest fucking light you ever saw.’

“I think I understand it now,” Armand murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

It was well past sunset, but they were tucked into the closed coffin still. Most nights, they slept in the bed—more room to maneuver when Daniel woke up full of lazy lust and rolled over to nuzzle at Armand’s neck, earning him a laugh or a muttered, fond incorrigible. But some days Armand asked to sleep in the coffin instead. Daniel never questioned it; he didn’t need to. The pattern wasn’t exactly hard to detect. Armand only asked to sleep in their coffin when he’d had an emotionally draining day.

Yesterday Armand hadn’t even needed to ask.

Daniel had never understood the coffin thing back when he was still a human. Now he got it. It was pure instinct, a deep-down limbic impulse to be completely enclosed. Most of the time, Daniel did not really think of himself as that different from a human. But when he climbed in the coffin with Armand and felt instant, overwhelming relaxation at being curled up in their tiny pitch-black burrow, it was harder to convince himself.

“Understand what?” Daniel was petting Armand’s hair, running his fingers through the curls, careful not to scratch with his nails.

Armand’s answer surprised him.

“Why Louis wanted to do the interview. Why he refused to stop, even when your digging forced him to reconsider his memories in a painful new light. I could not fathom it at the time. I assumed it was emotional masochism. But now…”

“Yeah?”

“Now…I find myself doing the same. And I understand why he did not want to stop.”

“Hmm. And what are we re-contextualizing at the moment?” Daniel asked.

“Bianca.”

“Bianca?”

“Bianca Solderini. A woman I knew in Venice. Bianca and Riccardo and I were the closest of friends. She was older than us: not by many years, but at that age it seemed like a great deal. We visited her almost every day. She was a courtesan who ran her own household. Bianca was…” Armand trailed off, voice warming as he lost himself in recollection. “Patient. Kind. Clever. Beautiful and adored by all who met her. Bianca was my only friend outside my master’s–”

Armand’s voice lurched to a halt. He had gone tense from head to foot. Daniel kept stroking his hair. Armand took a few unsteady breaths before he continued.

“She was one of the few associations that Amadeo was allowed to maintain outside Marius’ household.”

Daniel made no comment about the change of pronoun. He tucked Armand’s hair behind his ear and said, “She sounds pretty fucking cool.”

“She was. Amadeo loved her with all his heart. I think—I think most of all he wanted to be like her very badly. They were both beautiful. So beautiful that they attracted attention, whether they wanted to or not. But Bianca…she was desired but refused to be possessed. She turned away forceful and meddlesome suitors with cold authority and her wishes were always respected. She was her own creature, no one else’s.”

“Badass.”

“Precisely. Of course, she was not entirely immune to coercion, but she never accepted it as no better than she deserved.”

Unspoken: unlike me. Daniel’s heart ached for him.

“When a relative of hers blackmailed her into poisoning some men he was in debt to, Marius slaughtered him and his associates. He brought Amadeo along to…to watch.”

Daniel felt the way Armand’s heart rate sped up when he said that last part, his rabbit-quick pulse echoing in Daniel’s ears. Through their bond, he felt the shadow of remembered panic. Add that to the miles-long list of crimes. What the fuck had Marius been thinking, bringing a teenager along to watch him kill people?

But Daniel remembered, then, that even as a young human, Armand had enjoyed watching people die. He’d told Daniel about how much fun he had at public executions with the other boys from the palazzo, when they could sneak out from Marius’ watchful eye to attend them.

So what the fuck had happened to make this memory a live wire of terror in Armand’s head? Daniel wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to send Armand off on a distressing tangent. He was building towards something with this stuff about Bianca.

Daniel filed it away, an unsolved mystery to unpack another day.

“And what is it about her that looks different in the light of…” Daniel trailed off, not sure how to put it, “…new information?”

Daniel’s light prodding refocused Armand. He sucked in a steadying breath and continued.

“When Amadeo was…upset, or too frightened of Marius to return to the palazzo, he would run to Bianca’s and climb in her window to hide underneath her bed. Bianca was always so patient with him when she found him there.”

Well that was just great. Now the mental image of Armand hiding from Marius under Bianca’s bed, like a terrified little kid, was going to haunt Daniel for the foreseeable future.

“Bianca, she seemed…there were times…” Armand was audibly struggling to find words, now. They must be getting close to the heart of it. Daniel let him take his time. “At the palazzo, everyone knew Amadeo shared his master’s bed, but no one spoke of it. Bianca was not the same. She did not pretend ignorance. Marius was her associate, but she was not afraid of him. There were times she was angry with him and became disrespectful. Amadeo heard her say things he did not understand. Accusations. Marius called her a criminal, because of the poison. She said he was no angel, that he could not judge her.

“She said, ‘Not you with your boys’.”

“Ah.”

Armand shifted, turning over onto his other side so he could tuck his head beneath Daniel’s chin, his nose bumping against Daniel’s collarbone. Daniel allowed him to settle and then wrapped an arm around him, anchoring and tight.

“When Amadeo was 19, Bianca and Marius had a falling out. Marius would not tell Amadeo what happened, no matter how many times he asked. He only said that Amadeo was never allowed to see Bianca again. He became so livid any time Amadeo would ask after her or even mention her that he learned not to speak her name aloud or think it if his master was near.”

“Bianca left shortly after for Florence, where the rest of her people were. At the time, Amadeo felt…abandoned. When he snuck out to see her and found only empty rooms, he had such sympathy for his master. Amadeo assumed it must be heartbreak, why Marius could not stand the sound of her name.

“But now, looking back, I wonder…”

Armand swallowed, hesitating.

“The falling out happened only a few days after the first time Marius—offered Amadeo to one of his guests.”

Daniel let out a long, slow breath, his jaw tight with rage. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, now. His fangs had come down; nothing to do about that, but he waited to speak until he could coax them back up again. Armand was in no mental state to be able to distinguish between Daniel being mad for him from Daniel being mad at him.

“It had been at least a year since Amadeo had last run away to Bianca’s to hide, but that day he did.”

Armand had begun worrying the fabric of Daniel’s pajama top between his fingers without seeming to notice himself doing it.

His voice trapped in an awful place between hollow and casual, Armand continued, “I didn’t realize it until today, but…I don’t remember her finding him. I don’t know what state he was in or how he ended up back at Marius’ palazzo again. It’s all…blank.

“I think…I think Amadeo may have been the reason for the falling out. Maybe she was angry about what happened to him. I don’t know if Marius threatened her and she fled Venice for her own safety.” In a whisper, Armand added, “But after yesterday, I’m afraid…maybe he hurt her or killed her and then lied about it. Maybe she never left Venice at all.”

“Do you want to know?” Daniel asked.

Armand didn’t answer for a long time.

“Yes. I think so. But how…? He’s not going to fall for the same trick.”

Daniel kissed the top of Armand’s head. Even if Marius were that much of an idiot, he was never going to put Armand in that position again. Hopefully, Armand would never have to hear that man utter another word.

“There are ways to do research that aren’t supernatural compulsion, you know. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“My Daniel, always ‘digging up’.” It sounded like I love you.

“You know it, boss.” Which sounded like I love you too.

The next two days passed in comparative calm: no contact from Marius or any sign of reprisals. Daniel filled Armand in on the plan so far and was reassured when he made a few suggestions for minor adjustments. A part of Daniel had feared that Armand might get cold feet once his initial shock wore off—quite the opposite.

Every few hours, it seemed, Armand would pause what he was doing and get a distant look in his eyes. Sometimes he shared whatever epiphany had stopped him in his tracks. Sometimes he did not. From the sound of it, he was turning over his entire history with Riccardo in his head, re-examining it in the light of Marius’ terrible confession and the revelation that Riccardo had been in love with him.

With every revisited memory, Daniel felt Armand’s anger at Marius deepen. (Daniel couldn’t help wishing that some part of that righteous fury were on his own behalf, not just Riccardo’s, or Bianca’s, or that of the other boys.

Everything seemed to be going as well as possible. Until Daniel got a text from Louis:

‘Daniel, I think we may have a problem.’

‘Not what I like to hear, Louis. What happened?’

‘I was going to wait to tell Lestat about our plans until he was back in New Orleans. I wanted to do it face to face so I could explain properly. But I forgot his phone number is the designated contact for the account I used to buy the tickets. The bank called him about a potentially suspicious purchase of plane tickets. He called me panicking that I was leaving him and I may have let it all slip.’

‘Fuck, Louis!’

‘I’m pretty sure he’s on his way there. The recording studio is only over in Jersey. I am so sorry, Daniel. I can be there in a few hours.’

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to do that, Louis. You can’t come running to do damage control any time your boyfriend loses his temper. Armand and I have got this, I’ll get back to you after. Bye.’

Daniel barely had time to warn Armand before there was a pounding at the door. Not even time to change out of his sweatpants. Christ, okay, they were doing this.

Lestat swept in, imperious in his anger, shouting even before Daniel even had a chance to close the door behind him, “What has gotten into you, Armand? How have you let them talk you into this—this insanity! Marius! Your own maker! The kindest of all of us!”

Fuck. This was so much worse than Daniel thought.

“Lestat—” he tried.

“Quiet, fledgling!” Lestat did not even turn to look in Daniel’s direction, stalking over to where Armand was seated in an armchair near the fireplace. Daniel realized only now that he had never seen Lestat really angry before. Annoyed, yes, exasperated, yes, but nothing like this. He suddenly wished he hadn’t turned down Louis’ offer of damage control.

“And how dare you think you could keep this from me? You believe I am stupid! Still, after all these years, you and Louis both believe me a blind fool to be deceived! Well, I will not let you do this. You of all people know that Marius is like a father to me!”

Daniel made a small, disgusted noise that Lestat and Armand both ignored.

“Ah, but now I finally understand why he forbade me from telling you he was still alive! All these years I have wondered—why would he keep himself apart from you, keep you in ignorance, when you loved him so! He saw your treachery when I could not. Traitor. Ungrateful little–”

“Hey, don’t you fucking talk to him like that,” Daniel snapped. This was all spinning so badly out of control.

“Daniel. Let me handle him.” Armand had addressed the words to Daniel, but his eyes were locked on Lestat. He stood from the armchair. “Lestat, we should speak in private. Now.”

Since the incident at the library, Armand had been a muted version of himself: softer, more fragile, more open. No trace of that, now. His expression was set, and there was an authority in his voice that brooked no disagreement.

Lestat tossed his hair dramatically. Armand moved in the direction of Daniel’s office, beckoning with his head for Lestat to follow. Daniel was certain they were speaking directly now, mind to mind. After a few moments, Lestat snorted, rolled his eyes, and stomped into the office. Armand pulled the door closed behind them softly.

The walls of the apartment were thick; even if they weren’t, Daniel would’ve had no hope of eavesdropping. There was utter silence on the other side of the door. They must still be communicating telepathically. Daniel felt a pang of jealousy that Lestat could talk with Armand in this way that he could not.

He hovered near the door at first, expecting Lestat to come storming out at any second. When 5 minutes became 10 minutes became 20, Daniel resentfully took a seat on the sofa and started scrolling the news on his phone. He didn’t absorb anything he read.

What about Armand and Lestat shut up together was making him so agitated and impatient? Was it just the fear that Lestat would ruin this whole thing, that all Daniel’s carefully-laid plans would fall victim to Lestat’s narcissism and self-importance? Was it something else? Daniel didn’t understand his own reaction, but as the minutes ticked by, his irritation increased, a steadily banked fire.

There was no warning before they emerged. Just the quiet click of the door opening, and Armand and Lestat walking out together. Daniel looked up, blinking in surprise at what he saw. Armand looked the same, but there were thick streaks of red on Lestat’s cheeks, splatters of blood all over the white collar of his shirt. He had been crying—a lot, by the looks of it.

Lestat met Daniel’s gaze, chin held high in stubborn pride. His voice was thick with emotion as he said, “I understand now. I– I– I am sorry for my…Yes. I will help.”

And that was all; Lestat swept out of the apartment as abruptly as he had swept into it.

Daniel’s relief made him feel giddy. It felt impossible; a crisis averted against all odds at the last second. That giddiness mixed with the echo of all the frustration that had been building up inside him, and the resulting mix was something ugly. Daniel leaned back against the sofa, smiling, vindictive and happy. Whatever Armand had said to Lestat, he must have really taken him down a peg. Good. It was about time.

“Wow. How’d you manage that, huh? Lestat de Lioncourt, crying like a baby.” Daniel laughed, a long and proper laugh. The relief was overwhelming, drowning everything else out. He felt boisterous. “Didn’t know you had it in you. That’s kinda hot, boss. What’d you say, huh? Did you tell him daddy issues isn’t really a good look on hi—”

“Daniel.”

Armand’s voice was sharp enough to cut. He closed the gap between them in three quick strides and grabbed a fistful of the front of Daniel’s sweater. Armand loomed over Daniel, his eyes wide, irises vibrating with rage. Louis had described it, during their interview, but Daniel had never actually seen it happen before. It was considerably scarier than he’d imagined.

“Don’t. You. Dare. Make fun of him.” Armand’s fangs had descended; Daniel could hear them in every caustic word.

Shit. Oh, shit.

“You have no idea. No idea. You sit there, laughing. Is his suffering funny to you, Daniel? Is mine?”

