Clan War: Kiss of Death

10th Anniversary Edition

Miami, Florida ~ June 2004

Alexx Woods looked down at the body of her friend.

He should not have been on her autopsy table.

Not ever.

She had thought about excusing herself from the case, going home, bawling her eyes out in her husband’s embrace.

But how could she leave her baby to the cold touch of a stranger?

He deserved so much better, so much more than that.

He deserved a long and fulfilling life.

But it was not to be.

Speed was her friend.

She had virtually adopted him into her own family, having fallen for the ‘puppy-eyed innocent little boy in the big bad world’ routine he could do so very, very well.

He had needed a mother, to comfort and feed him, to love and support him, and to get him smiling now and then.

Yet so suddenly he was lost.

Her dear lost son.

Lying there before her.

Victim.

Case number.

When he should’ve been out with Horatio searching for that other lost little boy who had still to find his way home, he lay dead.

Cold.

Sniffing hopelessly at the tears which threatened to spill, she brushed her left hand through Speed’s unruly dark hair, and knew she had to be dispassionate about what was to come.

But it was so hard.

So desperately hard.

With a scalpel in her right hand, she bent forward, whispering, “I’m so sorry, baby,” as she put the blade to his right shoulder and began the ‘Y’ incision.

That was when a hand suddenly shot up from the table and grabbed hers.

She froze.

With a blink she found herself staring straight down into wide open, and tightly focused, very familiar brown eyes.

Before she could react, Speed’s other hand came up too, and clasped over her mouth, effectively stifling the scream that was forming.

“Please don’t make a sound,” he said softly, his throat dry and sore. “It’s okay. Trust me.”

He’d been hoping to sound soothing, but her face betrayed the unavoidable shock and fear of seeing him wake.

“I can explain what’s going on, I promise.”

He could feel her shaking, but after a moment she seemed to register that it was really him.

“If I move my hand, will you stay quiet?” he asked urgently.

She nodded, and he let her go, dropping his arms in exhaustion.

With a grimace he twisted at the waist and pulled himself off the smooth, steel topped table, only to realize he’d been stripped of every piece of clothing, and was naked bar a small, white sheet across his groin.

Everything felt awkward as hell.

His chest hurt like a sonofabitch.

His knees buckled, but he grabbed for the table edge.

Regaining his balance, he just about lost the sheet at his waist.

Alexx gasped, seeing how the wound she had started cutting into his shoulder, was actually seeming to close.

She blinked.

Stepping backward suddenly, she tripped on her instrument trolley, scattering tools across the floor with a heinous crash. In her mind she knew she was hallucinating a crazy vision induced by extreme stress and agony of grief.

“Alexx?” Speed reached for her. “Please calm down, okay?”

“Calm down?” she demanded, not apparently beyond arguing with her own insane issues. “When I’m losing my mind? Tim! You just rose off my autopsy table!!”

He glanced down at where he’d been lying, then adjusted the sheet. “I can explain.”

She glared at him and crossed her arms defensively. “Please do.”

He sighed, trying to move was hardly simple, and even standing around was taking a lot out of him.

When he sagged, she rushed forward thinking to help, or at the very least shatter her own delusion, but he pushed her away.

And in doing so, he felt very real, and very solid.

“No! Stay back!” he growled.

“Why?” It seemed like one more ludicrous thing to worry about. “I might not know what’s going on with you, but I do know you need medical attention, Timmy.”

“Alexx…” He hesitated, fighting the temptation of her wildly beating heart as it pounded violently in his ears. “Do we have any blood around here?”

“Blood?” She was quite justifiably confused. “Not here. Maybe up in DNA?”

“No. Packets.” He pulled the sheet a bit tighter, still leaning against the table for support.

“We don’t keep that here. No need for it.”

“Do we have a fresh body? Besides mine?” He offered her a weak smile but she wasn’t exactly in a good place for much humor.

“Not funny,” she muttered. “But yeah. A body came in about half an hour before you…” She couldn’t say what was right on the tip of her tongue. “Why? Why do you…?”

“I need blood. Need it now. Lost too much at the scene. Weak. Getting worse…” A thin sheen of sweat was beading on his brow despite the chill in the room.

“Weak?” Alexx looked at him intently as it seemed his eyes were set aglow with an unnatural golden light. “Oh, my God!” She threw her hands up to her mouth then, watching him pale far beyond even the pallor of the dead, and staring in horror as his canine teeth grew far more pronounced.

“Alexx, please?” There was genuine hunger in his voice as he begged, and it startled him. “If you don’t get me some blood I’m going to end up snacking on you, and I don’t really want to do that when you’re so freaked.”

“You’re a…” she mumbled, “…a…a…”

“Vampire. Yeah. We exist. Can you get over it yet? I need you here!”

Alexx swallowed hard, and finally took a step toward the numbered drawers where her patients were placed. “How does this work?” she asked, opening the second door of the middle row, and sliding out a young white man of about 25 years.

“How did he die?”

“Looks like an aneurism. He was driving.”

“Crime scene?”

“His car hit several others.”

“Drugs?”

“No, he’s clean. No record.”

Speed nodded. “Take blood from the heart directly. Should help a bit right now.”

Ignoring entirely, the total batshit craziness of the situation Doctor Woods knew she was in, she simply went to work, gathering her equipment and doing as she was asked, ending up with just over a cup of cold blood, drawn straight through the chest cavity with a long bore syringe. It took two tries to get enough, and she emptied her prize into a sterile beaker, trying not to stare at Speed as she did so.

He snatched it from her hand the moment she was done, and downed it in a couple of swallows.

It was enough to stop him shaking at least.

Alexx watched in fascination and fear, as the cut she’d made on his shoulder closed altogether, and faded to nothing but a blemish. Then color came to his cheeks again, and his eyes returned to their normal shade.

“I know this is a shock,” he began.