“No, Armand, I didn’t—”

“You say you hate Marius, yet you do not understand at all. You cannot imagine what it was like, to feel as I felt, as Lestat felt, when Marius found us. You don’t know what it is to feel unlovable—ruined—and to have him offer his love. How special he could make you feel. How he made his affection, his approval, seem more important than the breath in your lungs. More important than anything in the world.”

Armand was panting, shoulders heaving with every breath.

“You sit here, making judgments. Like we were fools for…Lestat had nothing when Marius dug him from the ground. You don’t know how lost he was. How profoundly he had been hurt.”

Armand’s grip on Daniel’s sweater slackened; gradually his eyes stopped their eerie vibration.

“Trust me, Daniel. I was one of the ones that hurt him. He may not have been as young as Amadeo, but back then Lestat was still—” Armand’s throat bobbed, voice growing thicker with emotion, “—easy prey. Lost, desperate for love, isolated. Malleable. Just as Marius liked.”

Armand’s eyes slipped closed, his jaw working. His blazing anger had given way to raw grief.

“How can you say you love me and laugh at his pain? His pain, which is my pain? Do you laugh like that at my tears, the moment I am gone from the room?”

“No! Of course not, I didn’t–” Daniel objected.

“Don’t bother lying to me, Daniel. Our bond does not only go one way. I may not be as open to it as you, but I felt your disdain for him.”

Daniel opened his mouth, but no excuses would come. Armand was right. Daniel had not taken a single second to consider the possible implications of Lestat’s tears. He would have seen it, if he’d taken even a moment to think. Lestat’s entire demeanor when he’d rushed in had been exactly like Armand’s when Daniel first revealed the plan to him.

Exactly like Armand’s. A victim, leaping to the defense of his abuser.

Daniel hadn’t seen it, because he simply hadn’t looked. And then his first reaction to Lestat’s pain had been callous amusement.

Most of the time, Daniel enjoyed being a piece of shit. This was not one of those times. Shame made his cheeks burn.

“I showed him the truth. All of it. Things I have not even been able to–” Armand’s voice cracked and he took a moment to compose himself. “Things I haven’t even shared with you. I asked…I asked if Marius had ever hurt him, and he would not tell me. He would not tell me, which means he did. And it’s my fault.”

Armand was blinking hard, keeping back tears. He twisted his hands together, a nervous gesture that transformed into something else. Daniel watched Armand dig his thumbnail deep into the heel of his opposite palm, a fat drop of blood welling up. He pulled it free, only to stab again a few centimeters to the left. Daniel knew enough anatomy, knew Armand well enough, to know that he was going directly for the nerves. Hurting himself as much as he could.

They were really going to have to talk about that, eventually.

Daniel chose his words with care. As if that would undo his earlier mistake.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have laughed, that was…that was fucked. But I don’t understand. Why would it be your fault?”

Armand did not look up at Daniel. Another stab, another bright sphere of blood, another little hissed inhale.

“In Paris, after the coven…I wanted to be Lestat’s. He wanted to know my story. I could not speak of it, so I showed him. My memories, directly to his mind. As I did just now.”

Armand gestured listlessly back to Daniel’s office. A few droplets of blood fell from his already-healing palm.

“Only I…edited them. I romanticized. I thought…if he saw the truth, he would not want me. So I gave him the prettiest version of my life before the Children of Darkness. And above all, I made Marius into a saint.”

Armand trudged to the couch with heavy footsteps, sinking onto it, further away from Daniel than he would usually sit.

“When I was with the coven, thinking about Marius was—my secret rebellion. They were all convinced I had forgotten him after the torture. He was…a talisman. Polished over and over in my mind until he shone. That was the version I showed Lestat, and he believed it, utterly. He– he went looking for Marius. Because of me. Marius found him. Because of me. Whatever…happened, whatever Marius did to him, it was because of me.”

This time, when Armand punctured his hand, he dragged the nail, gouging a trough into the flesh. Daniel winced and looked away.

“Just like Bianca,” Armand’s voice had shrunk, hardly above a whisper now. “Just like…”

Armand did not manage to get out Riccardo’s name, but they both heard it in the silence.

—Crisis averted. Lestat’s on board.

—That’s such a relief to hear. Thank you, Daniel. I apologize again for my carelessness.

—Louis…

—What is it, Daniel?

—Listen, it’s not really my business, but…

—I know, I know. You were right, earlier. I can’t come running any time I think Lestat’s going to cause a scene. I’ll talk with him–

—No no no, Louis, just, shut up and listen to me for a minute alright?

A pause, and then a slightly terse:

—I’m listening.

—When he was over here, Lestat and Armand talked…

—Yes? And?

—And…Lestat was crying pretty hard when he left. Armand thinks maybe…y’know. Something happened. When Marius dug Lestat up and took him back to Greece with him.

The silence stretched, awful and tense. Daniel wished he knew where Armand was. He’d left the apartment shortly after Daniel’s fuck-up, saying he needed space. Daniel was trying to give it to him. He’d typed and deleted at least 20 apology texts.

—Something. Happened. What kind of something?

Louis sounded murderous. Daniel could relate.

—I don’t know, man, use your fucking imagination. Armand said he wouldn’t talk about it. I just thought you’d want to know he’s had a pretty fucking shitty day and maybe be a little careful with him, that’s all.

Daniel knew he was being too harsh—an overcorrection for his earlier cavalier attitude, but couldn’t seem to stop it. He severed the connection; flopping back on the couch, he closed his eyes and threw an arm across his face. He’d given Louis a heads-up, now he was cutting himself off before he said something shitty.

Always the same cycle with him. Casual cruelty, shame, defensive guilt, lashing out at someone who didn’t deserve it. His modus fucking operandi.

Daniel spent a few minutes wallowing in self-pity in the silent, empty apartment. He was prepared to make a whole night of it, until he heard the sound of the front door being unlocked.

Daniel scrambled to his feet. He’d expected Armand to be gone for several more hours. And was that multiple pairs of feet in the hall? What the hell…?

“Go on in.”

Armand was there at the door, holding it open as four, five, no, six mortals filed inside. Daniel could tell right away from their blank faces and robotic movement that Armand was piloting them with his powers, marching them along like marionettes on strings.

“Armand, what…?”

Armand locked the door behind the last of the mortals; a press of a button had the automatic shades lowering on the windows. The humans stood, placid and unresponsive, in the middle of the living room.

Next, Armand crossed the distance to Daniel, flung his arms around his neck, and kissed him. It was a fierce, urgent kiss; Armand tore a gash in Daniel’s lower lip and sucked it hard before he pulled away. Daniel could see his bright blood between Armand’s teeth as he panted for breath. God, he was stunning. His Armand, his beautiful predator.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you and then ran off, my love. It’s just that ever since…since the library, I’m so angry. I’m so angry all the time that I can’t breathe because if I did I might start screaming and never stop.”

Daniel’s hands were on Armand’s face now, cradling it, stroking it. He ran his fingers along the planes of Armand’s cheeks, his temples, the ridge of his nose, his perfect mouth. Every cherished inch of him.

“I was a grade-A fucking asshole. I can’t believe I said that shit, I can’t believe I laughed. I’m too used to making fun of Lestat and I didn’t think and I fucked up–”

Armand cut him off with another kiss, licking into Daniel’s mouth, pulling little sips of blood from his lip. Daniel’s fangs dropped, and the bond between them sang, reverberating love from both directions.

“I can’t seem to stop feeling angry, but I don’t want to take it out on you. So I thought…”

Armand’s gaze flicked over to the little group, and Daniel’s gut clenched in anticipation. He was starting to get where this was going.

“Take it out on them?” Daniel supplied.

Armand’s smile was actually bashful. “I thought…well, rehearsals are very important. It’s not enough just memorizing the script. Your body has to know how it feels moving through the whole thing. You must touch the props and know how to handle them. So I thought–”

He paused long enough to lick away the blood welling on Daniel’s lip. Armand’s voice was breathy now, his pupils wide, “We still have that tarp the painters left behind in the back closet. I thought you could…rehearse on them. And I could–” Armand’s breath caught, and Daniel saw him try to suppress a shiver, “–watch.”

“God, I fucking love you.”

A few hours later, Daniel was sprawled bonelessly on the rug while Armand tidied up. He had offered to help, but Armand had refused; Daniel felt nothing but radiant contentment from Armand’s end of the bond, so he didn’t insist.

Armand cleaned Daniel up first—mostly with his tongue. Taking his time with it, relishing the process. So methodical and thorough, his Armand. Daniel mumbled a joke about a mama cat, laughing at his own wit until Armand grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. After that he shut up and let Armand do his thing.

At the moment, Armand was humming to himself softly as he filled up trash-bag after trash-bag with the remains of his peace offering. Daniel mused that Armand had been right. A little practice was a good idea. He’d been clumsy with the first two, but by the sixth he was getting the hang of it.

“We should do this again,” Daniel sighed, dreamily. Armand made a small, nonverbal sound of agreement. Tempted as he was to bask in the afterglow a little longer…

“Khayman’s coming tomorrow,” Daniel reminded.

Armand’s humming faltered, “Yes, I remember.” He carried on with his work, but after a few moments, added, “I’m worried that he will say no. That…” A pause, before Armand finished, “That he won’t believe us. Or that he’ll decide Marius’ actions don’t warrant punishment.”

“If he thinks that, he’s wrong.”

Daniel wanted to tell Armand that it didn’t matter what Khayman thought, that they’d kill the fucker regardless. But it wasn’t that simple and he knew it. Armand had a respect for laws and hierarchy that he did not share, which was probably better for their joint survival in the long run. Daniel knew, too—now that he had spent time in Marius’s presence—that to make an attempt on his life without Khayman there for safety would be unthinkably dangerous.

They would simply have to convince him. There was no other way.

Louis had laid all the groundwork for them. He’d purchased plane tickets to New York for Khayman and explained the very broad outline to him: that Marius had wronged Armand and showed no signs of reform or remorse, that for Armand’s future safety and as punishment for his past crimes, Marius should be sentenced to death.

Daniel did his best to keep his cool, despite the churning anxiety he’d felt coming off Armand ever since they woke up. He was determined, in his ornery and rebellious way, not to be awestruck with the guy. So he was 6,000 years old—so what!

It was easier in theory than in practice. Once Khayman got close enough, Daniel could feel him approaching. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end; he had to fight the stupid urge to bolt and find some tiny secret hole to hide in until the threat passed.

Armand was faring better—since he could actually move, he was the one to let Khayman inside. Khayman was almost a full head shorter than Armand but stockier, with brown skin and eyes a deep red Daniel was pretty sure he’d never seen before anywhere in nature.

Armand took Khayman’s coat to hang up. Daniel watched as the man (too old, too powerful, he should run, he had to run—) clasped his hands behind his back and began to explore the apartment with open interest. He peered at a nearby bookshelf, leaning in to examine a souvenir shotglass that was one of the few sentimental items Daniel had kept from his mortal life.

“I think your young one is very afraid of me,” Khayman whispered to Armand, shooting a look over at where Daniel sat frozen in the living room. There was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes, but his expression was kind.

Daniel was existentially terrified; still he’d never been one to let self-preservation get in the way of his ego. His voice only wavered a little as he said, “I can hear you talking about me, y’know. And I have a name.” They needed this guy on their side, but Daniel wasn’t going to grovel unless he had to.

Khayman nodded gravely. “My apologies, Daniel. I meant no offense. Quite the opposite. Most fledglings your age would’ve fled by now. Your courage is impressive. I can see why Armand’s love for you burns so brightly.”

Daniel felt his face getting hot, but at least the embarrassment helped to counteract his fear. Armand, meanwhile, was only growing more agitated. His breathing had become unsteady and Daniel saw him worrying the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers.

It was not Khayman’s presence daunting him, Daniel thought, but the prospect of explaining his relationship with Marius.

“Khayman.” Daniel didn’t think he’d ever heard Armand so nervous. His eyes were lowered, his tone deferential, “I know, uh– I know Louis told you why we requested an audience. I am aware of how– how unorthodox all this is and I’m extremely grateful you’re giving us a chance to– to petition for– you’re allowing us to–”

“What,” Khayman exhaled with undisguised delight, “is this?!”

He was staring at a large piece of equipment in a corner of the room. He approached it, head tilting to the side in confused fascination. Armand blinked a few times, following after him.

“It’s…a 3-D printer?” Armand was tense, puzzled. Daniel didn’t blame him. Where on Earth was Khayman headed with this?

“I have never seen one. These are new?” Khayman reached out, running his fingertips very gently over the machine.

“Relatively speaking. They were invented back in the 1980s, but it wasn’t until the 2010s that they started to become widespread and—” Armand cut himself off abruptly, even though it was clear he knew plenty more. As soon as he stopped speaking, Khayman turned to look at him, his expression eager.

“And?”

When Armand continued to look confused, Khayman said, “Tell me more! I want to know everything.”

“You do?”

“I promise you, I have not forgotten my business in coming here. But we do not need to speak of it right away. Louis very generously rented me a room near here for the entire week. We have plenty of time.”

“So…you want me to tell you more about 3-D printers?”

“Please.”

Armand was hesitant at first, offering bite-size snippets of the machine’s history, basic and digestible explanations of how it worked. He was clearly waiting for the moment when Khayman would tire of hearing about it and turn the conversation to other matters. But Khayman continued listening with rapt attention, only speaking when Armand fell into silence, and then only to prompt him with another question.

After a while of this, Armand relaxed into the topic entirely, his voice and gestures growing animated. A demonstration was necessary, of course, and he talked the entire time the machine was working. Khayman hung on every word. He might be an accomplished liar, of course—he’d had 6 millennia to practice—but it sure seemed to Daniel that Khayman was genuinely interested, long past the point when his own attention started to drift.

When they moved on to the computer Armand had built himself, Daniel could see it wasn’t going to let up any time soon. At the first mention of thermal paste he got to his feet.

“If you guys don’t mind I’m gonna grab a bite.”

Not so much as a flicker of unease through the bond as Armand said, “Have fun, beloved.” A second later he was back to talking about heat sinks, Khayman nodding along, utterly enchanted.

“I’ve got my cell if you need me…”

This didn’t even earn him a verbal reply—just a single distracted ‘mhm’.

Daniel tried not to feel unsettled as he left the apartment. Realistically, if Khayman got it in his head to kill Armand, Daniel’s presence would hardly be a deterrent. But it still felt weird, leaving the two of them together like that. Not dangerous, exactly. Some other emotion he couldn’t put his finger on.

That unidentifiable emotion only deepened when he returned three hours later to find the two of them still talking. The pair had moved to the kitchen at some point, two mugs of spiced tea steaming untouched on the table between them. From the sound of it, they were trying to create an impartial, definitive list of the best twenty types of plane ever invented. Armand had stolen a pad of paper from Daniel’s office and was taking notes.

Daniel did not interrupt them and their conversation did not cease until Khayman left for his hotel near dawn.

The next night, Daniel expected it would be right down to business. But Khayman walked in the door, carrying half a dozen books, which he handed to Armand immediately upon entering. Armand, for his part, did not seem at all surprised by the gesture; he carried them to the sofa, sat down, and immediately began reading, eyes flicking back and forth rapidly, devouring the words.

Khayman greeted Daniel warmly, offering by way of explanation: “Some of my favorite poets. Armand told me he has not read much poetry, and I offered to bring him a few volumes.”

“Okay…” Daniel drew out the word, not entirely hiding his suspicion. Khayman was definitely up to something. He was sure of it. He just couldn’t figure out what.

Khayman hung up his own coat, this time, and made his way to the living room to sit beside Armand. He picked up a slim book that Armand had already finished and set aside, opening it to read at a much slower pace. Daniel stared silently at the two of them together. The unnamed emotion itched at the insides of his ribs.

He pulled out his phone and wandered into the bedroom to text Louis. Maybe he would have an idea what kind of game this ancient vampire was playing with them both. Was it some kind of test? Had to be…

Once he’d explained in detail, Daniel waited for Louis’ reply. It came before long:

‘Daniel. May I suggest an explanation without you getting angry?’

‘That depends on the explanation. No promises.’

‘Honestly, it sounds like they’re just…hitting it off. And I think maybe you’re a little jealous.’

Daniel stared at the message, outraged. He started four different retorts, deleting each one after only a few words.

Fuck. Was Louis right? Was he jealous? He saw the blinking dots indicating Louis was typing again and waited.

‘I mean it’s not impossible Khayman has some nefarious scheme up his sleeve, but it seems much more likely they just enjoy each other’s company. It only feels odd to you because—not saying this to be mean—Armand doesn’t have any friends. You’re not really used to him talking to anyone besides you. Right?’

Daniel realized with a sinking in his gut that Louis was correct. Since faking his death, he was cut off from all his human contacts, but he still had Louis (and—he begrudgingly admitted to himself—Lestat…kind of). Who did Armand have? Only Daniel.

‘Shit. Yeah, maybe.’

‘I think it’d be a really good thing if he made a friend, don’t you?’ Louis replied.

“Daniel?” Armand’s voice at the door, tentative. Daniel looked up from his phone guiltily, at Armand hovering there. There was naked worry in his face. “Is something wrong?”

Underneath the words, Daniel heard the real question. Are you mad at me, did I do something wrong? He had kind of just left the room without a word and come in here to sulk, hadn’t he? Daniel smiled at Armand, warm and lopsided.

“No no, nothing wrong. Just checking on Louis. Didn’t want to distract you guys with my tapping.”

He slipped his phone into his pocket and headed back to the living room.

An hour or so before dawn, Daniel slipped out onto the balcony to smoke and look down at the city. A few moments later, he heard the latch on the door; he turned, expecting Armand.

It was Khayman.

“May I join you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Daniel held out the pack to him. Khayman plucked out a cigarette, lighting it with a thought and raising it to his lips. They stood there a minute or two in silence, leaning over the railing, watching the cars going by.

“I knew from the moment I met him that Armand had been hurt terribly.” Khayman’s voice was low, only barely loud enough for Daniel to catch the words. Daniel glanced over his shoulder at Armand inside, head bent over a book. “You could say I recognized it in him. Similar wounds. I know what it is, to serve someone who treats you as a thing, to be–”

Khayman paused, his jaw going tight. Bitterness had crept into his normally placid tone as he finished, “–to be bidden.”

Daniel looked at him sidelong. Khayman’s unnerving red eyes were closed, and when he raised the cigarette for another inhale, his hand was shaking.

A few more long drags and Khayman regained his composure.

“Armand does not wish to speak of Marius, or of what was done to him. I can see his terror and shame any time he thinks we are about to begin. I know that terror. I know that shame. I will not force him to discuss it. I had been hoping it might come easier, once he felt accustomed to my presence. But nothing has changed: I am a stranger and he doesn’t trust me. I cannot blame him. If our roles were reversed, I doubt I would fare better.”

Daniel stared at Khayman who met his gaze levelly. There was no annoyance in Khayman’s voice, no frustration over what another man might regard as wasted time. Daniel glanced inside at Armand once more. His narrow shoulders, his dark mass of curls, his profile illuminated by the reading lamp – his brow, the curve of his nose, his chin.

Khayman was a stranger, it was true. A powerful and important stranger. And yet his instinct was to let Armand make the call on what he would say and when he would say it. Something about that made Daniel’s chest ache.

“All of which,” Khayman continued, “is why I was hoping that—with his permission—tomorrow night we could go for a walk through the city, and perhaps you would tell me, instead?”

Daniel blinked a few times. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Tomorrow I will bring more poetry, to keep him company while we are gone.”

Khayman hadn’t been kidding. He showed up the next night with a suitcase that turned out to be stuffed full of books. Much of it was poetry, but there were plenty of novels, too—a baffling assortment of literature and trash, spanning a wide array of genres. Daniel would have thought it a totally random selection, except for the pride in Khayman’s voice as he declared: “These are all my favorites.”

Armand picked one off the top and held it between his hands. Unlike the night before, he did not begin to read right away. Instead, he looked back and forth between Daniel and Khayman. As much as he didn’t want to talk about his past, it was clear he was struggling with having the story taken out of his hands entirely.

Daniel leaned in, touching their foreheads together.

“Trust me?” It was a question, not a request.

“Yes. Completely.”

“I’ve got this. You don’t need to worry. Let me take care of it for you, yeah? Can you do that?”

Wordlessly, Armand nodded. He was still chewing the inside of his lip.

“How about this: I’ll record all of it on my phone, and if you ever decide you want to listen later, you can, okay? That way nothing’s a mystery or a secret.”

Armand exhaled a shaky sigh. Daniel felt his instant relief through the bond; it had been absolutely the right offer to make.

“Yes. Okay,” Armand agreed, considerably calmer already.

They said their goodbyes and departed. As soon as they left the building, Daniel began to talk. He told Khayman all of it, sparing no detail. Things he had heard directly from Armand. Things he had heard from Louis that Armand told him over the years. Speculation, clearly described as such, and the evidence for it.

Daniel did his best not to editorialize; it was a partial success. This wasn’t just some interview subject he was discussing—it was his lover. Hard to stay objective, describing the dissociation, the bouts of panic, the self-harm. He showed Khayman a picture of the painting Marius had sent. He gave Khayman a stack of the letters from Marius and a transcript of the fake interview to read.

He emphasized, in particular, Marius’ actions in the present—Khayman needed to know Marius was an ongoing threat.

Daniel detailed Marius’ repeated attempts to insert himself in Armand’s life, his willful blindness to Armand’s discomfort and avoidance, and finally his deliberate refusal to honor Armand’s clearly-stated desire not to communicate with him.

Without meaning to, Daniel started getting worked up. Khayman had to understand. “He’s not gonna give up! He’s going to keep on trying, keep on pushing, and he’s not going to take no for an answer, because, well, when has he fucking ever, and sooner or later he’s going to get the opportunity and I–”

“Daniel.”

Khayman’s voice was compassionate but extremely firm. Daniel’s mouth snapped closed, some of the fear he’d felt upon meeting Khayman resurfacing at the authority in his voice.

(The third vampire ever made, Louis had said. But with Akasha and Enkil gone, that actually meant he was the oldest now, wasn’t he? The oldest vampire in the whole fucking world.)

“You may stop now, Daniel. It’s enough. It’s much more than enough.”

“Really?” Daniel exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief. “Oh, good. That’s good news.”

“I’ll call Maharet when I return to my lodgings. Tomorrow, I will let you and Armand know her judgment. But…” Khayman leaned in, “Between you and me? She will grant you permission. I am certain of it. She’s always disliked Marius, and once she hears how he has treated Armand…well, I suspect the only tricky part will be stopping her from finding him and ripping him limb from limb herself.

Daniel whistled, low and impressed.

“I…I did have one question.” During their entire long discussion, Daniel had not once heard Khayman stumble over his words. Uh-oh. Not a good sign. Trying not to panic, Daniel gestured for him to continue.

Khayman looked almost…shy? “Once Maharet has made her decision and I have passed it along, our business will be concluded. But I was hoping…since the rooms are already paid for through another four days…”

It clicked in Daniel’s mind and he felt a surge of relief. Laughing, he asked, “Wait—are you about to ask if it’s alright to come over and play?”

“I’m not sure I would have phrased it that way, but…yes. These last two days, I have enjoyed Armand’s company immensely. I would like to know what he thinks of the books, and to spend more time with him, without any dread hanging over his head.”

Khayman looked at him, expectant, waiting for an answer. He truly was asking for permission.

“Well, I don’t know, actually. That depends. Be honest with me: you trying to steal my man, Khayman?”

Daniel was joking. Mostly. He also wasn’t, a little bit.

Khayman bellowed out a laugh, throwing his head back with it.

“You do not need to worry about that, young one!”

“Okay…” Daniel wasn’t worrying about it. He wasn’t.

Khayman sighed, his smile wide, wiping blood from the corners of his eyes where it had welled up. “Oh, Daniel. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. But you are so young…I’m sure it all feels very apocalyptic to you.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed; perhaps the one thing he most disliked since becoming a vampire was the sudden reversal, from old man to…actually, holy shit, was he the youngest vampire in the world, now, in the wake of Akasha’s rampage?

“Armand’s love for you is blinding. It is like worship. You must know, Daniel, that he would carve out his heart and serve it on a platter if you asked. Don’t let modesty or self-doubt make you question that. Because it is very important to be careful what you ask.”

Khayman brought them news the next night as promised: Maharet gave her permission, with one condition. A final test—one that Marius would not even be aware of. If he failed, his life was immediately forfeit, and Armand and Daniel could dispose of it however they liked. If, however, he somehow managed to pass, Maharet promised to intervene personally. She swore that she would warn Marius against any further contact with Armand, and inform him that any breach, no matter how slight, would result in his immediate execution.

After relating her message, Khayman made his own promise. He would be at their disposal for the test and the violent deeds he was sure would follow. Khayman swore to do everything in his power to ensure that no harm came to either of them in the process.

Once that was done, Daniel cleared his throat.

“I’ve got kind of a declaration of my own, actually.”

Armand looked at him, skeptical, not sure yet if he should laugh or if Daniel was being serious. Khayman waited with his usual patient benevolent interest.

“I’m declaring…no Marius talk for the next four days. I know, I know, we need to adjust our plan to work in the test, but it can wait. I think we both need a break. Yeah?”

Armand’s throat bobbed, and there was a fragility in his face that told Daniel he was fighting not to cry. But through the bond he felt only happiness and relief.

“Yeah,” Armand said softly.

Daniel glanced over at the bag Khayman had brought with him today. It was stuffed to bursting with DVDs. Where had he even gotten all of them so quickly? Oh well. Yesterday it was favorite books, looked like today was going to be favorite movies. And TV? He was pretty sure he saw a boxset in there.

It hit Daniel, with the force of a punch, that Armand had never, not once in his 500 years, just sat down with a friend and watched a movie together. Sure, he and Daniel had watched plenty of movies, and yes, a lover was a kind of friend. But this was different, in a way Daniel could not explain.

Smiling softly, he said, “I’m gonna be in my office digging around for dirt on a corrupt politician to fuck over–”

“Which one?” Armand asked.

“Oh, haven’t decided yet. I’m sure it won’t be hard to find one. Knock if you need me?”

There was so much gratitude in Armand’s smile that Daniel almost couldn’t look at it.

After the four days had passed, for ease of communication, Daniel started a group text with himself, Armand, Louis, and Lestat. Before Daniel could even relay Maharet’s response and the condition she had set, Lestat began to bemoan his late inclusion in the planning process. He suggested several expensive and theatrical additions to the existing plan, all of which were, to Daniel’s chagrin, strategically sound.