“Shock?! Tim!! You just rose from the dead and you…” She flailed, ripping off her gloves. “…you actually drank blood!” It was all she could do to stop from shrieking as her words grew in volume and vehemence.

“Alexx, please. It’s me. Its alright.” He made a move toward her, and frowned when she leapt back. “I know this is overwhelming.”

“Vampires do not exist!” she said firmly. “It's fiction!”

“It’s not. I’m living proof. Or actually, I’m non-living proof.” He shrugged, not really caring either way, but hissing at the pain in his chest. “Did you, erm…” He shifted again. “…send my clothes to Trace already?”

“I cut them off you. They’re not… I mean, Horatio picked them up a few minutes ago.”

He glanced down at the sheet he was still clinging to, letting the reality of what she’d said sink in a little bit. He swallowed. “Got any spare Scrubs? Its cold in here now.”

“You can feel cold?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.

“And walk in sunlight,” Speed chuckled, “eat garlic, attend Mass if I feel the urge.”

“So what makes you a Vampire?” Hands on hips, she was definitely not in the mood for being bullshitted.

“I’m dead. I’m still walking. And I need blood to survive.” He grinned broadly.

“So if sunlight and Holy Water can’t kill you, and bullets certainly don’t seem to work, what can stop you?” She found her fears subsiding, and a whole new curiosity taking over.

“Decapitation will do it,” Speed answered easily. “Starvation, fire sometimes.”

“No wooden stakes?”

“Nope.” He held his other hand out to her, feeling strong enough to try and move from near the table. “I’m sorry I scared you. Really.”

It took her a moment before she could step toward him, her rational mind silenced by her compassion for the son she had so unexpected regained. “Timmy!” she cried, pulling him into her arms and holding on for dear life. “How long have you been like this?”

“I died in the year of our Lord 1342.”

The distinctive sound of a body hitting the floor, stopped him from saying anything further, and he glanced over his shoulder to find Horatio and Eric both staring at him in slack-jawed shock.

It was Calleigh who lay in a faint at their feet.

The Lieutenant found his voice first. “Speed? Is there something you want to tell us?”

“Hi!” Speed couldn’t believe something so lame was the first response he could come up with as he turned around, tightening his tiny sheet like a shield before a mighty Gladiator in the arena.

Horatio’s eyebrows rose cautiously. “Hi back. Now what is going on here?”

The newly exposed Vampire looked at Alexx, clearly pleading. He was still seriously hungry, and there were suddenly too many heartbeats in the immediate vicinity.

“Don’t throw those big ol’ eyes at me, sugar. You explain it.”

She let him go, yet stayed close by in case he needed her.

She was Momma Bear.

They all got that.

Speed would’ve doubtless shrugged again, but the still very visible bullet wound to his chest, that was clearly matched by an exit wound on his back, hurt too much to let him even take a breath. Not that he needed to breathe, but every now and then it was a calming reflex to have use of. “I’m a Vampire,” he said bluntly.

Calleigh groaned.

Horatio bent to help her, gesturing for Eric to lend a gentlemanly arm. “Come on, Detective.”

She rubbed her eyes, still swollen from the tears it had been impossible to contain. “How…? I…” Flipping her hair back, she leant on Eric as she stood up.

“You good?” Delko demanded.

“We were coming to say goodbye…” Calleigh finally registered that Speed was not lying on the autopsy table. “WHAT THE HELL???!!!”

Everyone grimaced at the earsplitting screech she gave.

Horatio shut the door, making certain to lock it. “Let’s keep this quiet, can we?” he asked significantly. “Until we know what this really is, I’d rather be discreet.”

“I really am a Vampire,” Speed replied.

Alexx nodded. “Hell, yeah! Scared the ever loving crap out of me, rising up like a zombie or something. I have in all my years doing this job, seen some crazy fool things, but never this. Never ever!”

Hearing their ME use a cuss word was enough to make instant believers out of all of them.

“Eric? Go get me some clothes, huh? Spare set. In my locker.” Speed couldn’t keep the shivers, or the goosebumps at bay any longer. “Freezing my ass off here!”

“Erm…?”

There was little else Delko could manage at that point.

He and Calleigh clung to each other like they both might pass out at any given moment.

“Dude! Great comeback,” Speed muttered, rolling his eyes, the snark all too easy. “I can’t get them myself right now!”

Horatio intervened, stepping firmly in front of the CSI he had so very recently watched die. “Tim, let’s start from the beginning,” he said quietly, trying to remain calm.

He wanted, with every ounce of his being, to touch the man he knew he had failed. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming; fallen asleep at his desk in a blur of tired guilt and bitter anguish.

The raw injury on Speed’s body, screamed at him in silent accusation.

“I’m a Vampire, H. Getting shot knocked me out for a few hours. Too much blood loss. It’s a healing coma. Best way I know to describe it. The bullet tore my lung. I felt it go through, but I was choking. I couldn’t tell you I’d be okay. Lungs are complex. It took a while for me to come back.” He swallowed, seeing in Horatio’s beautiful blue eyes, the same fear he had carried with him into that all-consuming, heavy darkness, on the floor of the damned jewelry store he wished he'd never even heard of let alone walked into.

“Speed…” Horatio tried to speak, but Calleigh interrupted the moment.

“Prove it!” she challenged.

“What?” It shocked Speed a little, the way she glared at him.

“I saw his fangs, Calleigh. He drank blood too!” Alexx noted the fiercely defensive distrust on her friend’s face and wondered if she herself had worn a similar expression when Speed first grabbed at her and sat up. But she would defend her baby boy. She had him back. The rest would simply have to figure itself out around them.

“Where did you get the blood?” Horatio growled, his attention moving to Alexx, his eyes roving over her, seeking signs of trauma or violence.

“I didn’t Feed off her!” The Vampire snarled angrily. “I would never hurt her!”

“Holy shit!” Eric gasped again, staring at his colleague and pointing. “Your eyes! You… There’s actual fangs!”

Speed knew he was losing control. “I can smell your fear. I hear the blood pounding in your veins, all of you.” He shuddered. “You were never meant to find out this way. Does it qualify as proof enough for you all?” He turned away, willing the Vampire to contain itself. “I’ll tell you everything. Just please, get me some clothes. I’m so cold.”

Taking charge of the situation, Horatio began issuing orders, unable to bear the weak tremor in Speed’s voice. “Eric? Go to the locker room. Get Tim’s spare outfit. Quick and quiet. Calleigh? Get back upstairs and act like there’s nothing going on but the autopsy of a dear friend. Alexx? File your report. Forge whatever you need to, then you’re done. You’re so distraught over what happened to Tim, you need to go home. Speed?”

When his CSI glanced back at him, the fangs were gone and his eyes were once more their rich dark brown.

“Let me guess? Low profile?” he joked. “Can I at least go scare the crap out of Stetler? He’s probably already sniffing around, looking to blame you for my death.”

Eric snorted.

Everyone turned and stared at him.

“Clothes!” He nodded, gesturing at the door. “Going now.”

“Can you get out of here without being seen?” Horatio was trying to stay focused on the practicalities.

“Contrary to the movies, Vampires can’t turn invisible or suddenly become bats.” Speed sighed. “But I can do a sneaky run for Alexx’s car.” He chuckled, yet there was barely an ounce of energy left in his body, and when he sagged at the knees, Horatio leapt forward to catch him.

“Alexx! Forget the report,” he snapped. “Get your stuff and pull your car up to the ambulance bay.” The redhead pushed Speed against the table. “I’ll get him out to you as soon as he’s strong enough. Then you can take him to a hotel. Stash him safely, somewhere quiet.”

“The Mandarin Oriental,” Tim murmured.

“That’s hardly low profile!” Alexx was horrified by the very idea.

“I keep a private suite. Penthouse. Back entrance. About as discreet as it gets.” He wanted to explain further, but the Vampire in his Soul was screaming at him to Feed.

His friends stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Trust me,” he sighed. “Go, Alexx. Please?”

The Lieutenant nodded. “We’ll work things out as we do this.”

With a tight smile she walked out, heading for her office, too stunned by it all to do more than follow orders.

“Hey! Whoa!” Horatio held Speed a little tighter when he showed signs of slipping to the floor. “Even as I look at you, you’re growing paler.”

“Blood. Need.” His voice, low and hoarse, Speed was actually terrified of what he might do without immediate sustenance.

“Then Feed from me.” The redhead took his friend’s face in his hands, making certain they were eye to eye. “Do you understand?”

“Do you?”

“That you’re standing here talking to me, instead of lying dead in one of those drawers is enough for me to accept the Vampire. Take what you need from me. I failed you today. If I’d reacted better then all of this could have been avoided. I’m sorry.” It was a painful but necessary confession and he felt better for saying it.

“Horatio, this is…”

“Do what you have to. I trust you.”

Speed’s sudden burst of fluid grace, caught him off guard as he was shoved against the chiller drawers, his body quite effectively trapped between hard muscle and cold steel.

His hands found their way instantly to the Vampire’s waist, tightening on those lean hips, from which that tiny sheet had inevitably fallen a moment before.

But there was no chance to even think about the consequence of what was happening to him, as Speed ran a hand into his hair and pulled his head forward, promptly devouring his mouth in a ravenous, demanding kiss that stole every ounce of breath from his chest, and all the willpower from his body.

A deep, needy groan rose from his own throat…

…though he never knew it.

And as Speed’s lips moved swiftly along his jawline to his neck, there came the scratch of stubbled chin to pale and tender skin.

Horatio shuddered, closing his eyes, gasping in pleasure as for the first time in his

life, he felt fangs pierce is flesh.

Having imagined there would be only pain, the sensation was shockingly arousing.

Speed’s fingers clamped hard in his hair, holding him still, even as his hips ground into the Vampire’s groin.

He just couldn’t help himself, his body rocked by a powerful desire that threatened to have him writhing in orgasm as the Vampire’s other hand ran up under his jacket and pressed against his ribs.

His chest heaved.

A soft moan escaped him.

And he blinked at the unexpected touch of Speed’s tongue bathing his neck.

The rush of emotions flooding through him, were overwhelming.

Just drawing down some air took a moment of sheer concentration.

And as focus returned to him, H glanced over Speed’s shoulder to see Eric behind them in the doorway, standing there with his mouth open and his eyes completely bugging out of their sockets.

Right on the verge of saying something, the redhead was lost once again in another kiss, a gentler and more tender embrace that had him tasting the slight metallic tang of his own blood, as Speed’s tongue explored every inch of his mouth.

His head spun.

His heart threatened to race itself to pieces.

Somewhere in the recesses of what still functioned as rational thought in his mind, Horatio Caine knew that he could have willingly died at that moment, and not cared that such an end had come to him.

Finally, Speed pulled away, and he could clearly see the golden glow in his eyes fade from a brilliant amber, back to their more familiar shade, and his fangs retracted until they were nothing but memory.

“Ag deireanach mo thighearna,” Tim whispered, cupping his cheek and smiling softly.

“Oh, God…” That was all Horatio could muster as the ache in his groin became more than apparent through the sexual fog in his brain, and he wondered vaguely if he’d come in his pants like some hormonal teenager.

“Don’t be afraid. Lean back for a while. You’ll be giddy. I may have drunk a bit more than I should.”

And it had taken every single thread of self-control he ever possessed, for Speed not to keep going, drain him and Turn him right there without Consent.

“Eric was here,” H muttered.

“He left. I don’t think he was ready for what he saw.”