Once he could get a word in edgewise, Daniel explained the final test that Maharet demanded. It was Armand, silent until that point, who proposed a way to incorporate it into the existing plan. Louis and Daniel spent the next half hour alternately scolding Armand for even making such a suggestion and trying to come up with a better solution. Armand held his ground, saying that unless they could produce something better, his idea should stand.

It was Lestat who broke the stalemate, saying he thought Armand’s idea was simple and ruthless, and did Louis and Daniel not think Armand should be allowed to make decisions for himself? Even if those decisions involved being a little idiot?

And so it was settled. They had their plan, they had their timeline.

Now to carry it out.

Step One. October 5th. Daniel left Marius a voicemail. It was all glib gloating and sleazy unearned arrogance; in it, he demanded ten thousand dollars as blackmail or else he would include the information from the interview ‘in his next vampire book’. He peppered in some choice hints—fairly obvious ones but he doubted Marius would pick up on anything subtler—that he was using again and hiding it from Armand, who controlled their joint finances.

Marius’s only response was to block Daniel’s number, but that was fine. At least they knew he’d listened to the message.

Step Two. October 17th. Lestat sent out invitations to a party he was hosting. It was set to take place around All Hallow’s Eve: a gathering to commemorate Akasha’s defeat one year earlier. The party would span three nights in total: first, an informal salon with hired entertainment as guests gradually arrived on the 30th. Then, on the 31st, the main event—feasting, music, dancing, revelry. On the 1st, a relaxed brunch before they all parted ways. Lestat had bought a little historic bed and breakfast hotel at the edge of the bayou for the event. The building was spacious, luxurious, and isolated: no blaring sirens, no tacky electric streetlamps spoiling the night’s darkness, and most importantly no humans passing by on the street watching internet videos without headphones.

All the best of vampire society simply must attend! Coffins and blood to be provided by the host!

He was also very clear on the invitation that no vampire turned after 1950 would be in attendance, and most certainly no fledglings. This was to be a sophisticated affair for vampires of taste and refinement only.

(On the back of the invitation for Marius, Lestat added a handwritten personal note, urging him to attend, saying he missed him and longed for his company.)

Step Three. October 25th. Daniel left a second voicemail for Marius, this time from an honest-to-god payphone. The message was slurry and punctuated by muffled sobbing. In it, he ranted that Armand had dumped him and it was Marius’ fault. Marius must have told Armand about the blackmail, or the drugs, or both, and Daniel would make him sorry someday.

(They rehearsed it for a week beforehand. Daniel thought his delivery was fine after a few run-throughs, but Armand kept giving him notes. More anger this time, Daniel or Try getting gradually louder as you read through that section. Daniel accused him of having fun and Armand smirked. Putting my hard-earned directorial skills to use.)

Step Four. October 27th. Lestat took delivery of a very special crate. The human carrying it looked on the verge of passing out; she couldn’t hand it over and get away fast enough.

The crate, peppered with tiny air holes covered in thick metal mesh, emitted an audible hissing. Beneath that hissing was the faint shushing of many scaled bodies sliding against one another. A little printed placard declared the contents of the crate to be live animal specimens. ‘BUNGARUS CAERULEUS. BENGAL KRAIT. HIGHLY VENOMOUS: HANDLE WITH CARE’

There was a note was attached, as well, short and direct:

This ought to be enough. Enjoy.
– G

“A crate of kraits,” Lestat joked; Louis did not quite manage to suppress his laugh before Lestat heard it.

Step Five. October 26-28th. Daniel and Armand assembled Armand’s outfit for the night of the 31st. The difficulty was not in choosing a look, but rather in finding exactly what Armand was searching for. Of course, it was easy enough just to find leggings, but Armand did not want anything sloppy. They must be high quality, good material, and suitable for a formal occasion. The shirt was no easier. Armand wanted it to evoke the attire of the 16th century without being too obvious about it—except that the neckline had to be low, enough to show his collarbones in their entirety. And, of course, it must be blue. Sky blue. No other color would do.

(“So… blue’s a thing?” Daniel asked, as he trailed after Armand through what felt like the 500th boutique that day. “Is that why you don’t own anything blue? I did notice.”

Armand, not looking at him, confirmed tightly, “Blue’s a thing.”)

The other accessories proved simpler to work out. He would have gold rings, gaudy and bright, one for every finger. A locket nestled against his breastbone. A little kohl, his hair cut and styled in the old way. And of course, the pièce de résistance: dark brown contacts, the same as he’d worn in Dubai.

“It’s just weird, seeing you like that again.”

“Hmm, are you sure you don’t prefer it? I remember the way you looked at me during my little charade.” Armand tossed it off lightly, a teasing inconsequential joke. Daniel was pretty sure he would’ve picked up on the undercurrent of insecurity even without the bond.

“Hell fucking no.”

Step Six. October 30th. The party guests arrived and dispersed themselves throughout the first floor—there was a large common room for music and dancing, a few quiet side chambers with couches for more intimate conversation, a games room, and a well-stocked banquet room. Lestat was in fine form as host, fluttering from group to group, his chatter and laughter ringing off the walls. Marius arrived shortly after midnight and Lestat greeted him warmly, a kiss for each cheek.

All went according to plan. Khayman showed up at a little past 2 AM, just like he was supposed to. The only near-crisis was when Marius cornered Louis and delivered his extensive opinions on Interview with the Vampire. He offered token faint praise before diving into all the ways he believed Louis was incorrect both about the nature of vampirism and in his interpretation of his own life story. Marius accused Louis, with indulgent and patronizing smugness, of mischaracterizing Lestat out of envy for his superior powers. He also told Louis, a little ice creeping into his voice, that he did not much like how he had been represented in the book, either. In fact, he considered it near to slander, and expressed his hope that Louis had been misquoted by his vulgar and inept biographer.

Daniel, watching from the discreet security cameras Lestat had installed, had to keep up a steady telepathic monologue to Louis the entire time to prevent him from hauling back and punching Marius right in the face. At a certain point Daniel started just talking over the man, drowning him out to keep Louis on the right side of homicidal for the time being. Eventually, Lestat spotted what was happening and intervened, butting in to ask if he could borrow Marius, insisting he could not wait one more second to show off some ancient Babylonian artifact he’d acquired…

All throughout the night, Marius’ eyes scanned the gathered vampires, searching. It wasn’t until nearly dawn that he gave in and asked Lestat if Armand would be in attendance. Lestat smiled and reassured him that the little devil was coming, but a prior obligation meant he would not arrive until the following night.

At sunrise, the guests dispersed upstairs to their accommodations. Lestat had affixed little cards with the name of each guest to their door. No locks—but why would they need them? They were all one loving family, united in the blood.

(In their shared coffin tucked away in the kitchen, Daniel asked Armand for perhaps the fourth time that night: “Are you sure? It’s not too late, we can find another way. It’s supposed to be so painful…”

“Daniel.” Armand bumped the tips of their noses together, carding a hand through his gray curls with reverence. “You must stop worrying. You know how I feel about pain.”

Daniel scoffed, “Yeah, but this isn’t me electrocuting you because it gets you off.” Daniel suppressed his smirk at the way Armand shivered at the mere mention of it. No getting distracted. Not tonight. “This is—”

“I know what it is, beloved. And I have chosen it.”

Nothing he could say to argue with that.)

Step Seven. October 31st. Daniel didn’t know what he’d been expecting, exactly. Something more like a movie: Armand pushing open the front doors in slow motion; the assembled vampires turning to stare, captivated, at his radiance; Armand strutting in all confidence and beauty.

But in hindsight, of course it wasn’t like that. The whole purpose of tonight was to tempt Marius, and it wasn’t confidence he was drawn to—it was vulnerability. Armand slipped in and joined the crowd without fanfare. Daniel watched through the cameras, his guts churning. He saw the exact moment Marius spotted him.

Louis and Lestat and Khayman were all there, Daniel assured himself. All keeping watch while pretending not to. They would intervene if need be. It was a play: nothing more.

That didn’t make it any easier to watch Marius put his hands on Armand. Touch his hair, his face. The contacts in particular were a success. Marius stared with undisguised avarice. Oh, your eyes. Your dark lovely eyes, Amadeo, I had forgotten…

The seconds crawled by as Daniel observed. Everything proceeded without a hitch. Louis and Lestat found a dozen different reasons to separate the pair time after time, drawing off Armand or Marius for some contrived purpose. Marius’ obvious frustration at these interruptions mounted as the night progressed. After each parting, as soon as he was able, Marius would find Armand again. Armand greeted each reunion with a practiced softness that made Daniel want to vomit.

But Armand was not all submission. It had been crucial to their planning that Armand not actually encourage Marius through any words or actions. He simply appeared at the party, supposedly single and styled in a way that was likely to tempt Marius, and then repeatedly, gently, rejected him. When Marius leaned in for a kiss, Armand turned his face away. When he set a possessive hand on Armand’s hip, Armand pretended to notice some piece of art on the wall he simply must walk off and examine. When Marius asked if he was lonely now that he had rid himself of his obnoxious fledgling, if he was unhappy sleeping in his coffin all alone, Armand bit his lower lip and shyly changed the subject.

Marius followed the script perfectly without even realizing it.

There were moments of improvisation from Daniel’s fellow accomplices. When a particularly jaunty classical song began to play, Khayman tapped Armand’s shoulder (interrupting Marius’ dramatic retelling of how Akasha had entombed him in ice) and asked him to dance. He made a real show of it, too, bowing and kissing the back of Armand’s hand. Armand accepted eagerly. He chattered away as they danced, breathless and excited, saying more words in a few minutes to Khayman than he had all night to Marius. Khayman spun him, holding his arm high to accommodate Armand’s comparative height, and Daniel saw that Armand was laughing in that way that made his nose scrunch up. Joy made Armand radiantly beautiful.

Daniel checked a different camera angle and saw Marius watching the two of them with seething jealousy.

Daniel began to check his watch more and more as the night progressed. They were getting to the part of the plan where timing became crucial. A lot needed to happen, discreetly and in the correct sequence, in a very narrow window. Daniel’s heart raced as he watched Armand excuse himself early from the festivities, insisting that he was exhausted from travel. Marius’ eyes tracked him all the way up the stairs. Louis, meanwhile, had slipped away a quarter of an hour earlier entirely unremarked.

Not even five minutes after Armand departed, Marius made as if he was about to go upstairs. Daniel’s heart hammered with alarm, but they had anticipated this contingency. Lestat swept in just as planned, taking Marius by the arm and asking for a private word out on the front porch. Daniel knew exactly the topic that Lestat had in his back pocket for this moment: he was whining about Daniel’s book, about Daniel in general, suggesting that maybe something ought to be done about him…

Once Lestat shepherded Marius out the front doors, Daniel switched off the security feed. He wiped his clammy hands on the thighs of his jeans and stood up.

It was go time.

Marius waited until the coast was clear, all the other guests occupied or elsewhere, to head upstairs. He lingered in the second-floor hallway, glancing around to double check he was unobserved.

The door he opened did not have his name on it.

Each room had been thoughtfully furnished with a coffin, a chaise lounge, and a double bed. Armand was stretched out on the chaise lounge, head propped up on the armrest, bare apart from his underwear. Earlier that night, during one of his many calculated distractions, Lestat had told Marius that he stocked all the rooms with candles; he’d waxed poetic about missing the mystery and beauty granted by fire’s light.

And Armand was beautiful, illuminated by the half dozen or so tapers scattered throughout the room. He had not removed his contact lenses. His dark eyes were wide, tracking Marius as he shut the door behind him, reached automatically for a lock, and found none. With a tsk of annoyance, he walked over to where Armand’s suitcase lay. He pulled it over, wedging it beneath the door handle as a makeshift barricade.

“You’ve been waiting for me.”

It wasn’t a question. Armand did not reply or move.

Marius approached the chaise, looking down at him with undisguised hunger. “You don’t need to say it, Amadeo. I already know. Look at you. Laid out like a feast, all for me.”

Marius’ pale eyes roamed over Armand’s body, drinking it in. Not a single flaw to be seen. But then, Marius had seen to that. He had taken great care, the night he turned him. Bathed Armand and examined every inch of his body—any blemish, any scratch, any stray hair or imperfection must be corrected. Armand had been boneless in his arms, so light from the weight he’d lost, wracked with fever, sobbing silently from the pain.

“And after teasing me all night. A fun game, if somewhat childish. But you always did like to play the devil.”

He reached forward and ran the backs of his knuckles down Armand’s cheek. Armand did not move.

“My sweet child. I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

Marius’ voice was grave; he said it as if he was not only referring to the party. His words carried the weight of all those years apart since the palazzo burned.

Armand’s eyes were round and huge in his face. No one could have mistaken his expression for anything other than frozen terror. Marius only saw what he wanted to, or else simply did not care. He took Armand’s jaw and tilted his face away, baring the long column of his throat. Armand was unresisting and unmoving.

“It’s been so many years since I had you. I hardly remember the taste.”

A bloody tear slid from the corner of Armand’s eye, streaking down his cheek. It splashed on Marius’ fingers. He flicked it away absently before bending down and sinking his teeth deep into Armand’s neck.

He drank greedily, all pretense at gentility abandoned as he gulped down Armand’s blood. Marius gripped Armand’s jaw and his bare shoulder, hard; he drank and drank and drank and—

Pulled back with a gasp, a furrow forming between his pale brows. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but it came out as a choked yell. He stumbled away from Armand, made it two steps before toppling and falling onto the rug. He writhed there, clutching at his torso.