Horatio put a hand to the rapidly healing bullet wound on Speed’s breast, his long and agile fingers playing cautiously and incredibly delicately over the tightening edges of it. “My God,” he breathed. “Your back too?”

“Ay,” Tim answered, turning around to confirm it, spying his clothes on the workbench by the door. “Fresh blood and all is well. Give it a moment and there will be no sign it ever happened.”

Horatio found it impossible to look away. “My God, it’s incredible. Does it hurt?”

“A little, but its nothing I’ve not felt before on a few occasions.”

“You’ve been shot before?”

Speed walked away to get dressed, unashamed of his nudity but certainly not oblivious to the redhead’s gaze. Though the question he had been asked was innocent enough, it raised hideous memories at a vulnerable moment, and he scrubbed at his chin as though to reassure himself he was in fact, quite sound.

“Tim…?”

“There’s so much to tell you,” he said simply, pulling on his pants, and a plain blue, long-sleeved tee.

“How did you know Eric had been here? You weren’t even looking that way.”

“I could smell him. And I heard the door open twice.” Hopping on one foot, he tugged his old and dirty sneakers on.

“Smell him?”

“Sure. Everyone smells, H,” he chortled.

“Do I want to know what of? Wait! No!” Horatio was positive. “I don’t want to know.”

“You sure?” Speed slipped his other shoe on easier than the first.

“Totally! I’m sticking with the notion of sweat and pheromones and…” He put one hand to his groin and one to his neck, relieved his trousers weren’t damp, yet astonished to find no blood spilt on his skin, or even his shirt collar. In fact he had no real recollection of Speed having so much as opened his tie. “Is it always that way?” he asked, bemused.

“Erotic?” Speed chuckled darkly, slowly approaching him from across the room. “Sensual?”

“Yes.” Horatio studied him closely, suddenly seeing Timothy Speedle in a whole new light, as though an aura of confident strength and authority had appeared around him.

“There’s a very good reason why Vampires are considered such sexual creatures.”

Their eyes locked, bright blue boring relentlessly into dark brown, without fear or tremor.

“You left no mark on me…” the redhead murmured.

“I chose to please you, to grant you pleasure and leave you sated, though not quite as you’d imagined.”

H sensed himself blushing as he removed his hand from his crotch. “It felt that way.”

“I know.” Speed grinned a little lecherously. “If all we leave behind us is a contented sigh and a kind thought, we are less likely to be considered the cause of all evil and Hunted down out of fear.”

“We? There’s more of you?”

“Oh, yes. Many more.” He shook his head to stop the flurry of questions he knew were inevitable. “I will explain. I swear.”

Caine licked his lips, taking a breath to steady himself before he could speak again. “This…” He touched his neck, his heart flipping over at the memory of being bitten. “…this was more, wasn’t it?”

There was no other explanation for it.

“Ay,” Speed answered quietly, “much more. It started the Bond.”

He pressed Horatio back into the doors, and they stood there together, face to face for what felt like the longest time in history.

Speed could see his own reflection in Horatio’s eyes, and knew too, that those he himself possessed, were glowing fiercely again. “I’ve waited 662 years for you, and I won’t be denied.”

Staking his Claim, the Vampire kissed his Mate, hard and deep.

“You’re mine, Horatio Caine,” he said firmly, grinning wickedly as they parted. “Better get used to it.”

***

Stretched out in the backseat of Alexx Woods' people carrier, between the kiddie toys and the outdoor walking shoes, Speed watched Miami pass him by, but his brain wasn’t registering any of it.

Not really.

Part of him was gearing up for the unavoidable fall out that was likely to come at him soon, once his Sire found a moment to call and yell at him. The other part was still trying to fathom out how the hell his gun had failed him in that damn store.

The rest of him however was still tasting Horatio in his mouth, and it was seriously distracting.

“We’re here, sugar.”

Alexx broke into his thoughts as she pulled the car into the private area at the rear of the Mandarin Oriental.

He gave her his access code for the gate.

“What about cameras, baby?” she asked. “Your face is going to pop up on TV pretty soon, once Media Relations gives a briefing. We can’t let you be seen.”

“Relax, Alexx,” he murmured.

“Hey! It’s been a stressful day, okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get it. But I own this place. I own the staff here too, at least the private ones and upper management. They see and hear what they need to see and hear.”

“You own the hotel!?” she squealed, slamming her brakes on as she found a parking spot.

Speed nearly tumbled off the back seat.

If she’d been driving any faster, she would certainly have crashed the car.

“Whoa! Seriously??” Timothy picked himself up, and clambered from the vehicle, grumbling and rubbing his hip. He felt like he was suddenly re-experiencing every bruise he’d ever gotten.

Ever.

Alexx flew out from behind the wheel. “You own the place?” she demanded, flailing wildly. “Are you joking?”

“Yes. And no. Yes, I own the place. No, I’m not joking.” He added the further explanation when she snorted at him in disgust, though he did actually manage to keep a straight face.

“Really?”

“I. Am. Not. Joking.”

He thought she was going to faint, and braced himself for the possibility.

“How?” she screeched. “How is that even possible?”

“I’ve been around for a while now. Make money over the years, invest money over the years, learn how to do it badly and then how to do it well,” he replied, shrugging easily.

Alexx blinked. “And all this time we thought you were just a boy from New York who was a bit of a geek about science.”

“Just a bit?” he pouted.

She growled at him.

“Alexx, when you live for centuries, you are many voices, but the Soul remains the same.”

She took a deep breath. “You have a lot to explain, young man.”

“Not that young actually,” he snarked, trying so hard not to roll his eyes. “I know I have a lot to tell you. And I will. But I didn’t lie, Alexx. I’m still me. I hope you’ll see that.”

“I want to.”

He smiled, that same cheeky smile she loved so very much, and it made her regret the distrust that had been building inside her.

“Go home, Alexx. Hug your kids, make love to Peter. Get some rest.”

“Horatio would kill me if I left you by yourself right now, sugar.”

“I’m a big boy, Mom,” he smirked. “I need a shower, get something else to eat. Take a nap.”

She opened her mouth to argue but he flung himself forward and hugged her tight before she could speak, kissing her cheek before letting her go.

“It’s okay, y’know,” he murmured.

She sighed, wanting to mother him but not sure how to any more.

“Go win an Oscar tomorrow for grieving over me.”

“Sugar, shot in the chest or not, I will smack you,” she grumbled.

“Atta girl!”

She snickered as she got back in the car. “You really own this place?” she asked, lowering the driver’s side window.

“Every inch,” he said firmly.

“Okay, I’ll believe you. Now you should get some rest too. Y’hear me?”

“Totally.”

***

A long, hot shower with plenty of steam, three packets of blood and a couple of hours of sleep later, Speed felt a great deal more like his old self, though he would never admit his dreaming had been seriously disturbed by a giggling maniac with a Tommy Gun.

Shockingly, there were no messages on his phone, and whilst he contemplated, albeit for 0.5 of a second, actually calling his Sire to tell him everything was fine and there was nothing to fret about, he knew better than to try and bother him if he was busy with some major case in Vegas or something. Which was the only reason he could immediately think of for the lack of violent and colorful Latin expletives being yelled loudly in his ear. Then again, he was missing his cell phone, which didn’t exactly help matters. There were likely to be some voicemail messages waiting for him on his home phone too.

He scratched his chin and rolled his shoulders. He needed a damn good work out, and a fresh Feed from a Chosen One; he figured to get O'Gormley come up from the bar downstairs. Other than that, there was not much else could still his most immediate desire.

Save a certain redhead with a badge.

Reaching for the TV remote as he wandered aimlessly through the living room, he figured he probably didn't need to see his own face on the news, or hear the usual miserable platitudes people inevitably summoned up whenever someone got killed in the line of duty.

They were well meaning.

But irritating nonetheless.

He flicked the lights on when he finally realized it was getting dark outside.

All he wore were sleep pants and an old Brooklyn Dodgers shirt he'd picked up some time in the 1950's. It was getting a little threadbare, but it was comfortable.

He tried to read for a while, and gave up on it, his mind too busy with the puzzle of his gun, to focus on any one thing for long.

He thought about calling H, and dropped the phone again, knowing exactly how he'd sound if he tried that. Then there was the added risk of someone else answering.

Explaining himself would not have been pretty.

He did manage to sleep for a while longer, out on the balcony in a lounger, under a warm, clear sky. And thankfully, the past was considerate enough to leave him alone that time.

His bare feet were cold when he woke.

He blinked.

Instinctively, he knew it was late.

Whatever had roused him, it wasn't the music that carried up to the Penthouse from somewhere on one of the hotel floors below.

Or the phone ringing.

Which it wasn't.

He frowned.

The elevator.

Only one went straight to the Penthouse lobby from the parking area and privately discreet Concierge Desk, opening onto a generously wide reception room before guests could invade the living space.

The other was a service shaft that never moved unless he required it, or asked for Housekeeping.

He bolted upright.

No one had called him from downstairs, or even from the Manager's Office, to ask if he was willing to accept visitors. And he had made certain the necessary staff knew he was in residence.

Dashing back inside, his bare soles padding lightly on the smoothly warm, wooden floor, he snatched a Samurai sword from the rack on a lacquered cabinet that stood by the main door, unsheathing it as he made for the elevator, just in time for it to ping and slide softly open.

He raised the blade, more than ready to fight, not sure who might try and violate his privacy so openly, at a time when he was potentially highly vulnerable.

But nothing was beyond certain individuals of his unfortunate acquaintance.

"HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK!!!!!!" Eric screamed, having been about to set foot in the Penthouse first.

His leap backward almost bashed Alexx in the face, and sent Calleigh into the car's rear wall.

Horatio had his hand on his gun instantaneously, and a stony expression on his face that was somehow not in the least bit surprised by what was happening.

Speed coughed uncomfortably. "Hi!"

"Hi back," the redhead said quietly, having a bad dose of déjà vu. "What's going on?"

Everyone had frozen.

"You need special access to the elevator from downstairs," he replied.

"Or a badge," Horatio assured him.

"No one told me you were coming up. I thought…"

"Thought what?"

There were too many enemies on his own, as well as his Clan's list, for him to go into details right there and then. "I wasn't sure," he mumbled, finally lowering what was in fact a vicious looking blade.

His friends relaxed.

One at a time.

Slowly.

"May we come in?" Alexx asked, arching an eyebrow at him as she struggled to regain her composure.

"I brought pizza!" Eric crowed hopefully, wafting the box around.

"Thank you for defending us so valiantly with the pepperoni," Calleigh laughed, shoving Delko out of her immediate reach.

Speed snickered, well aware that he was blushing furiously. "Yeah, er… Sorry for the, er…" He finally grinned. "Come on in. I wasn't expecting you until you found that little boy we were looking for."

"Found. Done. Case closed," Horatio answered simply. "Even with one man down."

It took Speed a second to relocate the Saya for his sword, and as he slid the blade back into its sheath, he made certain to brush the ball of his left thumb over the sharpest edge, drawing blood.

"I thought doing that was meant to be a myth," Horatio commented, watching him with wary eyes that clearly missed nothing.

"It is. But in my experience some nihonto are more blood thirsty than others."

Most visitors to the Penthouse assumed the weapons were replicas, for decorative purposes only.

It made the redhead look twice at the decor.

Speed put what was actually an incredibly old sword with a murderous history, safely back where it belonged, rubbed his thumb that had already healed, turned around to his gathered colleagues, and was promptly slapped across the face as Calleigh got in his personal space.

It was one hell of a crack.