Marius’ voice was strangled with pain as he gasped, “What—what did you—”

“Venom from a common krait. Also known as the Bengal krait.”

Daniel stepped out from where he had been waiting, just on the other side of the closed door to the ensuite bathroom. Louis slipped out after him.

“Now, they don’t make it onto those top ten most venomous snake lists, but that’s only ‘cause those are usually ranked by overall number of victims, and people just don’t run into them as often as other species. But for humans who do get bitten, the mortality rate is – what was it again?”

“70 to 80%” Louis supplied genially. Marius rolled over and tried to get his knees under him, to get to his feet, collapsing in pain before he could manage it. He was making guttural, animal sounds of pain on every exhale.

“Damn. Neurotoxins are a real bitch. Early symptoms include severe abdominal cramps and pain—”

Daniel drew nearer and Marius rolled onto his back, glaring up at him, his long white hair falling in his face.

“—followed by total paralysis.”

Smiling broadly, fangs and all, Daniel set his boot on Marius’ neck and pressed, putting all his weight on it.

He leaned down and said, “Boo.”

Chapter Text

Though they all had agreed straightaway on krait venom as the ideal paralytic, it took them some time to decide how it should be administered.

Armand suggested they simply let the snakes bite him and then heal the puncture wounds so that Marius would suspect nothing. This had been vetoed for reasons both emotional and practical; Daniel argued that Armand was already going to suffer enough and didn’t need a few dozen snakebites on top of everything else. Lestat pointed out that it might take too long; the window between Armand leaving and Marius coming after him was likely to be very tight—no extra time for reptile wrangling. Louis put the final nail in the coffin by informing the other three that snakes didn’t like to bite vampires. At least thirty times he could think of—back in those New Orleans years when he was living on animal blood and often snuck out to the bayou—he had startled a snake that should have bitten him, but instead only slithered away. Eventually, he started picking them up and handling them, and still, they would never bite. Louis didn’t know why: some instinct, perhaps.

(Daniel suppressed the urge to ask follow-up questions—was it the lack of body heat? Animal antipathy towards vampire-kind? Or, stranger still, some kind of kinship, because of the fangs?)

Next, Lestat proposed, with his typical baroque flair, that they locate some evildoer, a paragon of the worst humanity had to offer, and set the snakes on them. Once this human had been pumped full of venom, Armand could drain them and take it into his body in that way. Daniel found the idea amusing, but Louis’ immediate and intense distaste discouraged him from saying so. It was Armand this time who reminded Lestat that timing was crucial, and wrangling both reptiles and humans would surely take longer than just the reptiles.

Louis’ idea was the one they settled on in the end. The timing was simply too tight, he insisted; they needed to have the venom ready to go, with no extra variables or room for disaster. Louis argued that it couldn’t be so hard, learning to milk venom from a snake, especially considering their reluctance to bite vampires. Once the delivery arrived, he would begin to harvest the venom, and on the night of the party, one of them could simply inject it into Armand via syringe.

Daniel had expressed his approval by linking, of all things, a wikiHow article on efficiently extracting snake venom. Grudgingly, Lestat admitted that while it was utterly lacking in poetry, collecting the venom in advance would simplify a tricky stage in their plan.

So that was what they did.

When the time came, Louis left the party first. He slipped off and made his way back to the little hotel’s kitchen. In truth, Marius’ snobbishness had made matters considerably easier for them. No grand schemes needed to conceal Daniel’s presence, or the monitors displaying feeds from the surveillance system Lestat had installed, or even the glass beaker clearly labeled ‘VENOM’. All they had to do was put those things in the servants’ areas, and they would be safe from Marius’ curiosity or notice.

Louis had removed the beaker from the freezer a few hours ago to thaw. A simple matter, filling a syringe with the golden liquid and slipping it into his pocket. Daniel had done the bulk of the research for this part of the plan: 2-3 milligrams was a lethal dose for a human; the average krait bite yielded 10 milligrams; Gabrielle had sent two dozen adult snakes. Enough venom to incapacitate a host of Mariuses.

“All done?” Daniel asked as he slipped into Armand’s room.

“Not yet,” Louis said in a measured voice, his tone impossible to read. “Still getting settled.”

Daniel’s anxiety skyrocketed. Why the delay? They all knew how tight the turnaround was. Daniel looked at Louis, who looked back and gave the tiniest jerk of his head in Armand’s direction.

Armand’s back was to both of them as he fiddled with the candles on the dresser, shifting them around as if it would meaningfully alter the lighting. The tension in his back and shoulders hurt to look at. He did not turn or say anything to greet Daniel.

Louis’ voice in Daniel’s head:

—I don’t think it’s the venom. I think it’s getting undressed.

Armand had removed his rings and locket: Daniel saw the little wooden jewelry box he’d given Armand sitting on the dresser. His shoes were tucked by the door, his clothes folded neatly on the bed. But he was still wearing his underwear.

“You don’t have to be naked,” Daniel said, understanding at once.

“The plan–” Armand began, but Daniel cut him off.

“Armand. This is enough. You do not have to be naked.”

Armand turned to face him at last. He looked so scared and so small that Daniel almost called the whole thing off right then and there. He forced himself to exhale slowly.

“Still want to do this, baby? Not too late to hit the eject button.”

Louis surprised Daniel by adding a soft, “Nobody’ll be angry.”

Armand swallowed; the fear that Daniel felt through the bond did not diminish, but the determination underneath it strengthened. He made his way over to the chaise and sat on it. He didn’t acknowledge the offer to abort their plan or meet either of their eyes, but he didn’t take off his underwear either.

“Give me the venom.”

“Here, lemme do it,” Daniel said. Louis handed it over, and Daniel knelt next to his lover.

“Good thing I’m practically a pro at this, huh?” Daniel joked, handling the syringe with old familiarity. It wasn’t enough to earn a laugh, but Daniel doubted anything would at this stage. He would’ve liked to take his time with it, heap reassurances on Armand until he stopped trembling, but they’d already delayed so much. He slipped the needle into the crook of Armand’s elbow and injected him, quick and precise.

The venom worked with surprising speed. In a handful of seconds Armand was curled forward, hugging his knees and breathing through the agony. He didn’t let out a single whimper, even as he sweated and shuddered. Daniel petted Armand’s hair, murmuring a constant stream of praise—how good he was doing, how brave he was, how proud Daniel was of him.

(Maybe it ought to feel awkward having this moment with Louis in the room. But no; it felt right.)

“I can’t move my fingers,” Armand gasped after a few minutes, “We should…”

Daniel didn’t need telling twice. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dabbed the bloody sweat from Armand, helping him to pose on the chaise as he lost control of his limbs, the paralysis creeping through him like a spreading stain.

“He says he can’t breathe now,” Louis said, relating Armand’s telepathic message aloud for Daniel’s benefit.

The only part of himself Armand could still control were his eyes. They moved to meet Daniel’s when Lestat said:

—He’s on his way up. Places, people!

Daniel bent to kiss Armand’s forehead, then he and Louis ducked into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind them.

Maharet’s last test for Marius was a simple one: he must ignore a clear refusal from Armand. If he did, his life was forfeit. She did not confine them with any specifics or the need to contact her for confirmation. Khayman was there to act in her stead and she trusted his judgment utterly.

During the party, a brief exchange, audible to both Lestat and Khayman:

“Shall I slip into your bedroom tonight to visit you, my little imp?”

Armand, unable to even lift his gaze from the floor, still finding the courage to whisper, “No, thank you.”

Marius had signed his own death warrant the moment he walked in the door.

Once Daniel’s boot was on Marius’ neck, Louis moved the suitcase and let Lestat and Khayman into the room. They had been waiting just outside, ready to break the door down if anything went wrong. But it hadn’t. Marius had followed the script, beat by beat, without a single deviation. Armand had predicted his every action with distressing accuracy.

(But then, he’d had to learn, hadn’t he? To survive for more than a decade under that man’s power. Armand had been forced to become an expert in Marius de Romanus.)

Daniel stared down at Marius. His struggling had grown weaker already, his limbs moving only in spasms, clumsy and feeble. His pale blue eyes rolled with terror and he gulped at the air, no longer able to speak. It was dazzling, watching the neurotoxin do its beautiful work. Bengal kraits were Daniel’s new favorite animal; he was going to keep one as a pet to commemorate this historic moment.

(And to think, he’d worried once or twice that the reality of this might not live up to the grotesque heights of his imagination. He had been so wrong, and they were only getting started.)

Daniel released the pressure from Marius’ throat; no need for it now. Marius wasn’t breathing anymore and didn’t give a single twitch as Daniel moved away. They weren’t sure exactly how long the paralysis would last, but it didn’t matter.

In a few hours Marius would no longer be alive.

If worst came to worst, Louis had another syringe of venom at the ready, and there was always Khayman. Khayman, who had proved himself to be so much more than just backup.

“Did you bring it?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, here,” Khayman said, handing over the item Daniel had asked him to fetch from his bag in the kitchen: a gray bathrobe, threadbare and permanently rumpled with age. Daniel’s bathrobe, that he had kept from his human life. Daniel’s bathrobe, that Armand so loved to steal.

“I’m gonna get this on you, okay, baby?”

Armand could not speak, of course—but they were not humans; they had ways around that.

“He says ‘Yes, thank you, beloved,” Lestat relayed. Marius’ eyes rolled in the direction of his voice. Just now noticing he was here, no doubt.

—Lestat! Lestat, what is this foolishness?!

Marius’ voice blared out in their minds, loud enough that Lestat, Louis, and Daniel all winced. Armand, of course, heard nothing. Khayman did not even blink.

—Lestat, enough of this. If you do not–

That was as far as he got. With a slow, almost lazy gesture, Khayman raised a hand in the air and closed his fist. Marius’ telepathic threat was suppressed before he could even make it.

“Silence,” Khayman commanded. His voice was calm and very, very angry. Daniel was really fucking glad, not for the first time, that Khayman was on their side.

Daniel made his way over to the chaise, gently lifting Armand into a sitting position. He fed one of Armand’s arms through a soft sleeve, then the other. Daniel maneuvered him with care, lifting him up and then setting him back down, getting the robe wrapped around his body. Daniel had handled Armand in states of deep relaxation before, when he was spent and heavy-limbed and practically purring; this was different. Armand was utterly helpless, unresponsive dead weight. Daniel folded the robe across Armand’s front, covering him, and tied the sash with the utmost care.

He propped Armand up, careful that his head was supported and that he had an excellent view of the center of the room. Daniel didn’t want him to miss a single thing. He pressed the pad of his thumb into his fang, dripping blood onto the torn skin of Armand’s throat to heal it.

Armand’s eyes tracked him the whole time, adoringly.

“Daniel, would you take the contacts out for me?” Louis’ voice, Armand’s words.

“Of course.”

Daniel set a fingertip delicately to Armand’s eyeball, slid the contact lens to the corner, plucking it free with excruciating care. His razor-sharp fingernail was a hair’s breadth from Armand’s eye, yet Armand looked at him with a trust so complete it bordered on rapture. He removed the second contact, breathless with the intimacy of it.

“Kiss me,” Lestat said.

The key to the whole thing was trust. Armand trusting Louis and Lestat to speak for him. Trusting Daniel (and only him: Daniel had been very firm on this in their texts) to touch him when he couldn’t move a single muscle of his body. Trusting these men whom he loved—and this new friend he was only just coming to know—to act for him. Speak his words with their tongues, carry out his deeds with their hands.

Daniel leaned in and kissed him, a gentle brief press of his lips to Armand’s unmoving ones.

“You ready to start?” Daniel asked.

“Yes.” It was Louis this time. They were taking turns.

“What do you want first, baby?”

“The ink,” Lestat said for Armand; the chuckle that followed was all his own.

Lestat was the one to walk over to Armand’s suitcase, digging around in its contents until he found what he was looking for. He stood back up with a stoppered glass bottle containing a deep black liquid. Lestat waved it through the air, one finger hooked through its little handle.

“Master—ah, just to be perfectly clear, this is Armand speaking, not me—Master, do you remember when I ruined your iron gall ink?”

Languidly, Lestat lifted his free hand to hover just beneath the bottle, flames erupting into life in his palm. They curled against the glass, heating the contents, slowly but surely.

“You had instructed me to have the batch done by sunset, but I was so tired. I had had a full morning of lessons, then hours spent posing for yet another St. Sebastian. I can’t recall the artist’s name anymore, but I remember how every half hour or so he would stop painting, walk over, and find some soft place on my body to pinch me until I cried. He wanted the tears in my eyes to be real, always real.

“I barely had time to gulp down the supper and wine Riccardo brought me before it was time to simmer the ink. At least an hour, you’d instructed. It was important to do things the proper way, to keep to the very best standards. It must simmer for more than an hour and I must sit and stir the whole time. But the wine went to my head. And, of course…you had kept me up, the whole previous night. Back from a trip to tend to Those Who Must Be Kept, I think. You were always insatiable, after a few days away. I was sore.”

The ink in the bottle was beginning to shimmer, tiny bubbles erupting on the surface. A red tear slid down Armand’s cheek; Daniel wiped it away with a gentle brush of his fingertip.

“I was only a human. A young human, still growing. Did you know, mortal scientists have become obsessed in this era with the importance of sleep for adolescents. I read an article the other day. No less than nine hours a night, it said. They have come to believe that the body needs it more, in those years.