"Ow!" His hand flew to his left cheek, and his eyes widened in shock. "What was that for?"

She moved to slap him again, but he caught her wrist easily.

"BASTARD!!" she screamed. "That was for not cleaning your gun!"

He let go of her, and backed up just in case a third blow was heading his way. "What?"

"Your gun jammed. It was dirty, you stupid, stupid idiot!!!" She glared at him in such fury it was painful to even look her in the face. "IAB are declaring it bad gun maintenance."

"No way." Speed shook his head firmly. "I cleaned my gun!"

"When?" Horatio demanded.

He swallowed.

They were all staring at him, yet again.

And not in a good way.

"Two days ago." Speed nodded at him. "Believe me, I learned my lesson from Dispo Day! God! Nick would kill me if I didn't clean my gun." He paused. "Well, he'd at least torment me for a few decades."

"Nick?"

"My Sire."

Horatio pursed his lips. "Alright."

"Eric? Kitchen's that way." Tim gestured to a door on the right. "Heat up that pizza, huh?"

"Sure. I got questions though!" he laughed.

"I know." Speed rolled his eyes.

"I'll help you, sweetie!" Alexx called after him, dropping her purse on the couch in the living room as she walked in, trying not to stare at the clean, expensive luxury of what had to be the biggest hotel suite she'd ever seen in her life.

"Got to be 10,000 square feet if its an inch," Eric said positively, figuring just the living room alone was bigger than his parents' modest house.

All modern functionality and Oriental fusion, it was straight edged, hard lined, practical, and yet at the same time elegantly beautiful. It actually felt a lot like moving through an old Rice Paper House from the way it was lit, and Alexx wondered if that was designer's original intention.

It was also scrupulously tidy and well kept, and when she saw the kitchen she squeaked in delight, not only at the vast acreage of ochre colored marble work surfaces, but the myriad conveniences, including a fully stocked, walk-in refrigerator, a floor to ceiling wine rack, enormous oven, top of the line microwave, dual dishwashers and stainless steel fittings.

Eric patted her on the shoulder. "I think Speed has money somewhere."

She gave him a humorless snort. "Y'think?"

The two of them, were in reality, more than slightly lost, and trying really, really hard not to show it.

Meanwhile, Speed paced the Penthouse in agitation, his mind running repeatedly through those last few moments before the shooting, no matter how much he was reluctant to dwell on it.

"My gun was clean. That's why I glanced down at the misfire. I took my eyes off the target and…" He swallowed. "I knew it was clean. There was a round in the chamber. The safety was off."

Calleigh glanced at her boss and back gain. "Tim, are you sure?"

When he growled, it came out as a deep and startlingly dangerous sound. "Why would I lie?"

"Then we have an issue," Horatio concluded, "that needs serious attention."

"No fucking shit?" The Vampire knew his eyes were flashing angrily, but on occasion there was no way to adequately contain the most powerful and hard hitting of emotions. "I look like a pathetic moron. Again!"

"Where do you keep your weapon when you're not carrying it? Is there a safe in your apartment?" H had to think like a detective, solve the puzzle, work the problem, see the bigger picture. That he was personally attached to the case, and bitterly regretful of the shooting, had to be put aside. As did the fact that he had been bitten by an actual Vampire, and was beginning to find himself wading deeper and deeper through mythological territory there could be no possible roadmap for.

The distractions were enormous.

"In my locker, I guarantee it."

"You don't keep it at home?" Calleigh asked.

"Ah, no." Speed shook his head.

"Why the hell not?" She put her hands on her hips, almost mimicking Horatio's own pose.

"I'm not as comfortable with guns as you are," he replied, frowning. "I'm more of a sharp edged blades expert." He shrugged expansively. "I only carry a gun because I'm required to for the job."

Horatio was not as shocked as he knew he rightly should have been. "Who else would know you keep your gun in your locker?"

"No idea. But anyone paying close enough attention to my routine would've probably seen that I don't carry it when I leave."

"You're a Cop! A CSI!!" Calleigh was thoroughly disgusted with his attitude, and took his remark about paying attention as a personal insult to her intelligence.

That Speed then laughed at her ire, only made matters worse. "It's not like muggers stand much of a chance with me if they try anything. I've been around long enough to know some stuff about self-defense, and if someone with a grudge wanted to try something, I would be very hard to kill." He grinned. "Which of course, you already know is true."

She snorted. "You are so not helping."

"Then print my locker, Calleigh! I sure as hell didn't dirty up my own gun on purpose so you'd have a reason to yell at me, and Horatio would get to watch me die!"

The silence that fell between them, was brittle.

Horatio who reacted first, reaching for this cell phone and walking back out to the lobby.

Speed could still hear him though.

"Tripp? Yeah, I need you to do me a big favor. Quickly and quietly. Get that new Tech, Toby. Yeah, the new guy off night shift. Have him dust Speed's locker. I want everything, Frank. Prints, fibers, dust, the works." The Lieutenant paused, listening to his colleague start demanding explanations. "Toby's just started. He's got no agenda here in Miami. Still, watch him. No, just him. No one else touches a thing. Put crime scene tape in the locker room if you have to. I want you taking personal charge of the whole process. Let nothing out of your sight." He sighed. "I lost a good friend today, Frank. This is a big enough deal to be calling you at 11.30 at night to get it done right now. Yes, I know questions will be asked. Of course. Just say you're humoring me."

Speed chewed on his lower lip, falling into the couch by the still open balcony doors, and hugging one of the big, soft white cushions to himself as he bent his knees and sat brooding.

He'd been set up.

He just didn't know why.

Or even by whom.

Calleigh watched him carefully, seeing in the man she thought she knew, someone she clearly didn't.

"Then how can you die?" Eric asked all too cheerfully, coming out of the kitchen with an accompanying cloud of reheated pizza and freshly brewed coffee.

"Decapitation," Alexx answered, following behind him with a tray of mugs. "Also starvation and fire."

Calleigh was amazed. "He told you?"

"A little bit, yeah." She was happy enough to be playing Mom, and got everyone settled with food and drink as they talked.

"No wooden stakes to the heart?" Horatio wondered out loud.

"Why stake something that doesn't work any more?" Speed replied, as yet again he was stared at like some exotically disgusting zoo animal.

It was unnerving.

"Then when did you die? I mean, the first time?" Eric had always been the one to ask a bazillion questions in any new situation, and for a while, his other colleagues really rather wanted him to voice what they were all thinking about but couldn't quite bring themselves to say.

Speed rolled his eyes and watching his friends eat. "You want answers to that, right now?"

Horatio's silent but steady gaze spoke volumes, and made him shiver suddenly.

"Okay, from the beginning then…"

He found his own gaze focusing on an imaginary spot by the edge of the rug in front of him.

"I was born in the County of Donegal, to the north west of Ireland. It was Spring, in the Year of Our Lord Thirteen Hundred and Twelve."

Eric nearly choked, but Speed totally ignored the coughing noises his friend made.

"Our Clan was small, but growing on rich soil, fine crops and worthy sons. Today I would be called Black Irish on account of being darker haired than my family. We were farmers. My parents were Callum and Lavena Quinn. I had three siblings. Gregory was oldest. Then Aaron. Then my sister, Lorain. I was the Runt. The smallest. I was a scholar. A bookworm. And later a teacher. Raised a Catholic, I learned letters and numbers at the hands of the Church, from the Monks at Assaroe Abbey on the river Erne. Then became tutor to my Lord's sons after my kin were murdered by British Mercenaries. I was barely sixteen years old at the time, but the times were troubled." He sighed. "They were always troubled." It took him a moment to reformulate his thoughts, and the pause was excruciating. "I swore vengeance on my father's Broadsword, and killed every man responsible for what I'd lost, bar one particular individual. But then there are always moments to repent, even for the worst of us. That last man is a Vampire too. He works in New York. And he has earned his forgiveness in more ways than I care to truly know." He swallowed. "As for my death? I died in the year 1342, 3 days before the 30th year of my birth. There was a great battle…" It surprised him that he could talk of such things so plainly, when it had been decades since last he gave the history of his Fate into the keeping of others. "…and all was lost, but in saving my Lord's youngest boy from the bastard English and the pitiless neighbors we once called friends, I was found. And I was saved."

He would truly have looked upon Horatio then, old memories swirling wraith-like about his Soul, yet he feared to do so for lack of courage in explaining the reasons for his longing gaze.

Those were private words, for a later time.

Or so he hoped.

"My Sire was a General. Nicolaus. Today he goes by Nick. A hero of the Roman Army. His story is not for me to tell, but by the Grace of God, he came to offer me new life before I bled to death in a field, beneath a cold and starless heaven…"

Everything I knew was gone.

He was gone.

I'd lost again.

All of it.

Gone.

Snatched away.

So brief.

This life is brief.

So very fragile.

There was no more to fight for.

Where was the point?

If I died, then at least I would see him again.

We would be together.

Reunited.

Forever.

His death hurt worse than the pain in my body.

Worse than any other hurt I'd ever felt.

My heart stopped when as his ceased to beat.

My life, my reason, was gone.

I'd done as he ordered.

Quinn was safe.

One small crumb of comfort.

So tiny.

But Quinn would live to see tomorrow.

And I would not.

I knew it.

Perhaps I'd had no right to the happiness God kept stripping from me?

Perhaps I'd asked too much.

Or I'd just not been strong enough to ever stop it slipping away?

Nothing is forever.

Nothing but this.

This failure.

What use was an impotent sword, when I could nothing to stop this?

My family gone.

My love dead at my feet.

It was all I could see.

Like gathering gloom it flooded over me.

Death.

Everywhere.

I could smell it.

Taste it.

It rode with me as I turned away from Caine Manor, and dripped my own life's blood along the path.

This was how it would end.

Where lies the honor in a mound of burning bodies?

In a Clan destroyed?

Where lies the honor in ash and ruin?

Only Quinn remained.

Only he.

He was strong.

He would keep their memory alive.

He would carry the honor.

Alone.

Oh, God!

Why this?

Why this?

My Lord!

My Lord, why this?

His face…

I see his face!

I feel his arms about me.

Hear his voice.

Feel his lips to mine.

Hot tears.

Burning hot.

Burn my cheeks.

It matters not.

None see.

None care but him.

And he is gone.

But if I clung to him, would he come take me?

Take me to be with him?

Take me, my Lord!

I fell.

No strength left.

All is gone.

All…

Gone.

No comfort in the stars.

Night held me.

Dark.

God, so dark and cold.

Efforts wasted in vanity for a betterment that never was.

Consumed in loss and failure, I cry.

Cry so hard it hurts.

Everything.

Everywhere.

I hurt so much.

Waiting for an end so long in coming, even the moon mocks my efforts just to breathe.

"Do you want to live?"

That voice.

Those eyes aglow!

Warmth.

Compassion.

I had done nothing to earn such.

But there it was.

"Who are you?" I whisper.

Did an Angel come for me?

"Live. Seek vengeance. Live for your Lord."

A man.

Bending low.

My Soul soothed at his presence.

"Let me die in peace."

The words were hoarse in my mouth.

"Your time is not come, boy. Trust me."

And I did.

I always would…

His voice had faded to a whisper, and Alexx took the opportunity to study him, wondering if Speed realized he was utterly immobile. He didn't blink, he didn't turn, or sag, or flinch, or stir in any way; he didn't move a single muscle save in the act of speaking, and that was when she could clearly see how he wasn't even breathing.