“I tried hard to stay awake, but the chair was comfortable and the fire warm. I fell asleep. The ink boiled over and spilled everywhere, making a mess in your studio. I had never seen you so angry before. You said I was useless,” Lestat’s voice cracked on the word. “You cursed me. You pulled me up the stairs to our bedroom by my hair. You– you told me that I had done it deliberately. To provoke you, so that I could– could enjoy your correction.”

Armand’s tears were coming faster, now, streaking down his unmoving face. Daniel pressed his temple to Armand’s, the both of them watching as Lestat uncorked the bottle, a froth of steam issuing from it. The smell of the hot ink was earthy and bitter.

Louis, on cue, crouched down and wrenched open Marius’ mouth. He took hold of Marius’ tongue, lifting it up for ease of access. He made a deep slit along the underside with his thumbnail and, without ceremony or fanfare, ripped Marius’ tongue from his mouth.

He stood, clasping the small pink thing, making room for Lestat to pour in the burning ink. Too bad, Daniel thought, that the venom had stopped Marius’ breathing. Some choking would’ve been a nice touch. Oh well, can’t have everything.

Lestat poured and poured and poured. Steam billowed up from between his lips. Most of the ink went down Marius’ throat: into his lungs, his esophagus, who could say? There was too much, though, and some spilled from his mouth, sliding messily down the sides of his face, over his chin, splattering his neck. The skin that it touched burned bright red from the heat.

Lestat did not stop until he had rid the bottle of every last drop.

Khayman emerged from the bathroom, silently offering Daniel a damp warm washcloth.

“May I?” Daniel asked.

Louis dropped the severed tongue onto the ground, grinding it under his heel. He answered for Armand, “Yes, Daniel.”

He wiped Armand’s face clean. Armand could not move to lean into the touch, but Daniel felt the comfort it gave him.

“Good to keep going?”

“Yes, Daniel,” Lestat related, his voice raw with emotion. Daniel couldn’t blame him for that.

“I’ve got something I want to say next,” Louis interjected. He locked eyes with Armand; whatever words were exchanged, no one relayed them to Daniel. At the end of it, Louis gave a little nod.

“Lestat,” Louis asked, “Can you get me the pliers?”

“Of course, mon cher.”

While Lestat dug around for them in Armand’s suitcase, Louis knelt down on the rug beside Marius. He lifted one of Marius’ hands, turning it over, scrutinizing.

“Marius de fucking Romanus. You wanna know what I think of you?”

Louis’ voice was dripping with disdain. Cold and mocking, in that way that Louis so rarely let himself be. Fuck, this was going to be good. Daniel’s sudden burst of excitement was enough that he expected Armand could feel it.

Louis set Marius’ hand atop his bent knee, the fingers splayed.

“I’m not sure how you see yourself. Maybe you think you’re a good man who’s a slave to his own tastes. Helpless to stop yourself and all that. The real victim here is you, blah blah, all that horseshit. Or maybe you think you’re a monster, worst of the worst, tragically unreformable so why bother trying?”

“Here you are, love.” Lestat handed Louis the pliers.

It was a pair with flat jaws which fit perfectly when Louis closed them over one of Marius’ sharp fingernails. He held it there, not yet pulling.

“For a lotta years there, living with Armand, I thought you were a monster. I wonder if you’ve even got a clue. I mean…the nightmares he has.”

Louis tightened his grip on the pliers’ handles, gave a twist of his wrist, and ripped the nail clear off Marius’ finger. He examined the sharp, glassy thing before shrugging and dropping it onto Marius’ unmoving chest. Then clamped the pliers onto the next nail.

(This was one of the main reasons they had chosen the krait venom. There were more convenient paralytics that didn’t require international shipping, but none that so perfectly balanced total paralysis with complete sensation. The neurotoxin merely prevented Marius from moving or breathing. It did not interrupt the work of his nerves, his pain receptors.)

“I don’t speak Italian, but I know a lot of phrases I wish I didn’t. I could go to Venice today and I wouldn’t know how to buy a movie ticket or order a coffee, but I’d know how to say shit like no, master, please don’t and I’m sorry, it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to, I promise I’ll be good.

Louis’ jaw was tight with rage as he repeated the process. Twist, pull, drop the nail disinterestedly as if it were a piece of trash.

“I thought you were a monster for a long time. But I’ve realized something recently. The truth is, you’re definitely not a martyr, but you’re not a monster, either. You’re just a fucking loser.”

Twist, pull, drop. Twist, pull, drop.

“That’s the reason you prey on kids, and slaves, and…people in crisis.” Daniel saw Louis’ green eyes flick up to meet Lestat’s. Lestat couldn’t hold eye contact; he looked away, his throat bobbing.

“It’s not because you’re a demon—nothing that poetic or special. It’s the same mundane reasons humans do that shit. You do it ‘cause you can, and ‘cause you’re weak. You do it because, deep down, you know that anyone not completely powerless would see that you’re a boring, talentless, pathetic hack.”

Louis had finished with the nails of one hand. He set it down and picked up the other.

“Imagine being such a fucking bore that you have to terrorize and brainwash vulnerable people into loving you? Nobody in their right mind with any other options would choose to be near you, so you just go after the weakest target you can find and groom them into thinking the sun shines out of your ass. All that, just to scrape a little ego off the floor.”

Daniel checked the connection with Armand. There was a seed of worry in the back of his mind that Louis’ glorious bullying would make him feel pity for Marius, or that the implicit description of him as gullible prey would have him feeling attacked. But Daniel found neither; all he got from Armand was an emotion that was not quite satisfaction; it was a feeling of puzzle pieces slotting into place, of questions being answered. Revelation, comprehension, dawning understanding.

Louis was still talking, finishing up on Marius’ other hand, “You’re not some unique or fascinating villain. You’re not a case study on warped evil. You’re not rare, you’re not special. You’re a failure. A weak, tiny man who tried to make himself feel big. And all I’m doing…”

With grim determination, Louis peeled back Marius’ ink-stained lip, baring his teeth. He fitted the pliers around one of Marius’ fangs—they had not retracted since he fed on Armand, even with the paralysis.

“…is making your outside match your inside.”

It clearly took more effort than the nails had, working the tooth free. For a moment, Daniel wasn’t sure if Louis was going to manage it without help. But then, that made sense. Armand really had been right about rehearsing, and Louis was never going to be the guy who practiced on humans. Still, he managed it after some yanking and a few muttered curses; his smile when the fang wrenched free was gleeful.

Armand’s reaction through the bond was every bit as joyful. It was a shimmer of relief and excitement—simultaneously childish and sadistic.

That observation gave Daniel an idea. A flash of inspiration; a note or two he could add to Louis’ symphony of ridicule.

“Louis is right,” he said.

Khayman, Lestat, and Louis all looked at him. Marius’ eyes swiveled in the direction of the chaise.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it. All this shit you’ve done, Marius. Cruel, fucked up shit. But…I don’t actually think you’re a sadist. Not really. You hurt people because you have to in order to keep control of them. It’s a necessity, yeah? And sure, you get off on it. But it isn’t actually about enjoying the pain. It’s about feeling like a big man for once. Keeping up the charade a little longer.”

With infinite gentleness, Daniel turned Armand’s head so they were nose to nose. Armand’s eyes were shining a warm rusty brown. No distress through the bond. Only anticipation and, underneath it, unquestioning trust.

(Louis, ever considerate, had paused with the pliers tight on Marius’ other fang, letting Daniel have this moment.)

“When I hurt Armand, it’s not like that. It’s not about my ego, it’s not about reminding him of his place or whatever the fuck you told yourself you were doing. It’s about giving him what he needs. It’s about me knowing how much he can take and him trusting me to know and never push him too far. It’s about sharing the intensity. I’m not asserting my power over him, the way you tried to do. I’m performing a mutually-enjoyed service. I make him feel so alive.”

Daniel ran a fingertip along Armand’s lip, over his chin, down his throat. He could see Armand’s pupils dilate at the light but undeniably possessive touch. It was honestly hypnotic.

“You made him cower. I make him glow.”

Through the bond, Daniel felt Armand’s thrumming enchantment and love. He couldn’t wait for the paralysis to be over so he could kiss him properly. He couldn’t wait for the two of them to be back home in New York together. Making each other glow.

(Daniel had dreamed of this moment for so long. Now, in the moment itself, he was already looking forward to how beautiful the rest of their lives would be once it was done.)

“Sorry, Louis. I interrupted you.”

“Not at all, Daniel. You make a compelling point. Someone so clumsy and so selfish in his handling of pain doesn’t deserve to dispense it.”

Louis had an easier time with the second fang. He exhaled a huff of satisfaction when it came loose and looked towards the pair of them on the chaise.

“Anyone want a souvenir?”

Daniel shook his head. Armand must have declined telepathically because Louis turned to Lestat next. Lestat demurred a moment before turning the offer down. Khayman, however, held out a hand.

“Maharet loves presents.”

Louis dropped the fang in Khayman’s palm and he tucked it away without another word.

“What next, baby?” Daniel asked.

They had brainstormed at least twenty potential acts of poetic punishment in their shared text thread. Important to have some idea of what was on the table, so they could bring the right equipment. But Lestat had insisted—and Daniel agreed—that there should be room for spontaneity. They neither narrowed down the list nor assigned a specific order.

It was Armand who would get to choose. Armand who would direct every step, who got to decide what would happen to Marius’ body.

This time, to Daniel’s surprise, Khayman spoke. It was immediately clear he was responding to a question Daniel could not hear.

“Yes, Armand, it’s alright. I simply will not look. Yes, my young friend. I am very sure.”

“Oh fuck,” Louis exhaled, guilt in his voice, “I– with the tongue, I wasn’t even thinking–”

“Louis,” Khayman cut him off, once again kind but extremely firm, “It’s fine.”

With that, Khayman turned his back on them, walking a few paces away to hover near the bed.

Daniel had not been listening to the whole Akasha origin story, but he was still a journalist. He could put the pieces together. Khayman knew Maharet and her sister Mekare when they were all human. After they were turned, Maharet didn’t have eyes and Mekare didn’t have a tongue. Not that big of a leap, to assume that Akasha had something to do with it and that Khayman was there when it happened.

The stupid thing was that he was curious about it, now. It hadn’t mattered to him at all when it was just vampire legends—old stories about shit that didn’t impact him. But now that he’d spoked to Khayman, gotten to know him a little, Daniel wanted to know. It had shifted in his mind, from ancient history to relevant context. Maybe sometime he could ask Armand to summarize it all for him. For now, Khayman seemed very much like all he wanted was for their collective attention to be taken off him.

“Eyes?” Daniel asked, glancing to Louis and Lestat for confirmation. Both nodded.

“I wanna do this one.”

Daniel shifted as if to stand up, but Lestat said, “Wait.”

Obediently, Daniel relaxed again. He glanced between Lestat and Armand for explanation. Lestat’s face transformed, a wide smile spreading over his mouth, slow as honey. Most of the time, Daniel gave Louis shit for being down so bad when it came to Lestat. But sometimes…well, sometimes he got it.

“The little devil says he wants the last thing Marius to see is you kissing him.”

Louis made a small sound—not quite a protest, but something adjacent to it. Armand’s eyes shifted to meet his. He looked over to Lestat a few seconds later. Daniel couldn’t hear whatever they were discussing, of course, but he felt the echoes of it in Armand’s emotions. An overwhelming rush of love, amusement, deep surprise, gratitude.

“Correction.” Lestat’s voice was silky with delight. The cat who had gotten the cream. “The last thing Marius is going to see will be all of us kissing him. Armand says he knows it is going against your rule about touching, Daniel, but he wants to.”

“We all want to,” Louis added, a little burr of desire in his voice. Daniel couldn’t let himself think about that too hard right now.

Daniel looked at Armand, wondering if he should stand firm on the boundary they’d negotiated. Armand’s pupils were huge, now, only a thin ring of color showing around them. No uncertainty or hesitation coming through their connection. Just an immense, awed feeling of being loved.

“Fuck. Yeah, uh, sure. Okay.”

“Me first,” Lestat said, which was so very Lestat.

He sat on the opposite side of Armand, glancing down at Marius to check the eyeline. Making little adjustments so the bastard would have the best possible view. The kiss itself was less showy than Daniel had anticipated. Not theatrics, not a lewd pantomime. Lestat kissed Armand in a way that reminded Daniel that, yes, even if it had been hundreds of years in the past, they had been lovers. Lestat had been, Daniel realized with a twist in his gut, almost certainly the first man that Armand had chosen for himself. The first time he had sex free of any coercion.

Lestat tucked a stray curl behind Armand’s ear as he pulled away.

“Your turn, love.”

Lestat vacated his place and Louis slipped in to fill it. Unlike Lestat, he did not glance down at Marius once. The way he cradled Armand’s face between his hands probably blocked some of the kiss from view. But Louis clearly did not care. He kissed Armand so softly, his lips only barely brushing against Armand’s, whisper-light touches. Louis kept pulling away, their noses just touching, before leaning in again for another ghost of a kiss. Daniel’s chest ached with how badly Armand was straining against the paralysis, wanting to lean in and kiss back.

“Lots of reasons to love you,” Louis whispered, rubbing his thumb along the line of Armand’s cheekbone. Something about the way Louis said it made the words sound old. A phrase he’d repeated many times over the course of their years together. “It’s still true. Always gonna be true.”

A tear skittered down Armand’s cheek. Louis kissed it away, and let go of Armand.

As soon as he looked into Armand’s eyes, Daniel stopped thinking about Lestat, and Louis, and even Marius. Armand was everything, all of it. The whole goddamn universe. Daniel kissed him like he was throwing himself into a black hole. Toppling headfirst into annihilation. He focused all of himself—mind, body, soul—into channeling his love through the bond. Armand could not kiss back, but Daniel felt his bliss, his reverence. The wordless electric rush of yes, you, yes, love you, yes, yes, forever, yes.

He didn’t want the kiss to ever end. Daniel didn’t know how long it went on for; he would have kept going, were it not for Lestat clearing his throat, a not so gentle reminder that there were other matters to attend to.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Daniel got up. It took him a little while to find the stylus in Armand’s bag, but that was a good thing. He needed that interval, to transition from the wash of radiant love to the old familiar anger. The metalpoint stylus was made of silver—a reproduction of the type Marius had had in his studio, but according to Armand, a good one. It was a triangular rod roughly the size of a pen, with one end sharpened to a wicked point. It fit in Daniel’s hand perfectly.

He stood over Marius for a moment or two, thinking about eyes. About how Marius saw the world, saw Armand. How he’d trained Armand to see himself. Even after he did this, Daniel knew Marius’ eyes wouldn’t be entirely gone. Some part of Armand would always see himself through their lens: a broken unlovable thing, lucky to be fished out of the trash, who should be forever grateful for any scrap of tenderness. A product of a savage land, whose inborn nature infected good and rational men and tempted them into acts of cruel lust. A beautiful object—but not so beautiful that a few artistic corrections were not needed—to be posed, to be used, to be handed around as his owner saw fit. A child, never trusted, never respected, never allowed to decide for himself. A thing. Always, in the end, just a thing.

Daniel had been eloquent in his fantasies of this moment. In reality, he’d stoked the fire of his rage too hot to say anything more than:

“I fucking hate your guts.”

Daniel spat on Marius’ face then went to work. He gouged the stylus deep into Marius’ pale eye. It went in easier than he’d expected. Daniel drew it back, stabbing again—so little resistance! He let out a soft delighted laugh. Another stab, and another, and then he set the stylus aside. Daniel hooked two fingers into the ruined mess of Marius’ eye and scooped some of it out. Blood, jelly, ragged rope of the severed optic nerve. He flung it onto the floor with disgust and wiped his fingers on Marius’ cheek. Daniel took a little more time with the second one, only scratching the surface at first, dragging the point of the stylus over the curve of Marius’ eyeball. With each swipe, he pressed a little harder, cut a little deeper.

“Armand says you’re gorgeous,” Lestat said, voice gone slightly breathless, “And I must say I am in complete agreement.”

“Down boy,” Daniel joked. He sat back, examining his work. Marius’ eye sockets were full of a churned mess of gore, a lumpy red slurry where his eyes had been. Yes, that would do nicely.

Daniel reached over for the discarded washcloth he’d used to wipe Armand’s tears earlier. He lifted it, gave a meaningful glance at Khayman’s back.

Louis was the one to answer the unspoken question.

—Good idea. Armand says go for it.

Daniel folded the washcloth and draped it over Marius’ ruined eyes. As an afterthought, he closed Marius’ mouth, hiding the inky mess and the ragged stump where his tongue used to be.

“You can turn around if you’d like, Khayman,” Daniel said. “Not gonna see anything you don’t want to. Or you can stay over there. That’s okay, too.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Khayman turned around. The tension in his shoulders eased when he caught sight of the washcloth. Daniel wondered if anyone had told him about the existence of therapy. But then, who would’ve? Probably he ought to be the one to do that.

“Armand’s ready for the grand finale if you are, Daniel,” Louis said.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Daniel rolled his shoulders, pulled an arm across his chest and actually started doing some stretches. He’d learned pretty quickly after Armand turned him that even with all the supernatural vitality and strength, vampires could still pull a muscle. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“Strip him, would you?” Daniel asked Lestat.

Lestat froze. There was that look again. The same one he’d gotten the only time Daniel asked him about Magnus. Well, fuck. That was more or less a confirmation as far as Daniel was concerned.

“I’ll do it,” Louis smoothed over the moment. Little press of his hand to the small of Lestat’s back as he passed by. Then he bent over Marius’ body, removing his clothes with cold efficiency. Daniel didn’t bother watching. He finished his stretches and went into the bathroom to get the axe.

It had been surprisingly straightforward, finding someone willing to make them a custom, functional battle-axe. Gotta love New York.

Armand had been extremely specific about the dimensions and appearance, at one point apologizing to the blacksmith after listing off all the details. She told him not to apologize, that she loved commissions from people who knew exactly what they wanted.

While it was still being made, Daniel had worried he would feel silly holding it. He wasn’t like Armand, or Lestat, or even Louis—the most violent altercation of his mortal life had been a fistfight back in the 1990s during a particularly nasty relapse. He hadn’t owned a sword. He hadn’t fought duels or killed wolves or even pulled a knife on anyone. But as soon as it was in his hands, the fear that he would feel like an imposter fell away.

Daniel spun it a few times, re-accustoming himself to the weight and balance. Marius was naked now. Idly, Daniel kicked at his legs, spreading them a little. Give himself a bit of room to work.

“Ready when you are, baby. Hit me with it.”

Daniel closed his eyes, focusing. His second wife had tried to get him into meditation. She thought it would help with his temper. No such luck.

He tried to remember the techniques now. Daniel hushed his emotions down, pictured ripples moving out through a pond, smaller and smaller until its surface was an unbroken mirror. He was blank, quiet, empty. A ready vessel.

Armand, he knew, was doing whatever the exact opposite of meditation was. Combing through it all in his mind. Replaying every strike of the switch, every unwanted touch, every degradation, every lie. Thinking of Bianca and the horror of not knowing what happened to her. Thinking of Riccardo and the life they could have had together. Daniel waited, airless and still.

When Armand broke the barrier that he had erected between them, the wrath hit Daniel with the force of a volcanic eruption. It flattened him, scorched away everything in its path. All measure, all thought, all sense of self. Daniel’s body was an animal thing, instinct and emotion and nothing more. He heaved the axe up and brought it down between Marius’ legs, yanked it loose, brought it down in the same spot again, and again, and again, and again until there was nothing left. He realized at some point that he was screaming. It hurt his throat; he didn’t stop.

It was not a neat dismemberment. There was no logic to where he cut Marius, once he had finished with his genitals. He chopped at random, slicing off hunks of soft flesh, cleaving through bone. Daniel felt the blood on his face and neck and arms. He was sending arcs of it in every direction. It was on the ceiling.

“I hate you.” It was not possible for Daniel to hear Armand’s words the way the other three had. And yet he knew it was what Armand would be shouting if he could. He knew it down to his marrow because there was no separation between them anymore. He was Armand on the chaise unable to make a sound or move; he was Daniel screaming and swinging the axe. They were one and the same. “I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU.”

He chopped until Marius was a jigsaw of mismatched bits, hardly even resembling a whole body. His arms were shaking from exhaustion. Time to finish it.

Decisively, he brought the axe down on the one place he had neglected until now—straight through Marius’ neck, severing his head from his body in one clean stroke.

He heaved for breath. The force of his final blow had buried the blade several inches into the floor. He could not force his hands to let go of the handle. Louis came close, prying each numb finger free.

It was done. It was finally done.

He dropped to his knees and keeled forward, bracing his arms against the floor. He ground his face into the blood-soaked rug, open-mouthed, howling, sobbing. The sounds were awful and guttural, torn from him by the force of relief and rage and terrible grief.

It was finally over.

Things went blurry after that. Everything was so far away. He was dimly aware of what was happening. Louis lifted him in his arms like an overtired child. Set him gently on the chaise beside the other part of him. Armand. That was what it was called. That body was called Armand and this body was called Daniel. He remembered now.

The other three talked for what seemed like a long time. They were speaking in English, but the words slid past, beyond his comprehension. He watched them empty out a suitcase and stuff all the Marius chunks in it. Lestat zipped up the suitcase and headed out the door with it. Louis picked him up again and Khayman carried the other part, following after.

It wasn’t a long journey down to the kitchen. Along one wall was a huge fireplace, a giant blaze roaring away in it already. Lestat was throwing handfuls of viscera from the open suitcase into the flames, blood all over his shirt sleeves. Blood on his face, too. Oh, those were tears.

Then he was being laid down somewhere soft and comfortable; the other half was set down close by, and then the lid was closed. Darkness, enclosure, safety. Rest.

Daniel remembered who he was when he woke up.

Armand was still fast asleep. Daniel felt the movement of air from his exhalations. His narrow chest was rising and falling steadily—breathing again. He touched Armand’s cheek, thrilling at how he stirred and made a face, sleepy and sullen.

“Too early. Go away.”

Daniel couldn’t help smiling so wide it almost hurt. He kissed Armand’s forehead, mussed his hair, let him sleep.

It was a new day; they were together and whole and alive (kind of), and Marius de Romanus was no more.

“I brought you a gift.”

Armand, sitting at the small table in their kitchen, looked up. Already smiling, not even knowing what it was. Maybe Daniel was just imagining it, but the happiness seemed to come a little easier for him with every day that passed.

Daniel took the seat across from him and set down the manila envelope. Quirking an eyebrow, Armand opened it, fanning out the papers he found inside. Photocopies of old documents—mostly letters and a few official city records. Daniel had circled all the relevant parts with highlighter.

“The bit about moving to Florence was a bluff. She must have spread that around in case Marius came looking. She went to Turin instead. Changed her name, cut her hair, even posed as a man. For the rest of her life, looks like.”

The same name popping up again and again. Not Bianca Solderini—Alfonso Soldierini. He had arrived in the right year: the right season, even. Armand scanned the letters that Alfonso Solderini had written quickly, taking in every word. He knew her handwriting, her clever unique way of wording things. It was her, without question.

“Pretty fucking ingenious way to throw him off the scent if you ask me, gotta hand it to her.”

Armand’s expression was thoughtful, his voice distant, “That…might not be the only reason.”

“Yeah?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah. Looking back, she used to love dressing up. We did it all the time. Riccardo and I would come over and I would bring some of my clothes. She would change and tuck her hair under her hat, and we would all go gallivanting around the city, pretending she was one of the other boys from the palazzo. She always went by Alfonso when we would play that game.”

“So, you’re thinking…maybe not completely a game?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who can say? I thought all women did that, at the time, but I also didn’t know any other women. And now, looking back…”

Impossible to say for sure, with the distance of so many centuries stretching out between them. Alfonso Solderini had lived into his 60s, according to the records. Worked as a wine merchant until he passed away from what was designated simply as ‘fever’. A wife, no children.

A full life. A human life. Hopefully, a happy one.

Armand didn’t say thank you, but it was alright. Daniel could see that he couldn’t speak. He got up and went over for a hug. Armand held him back so tightly that Daniel was pretty sure a few of his ribs got bruised. It was worth it.

In early December there was a knock on the apartment door. It was 5 PM; the sun had been down for half an hour but Daniel was still sleepy, sprawled on the couch and reading the news on his phone. Armand padded over to answer it and Daniel sat up a little so he could see who it was. He’d stopped expecting reprisals for Marius’ execution (for the most part) but that sliver of fear still sat in the back of his mind.

It turned out to be a human. A plump Indian woman in her late 40s with dark skin and her black hair in a messy bun, wearing a set of magenta scrubs. Daniel recognized her; she lived in the building. He had seen her plenty of times: collecting her mail, passing by in the hall carrying groceries, taking out the trash. Normal, forgettable stuff.

He probably wouldn’t even have recognized her, if it weren’t for the one time a few weeks ago that had not been forgettable at all.

Daniel and Armand had been coming back from an early hunt. They had passed the woman on the stairs as she descended holding a small pet carrier. The cat inside was yowling piteously, and the woman spoke to it in a steady stream of what sounded like mockery and reassurance. Daniel wasn’t sure, since she was speaking in Hindi. He’d done the polite New Yorker thing and simply pretended she did not exist as they passed by one another, thinking nothing of it.

At least, not until they were back in the apartment and Daniel saw that Armand had gone blank. No buildup, no warning signs—he was just gone. Doors closed behind his eyes, empty static susurrus through the bond. Nobody home.

Daniel did his best not to panic. He made it a full three hours before he contacted Louis, who reassured him that yes, that happened sometimes, and no, there wasn’t anything Daniel could do. He just needed to be there for him when he came back.

Armand had resurfaced before the end of the night. He acted as if nothing had happened—insisted, in fact, that he didn’t remember passing the woman on the stairs at all.

And now she was here, at their door. Speaking English, saying she hoped it wasn’t a bad time, she had been meaning to say hello ever since she saw that he moved in. The woman was talking only to Armand: she didn’t seem to have spotted Daniel in the living room beyond. She introduced herself (Diya) and waited for Armand’s reply.

“…Armand.”

“Nice to meet you, Armand. Look, I have to head in for my shift any minute, but here’s the thing. My little sister has been on this whole farming kick and she got a bunch of chickens and now every time she visits me she leaves about five dozen eggs. I’ve started just giving them out to my neighbors.”

Daniel watched as she thrust a carton of eggs into Armand’s stunned hands, paused, and then added another on top of it.

“I’m about to sound like my mother saying this but you look like you’re not eating enough. I’m just up in 14E if you need anything, okay? Don’t be a stranger.” She added something in Hindi. Daniel got to his feet without realizing it. He made his way to the door, settling a hand against the small of Armand’s back. Armand had stopped breathing, but the woman hadn’t seemed to notice.

“What’s all this?” Daniel interrupted, loud and cheerful. Armand started breathing again. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad, this time. Daniel wasn’t feeling any static, yet. Good sign.

“Diya, from upstairs,” the woman introduced herself again, “Giving away unwanted eggs. I’ve seen you around the building, as well, I didn’t realize you two lived together! Are you Armand’s…?”

Whatever she was going to end the sentence with, it wouldn’t be good. Daniel didn’t give her the opportunity. “Live-in boytoy,” he supplied, absolutely deadpan.

That stopped Diya in her tracks. She clearly did not know if she should laugh or not.

“Partner,” Armand corrected, voice clipped and prim. Bristle of embarrassment and irritation through the bond. Armand glanced at Daniel, eyes flicking up and down him, his frown deepening.

Daniel remembered, at that moment, a disagreement they’d had about Daniel answering his door in his pajamas, still rumpled from sleep—just as he was now. Armand’s ideas about public and private could be so charmingly outdated. It’s too intimate, Daniel. I’m the only one who should get to see you like that. Daniel genuinely didn’t think it was all that big of a deal. The UPS guy was not, in reality, going to be harboring any lustful thoughts about a random old man who signed for a package in his boxers. But it had been fun, how heated and possessive Armand got over it.

Today, there was no undercurrent of sexual tension; Armand was simply exasperated. But that exasperation seemed to have halted his distress in its tracks before he could slip into dissociation; Daniel had never been so grateful to be an obnoxious bastard.

“Oh!” Diya was clearly stunned, not just by the joke but by the seeming age gap. She recovered rapidly, “Well, um, that’s great! Enjoy the eggs, both of you!”

“Thaaaaanks,” Daniel said, a little sarcasm to it, drawing out the word as he rudely shut the door right in her face.

It was so tempting, to start scheming up ways to chase her off. Not enough to just make sure she never came to their door again. He’d have to convince her to move entirely. No more chance encounters in the stairwell that led to disaster.

Daniel recognized the foolishness of his train of thought right away. He had every intention of staying with Armand for the rest of eternity. There were, what? 600 million people in the world who spoke Hindi? What was he going to do, scare away any of them who came within ten feet of Armand? Forever?

Perhaps it was time to admit to himself that killing Marius was the first step. In the long-term, Armand probably needed more than just revenge, however bloody and satisfying it might have been.

Armand had made his way into the kitchen, setting the eggs down on the counter.

“What the hell are we gonna do about those?” Daniel wondered aloud, coming to join him.

Armand ignored him. He pulled a mug from the drying rack by the sink. Eyes intent, looking almost in a trance, he cracked the egg, spilled its contents into his palm. He separated the yolk deftly, letting the whites slip off into the empty sink. With a careful prick of his nail, he pierced the membrane around the yolk, let its insides pour down—viscous and rich—into the mug.

“You do remember we’re blood drinking creatures of the night, right? What are you gonna do, whip up an omelet?”

Armand rolled his eyes. “No.”

He didn’t offer any explanation for what he was planning. He merely washed his hands, patted Daniel on the shoulder as he passed, and walked out the door without another word.

He returned in two hours with a stretched canvas tucked under one arm, a brush set that looked like it probably cost two months’ rent, and a dizzying number of tiny containers of pigment. Armand dumped the lot of it on the table and began sorting through his materials. There was a palette, too—Daniel recognized that. A few tools he didn’t know the names of. Something that turned out to be a tabletop easel to secure the canvas.

Armand was going to paint.

Daniel didn’t remember when it had happened. Some night or other, in bed together, when all at once Armand’s whisper had come out of the total dark. How many small disclosures had Daniel heard in this way?

His voice had been laden with shame, only just audible.

“I used to paint. Before they sold me. I can’t remember what, but I know that I did. It was religious, I think. Then later, at the palazzo, the boys painted all the time. Fill-in work on the master’s canvases, nothing that required great skill. It was part of our duties, our education. Only for such a long time…after the brothel, I couldn’t. Any time I picked up a brush, I would cry and cry until I couldn’t breathe.”

In the dark, Daniel’s hand found Armand’s curls, still damp from a shower. He carded his fingers through them carefully, like Armand was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

“But he wouldn’t allow me to stop trying. He made me pick up a brush and paint a little, every night. A few times I wept until I was sick. He told me I was in a place of goodness now and that the past did not matter. He said I must not cling to shadows I could only half recall, that I prolonged my own suffering by trying to hold onto someone who did not exist anymore. He instructed me to…picture my memories before the palazzo as dry leaves, scatter them as the wind would. I must make my mind clean and ready to be filled. Like a canvas.”

Daniel closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the axe cleaving through Marius’ neck. It helped, a little.

“I was Amadeo now. I was new. No other boy had ever been inside me. I must only speak in Venetian, or Greek, or the other languages I was being taught by the tutors. If he heard me utter a word in the other language—” Armand’s voice slid off. A long, pregnant silence. Finally, the simple admission, Armand’s words very far away and faint now: “I don’t remember. Something bad.”

Armand might not remember whatever Marius’ punishment had been, but it was still there, inside him. It was there along with all the rest of it: every wound, every cruel thing that had ever been done to him. They were written into the wiring of his body; they lurked just under the surface of the dark water of his mind. Logs, jutting rocks, debris. Ready to capsize him at any moment.

Daniel watched Armand setting up his station: clamping the canvas into the easel, arranging his brushes, tipping little amounts of each pigment into their own larger paint pots, ready to be mixed.

“Would you like any help?” he asked.

Armand whirled to look at him, irises a searing orange. Searching for any hint of mockery or pity. Finding neither, he shrugged; through the bond, his insecurity and defiance practically vibrated.

“If you want to, you can do the yolks.”

So Daniel stood over the kitchen sink, cracking eggs, discarding the whites, piercing the yolks and draining them into a glass jar. When he was halfway through the first dozen, Armand said:

“Marius looked down on tempera. Too common. He had us mix all his paints with fine oils.”

“Ostentatious.”

“Mhm.”

Once Daniel had collected all the yolks and handed the jar over, Armand began to carefully mix in water, swirling it with a brush handle to check the consistency.

“What are you looking for, exactly?”

Armand did not respond. For a moment, Daniel worried he’d gotten a shard of shell in the yolks or something and pissed him off. But then he spotted the look on Armand’s face as he added a tiny bit more water and stirred. He was completely, utterly focused. Daniel recognized that look. He stopped asking questions, settling down instead to watch Armand work.

Armand dug out the bottle of white vinegar they used for cleaning and poured a small amount into the cap, adding it to the yolk and water mixture drop by drop. He was caught up in the process, completely lost to the world around him. He combined the liquid and the pigments, one by one, laid out the tiny pots of paint just so. Looked at the canvas, tilted his head, and stared.

Daniel loved him so much he felt like he would split in two.

When Armand began to paint, Daniel had an idea. He went through the apartment, gathering up lamps—a floor lamp from their living room, bedside lamps with the shades removed, the one with the flexible neck from his office. He brought them all in, arranged them along the kitchen counter, perched on the microwave or a stool: anywhere near enough to a plug that there was a free space. Each one he switched on gave Armand a little more light to work by. Armand did not thank him, but he stopped squinting so much.

An hour or so later, Daniel took a pillow from the couch, slipping it behind Armand to soften the back of the hard kitchen chair. Armand carried on painting.

Daniel slipped out to hunt; by the time he returned, the painting was transformed. It had gone from an assembly of large blocks of colors to a human figure—a person with short black hair and skin a few shades lighter than Armand’s, sitting with their cheek propped against their hand.

Daniel pulled up his own chair, watching Armand until his eyelids began to get heavy. The sun was coming up. Armand was working from the outside in. He’d embellished the subject’s clothing—a cap, tunic, and doublet in bronze and green, all of which went well with his complexion. He’d finished the hand, too, loving attention lavished on the curve of sturdy fingers, the faint shifts in coloration to show calluses and small scars.

He got up to go to bed on his own, surprised when Armand stood as well. He began screwing the tops onto all the small pots of paint. Daniel waited, offering his hand when Armand was done. Armand took it and the two of them went to bed in silence.

When Daniel awoke the next evening, Armand wasn’t there. He found him in the kitchen as expected, hunched over the painting, his nose mere inches from the canvas. There was paint on his fingers, a little of it splattered on his cheek and neck. He’d pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail, using a crushed velvet purple scrunchie Daniel had stolen off a human they shared together.

“Do you need anything?” Daniel asked. He suspected Armand did not; the question was mostly a test to see if Armand still didn’t feel like talking.

“Mmm, no. Thank you.”

“You mind if I head out to hunt?”

“No.” A pause, and then, “Actually, could you put some music on, before you go?”

Daniel put some music on.

When he returned an hour later, warm and full from no less than three victims, Daniel said:

“Diya was right, y’know. You haven’t been eating enough lately.”

Armand paused, his brush halfway to the canvas. He opened his mouth as if he were about to argue and then closed it again. They both knew Daniel was right, but Armand clearly did not want to stop for a meal.

“C’mon, boss, I’m not that mean. I’m not going to bully you into hunting while you’re in it.”

Daniel was already rolling back his sleeve, baring his forearm. Armand’s eyes fell to his wrist; his fangs dropped and he stared with naked hunger. Daniel hooked his foot around a leg of the kitchen chair Armand was sitting in, dragging it away from Armand’s painting setup, then seated himself sideways on Armand’s lap, an arm looped around his shoulders.

“I had plenty. Don’t hold back.”

The quick sting of Armand’s needle-sharp little fangs, and then he was drinking, slow and worshipful, his eyes fluttering closed. The noises he was making were honestly pornographic, but Daniel quashed the impulse to take this any further. He let Armand drink until he looked less wan, and then tapped the back of his head. Armand released him at once, staring at Daniel with blown-wide pupils, his lips bloody, his face flushed.

“I love you. You’re perfect.”

Impossible to resist. “Better believe it.”

Daniel got off Armand’s lap, wiping his mouth clean with a proprietary swipe of his thumb.

“I’ll be in the office. Let me know when you finish it?”

Armand didn’t complete the painting until the next night. In the intervening time, Daniel bought a frame for it: a simple one of dark wood that went well with its colors.

There were more steps after the last brushstroke than Daniel had realized. The painting had to dry completely. Then there was varnish, which also must be allowed to dry. The canvas had to be installed carefully into the frame. Only then did he ask: “Where do you want to put it?”

Armand drifted around their apartment staring at the walls. He was hovering just at the edge of emotional overwhelm; Daniel could feel it. He didn’t rush him.

“There,” he said at last, pointing to the wall above the fireplace.

Daniel hung it up, careful to get it centered just right. When he was done, he took a few paces back to stand next to Armand.

The boy in the painting was beaming with joy. He looked around eighteen years old, square-faced and olive-skinned. There was a small gap between his front teeth. Armand had captured how his eyes did not close quite the same amount when he smiled. His cap appeared to be seconds away from sliding off his mass of unruly dark curls—closer in texture to Daniel’s than Armand’s. His cheeks were flushed; a half-empty glass of wine sat on the table before him along with some dice. It was not a remarkable face, but it radiated love, warmth, humanity.

Daniel slipped an arm around Armand’s shaking shoulders, pulling him in tight against his side.

“I think it would’ve been a good life,” Daniel said quietly, “The cottage in the country. Rural living’s not what people think, and I’m sure that was true even back then. But the two of you would’ve made it work, I bet.”

Armand’s tears were blinding him now, silent sobs wracking his body. Daniel drew him in, rocking both of them gently.

“God, why did he have to love me? He would’ve been safe if he hadn’t loved me.”

“No,” Daniel disagreed, softly, “No, baby. He wouldn’t have.”

Daniel looked at the painting while Armand wept. Looked at this boy he’d never met, who had lived and died an impossible-to-imagine amount of time before he was ever born. This boy who had loved Armand selflessly when he had no one else in the whole world. Who had looked out for him without ever asking for anything in return. Who couldn’t save Armand or himself, in the end.

He swallowed, Armand’s grief washing through him like a tidal flood. He wished he could open up time like a book, flip back a few chapters, say something to Riccardo. What would it be? I’m sorry? You both deserved so much better? I’ll take care of him for you, now?

No, he knew what it would be.

One last fantasy, then. Daniel pressed a kiss to Armand’s temple, closing his eyes. It was so easy to picture Riccardo; he was so alive in Armand’s painting, so real. Daniel imagined both of them, their arms linked together, boisterous and carefree in some Venetian tavern at midday. Secrets and pain waiting for them back at the palazzo. But here, in the daylight, together, a few moments of freedom.

Daniel pictured Riccardo pausing in the middle of his song, looking up at the stranger who approached. That gap in his teeth showed as he smiled, confused, uncertain if he should recognize the old man.

“Thank you for loving him, no matter the cost.”

Armand’s breathing was changing, sobs giving way to hiccupping gasps. Daniel pulled away just enough to stroke his face. He tucked Armand’s hair back behind his ears, wiped the streaks of blood from his cheeks with the cuffs of his shirt.

That was what he intended to do. Love Armand, no matter the cost. Until the end of fucking time.