"I took Nick's offer and gave up my life to him. He Turned me there. In the grass. And he gave me a new existence, a chance to learn more of the world. A long life to bring vengeance on those who stole my Clan from me. Who would refuse that?"

"No one," Horatio murmured over his coffee mug.

Speed smiled at him generously. "I spent decades, centuries, learning how to live as a Vampire, which is a strange way to think of it when Vampires are, by all traditional standards, technically dead. Everything you think you know about us, is myth and legend. If it ever became public knowledge that Vampires really do exist, and we walk among the general population, there would be panic, mass hysteria, and probably Vampire genocide. As I said," he snorted, "we are not impervious."

"So you hide behind what is really all nonsense?" Horatio asked.

"We started the stories and propagated the rumors. And we hid in plain sight, safely woven into fiction. We still do. It seems strangely self-defeating but it has served us well, and thanks largely to work of Abraham Stoker, we are not truly known, and only rarely seen."

"So Dracula is all fake?" Eric put his pizza crust down and wiped his fingers.

"Not entirely. Every society has it's good and bad, and his is a complicated issue. Still it built the idea that Vampires are night creatures, thirsting for innocent blood, burnt to flames by daylight, fearful of the Church."

"People find safety and comfort in their religions," Alexx noted.

"And their relics became weapons. But Holy Water is quite drinkable if I'm thirsty. I can revere the Cross at Easter. And go to Mass whenever I feel like it."

"You attend Mass?" Eric was shocked to even hear that. "You?"

"Did you miss the part about being Catholic?" Speed snarked. "Those Monks were pretty austere."

"So no Van Helsing then?" Calleigh sighed. "Seems a shame. That last movie was really good."

Even Alexx had to agree with her assessment. "The long leather coat, and the shaggy hair!" she purred, Calleigh nodding right along with her and grinning a little lecherously.

"I'll tell him you approve."

At Speed's words, silence fell again.

It was getting to be a habit.

Horatio's eyebrows rose.

"Yes, he's real. He's Lead Hunter for my Clan. Ancient Roman. Fierce and tall. Comes with long leather coat and shaggy hair. Don't ever ask what he keeps in his pockets though. It's not pretty."

Still there was silence, despite their host's attempts at humor.

Finally it was Eric who found his voice. "So then, how many Vampires are there?

"Globally? More than you'd think, and fewer than we need," he replied. "Organized by Clans, based on honor, kinship, family, loyalty and general geographic location. Watched over by the Ruling Council who have set laws for our society, and ensure that such laws are adhered to. My Clan is the biggest in the world, and one of several in North America. It's name is Sylum. Clans are structured the same everywhere, with a leader, a second, an advisor and so on."

"Let me guess, your Clan Leader would be the Roman General who Sired you?" Horatio was putting the pieces together, fast.

Speed nodded. "His Second in Command is a Templar Knight named Antonio Crisafi. I am his Clan Advisor." He felt his cheeks warming, having never been one for talking much on the range of his own personal achievements. "I was always more scholar than warrior."

"Are they in Miami?" Horatio leaned forward, his questions coming easier suddenly.

"No. Right now, Tony is in Washington DC and Nick is in Las Vegas." He snorted, turning a little to face the redhead and watch his reaction. "You guys already know another Vampire."

"Seriously?" Eric coughed.

"Warrick Brown."

The stunned silence was actually enjoyable that time.

"Nick? As in Stokes? CSI in Vegas?" Horatio was somewhere between mortified and flabbergasted. "Does Grissom know?"

"I doubt it. Nick hides it exceptionally well. He's been hiding it since the year 432, so really he hides it better than some of us."

"And Tony is what?" Alexx wondered how a Templar Knight, a Roman General and an Irish teacher could have that much in common, let alone blend into the modern world for very long without something giving them away.

"He goes by Anthony DiNozzo right now. Naval Criminal Investigative Service, out of the Navy Yard in DC."

"Since when did Vampires take an interest in Forensics?" Eric laughed. "I mean Nick's a CSI, you're a CSI, and this Tony is NCIS. You all read the same books, or what?"

"We watched the birth of forensic science. Between us, we've witnessed the birth of a lot of things. We've all been soldiers, cops, defenders of our kin and our kind in one way or another for a very long time. And we've gotten really damn good at it. Using science was just a natural next step in the evolution of this stuff. A step in the right direction."

"The three of you are very close?" Horatio asked.

"Family," Speed assured him firmly. "We came to America before the Revolution, and settled what was then a whole new Clan. Built under Nick's guiding command. We're based out of New Orleans, Louisiana. No one typically questions much down there. But they welcomed us, and we have taken care of them in return."

"So is Nick the one who Sired Warrick too?" Horatio put his mug on the coffee table in front of him, and found that while he had far more questions than answers, there was still a willing acceptance in his heart.

"They are far more than Sire and Childe." Speed squirmed then, just a bit, seriously needing the right words, and very much aware of how the next thing out of his mouth could change the entire night. "Warrick is Nick's Mate. All Vampires have a Mate. Sometimes it can take centuries to find that one special Soul, sometimes they are already together before they are Turned. Sometimes it just never happens. The world is a very big place, and searching it for the person who completes you, might just take forever. As a Vampire, the Soul is awakened far beyond what is normally accepted for a human being. It is by far the hardest element of all this to accept, yet unavoidable. The Soul sees that which makes it whole."

Speed knew his gaze was drifting to the redhead who sat across from him.

He simply couldn't help himself.

"Mates are lovers?" Alexx pondered.

"In far more ways than just the purely physical," he answered.

"They Bond," Horatio whispered, remembering the way it felt to be bitten.

"For eternity."

"How do Souls even recognize each other?" Eric demanded, brushing crumbs from his shirt and totally failing to see what the two women in the room were already noticing from the way Horatio and Speed simply looked at one another.

"Ever walked into a room and felt instantly comfortable with someone you just met five seconds before? Like you've known them for years, not moments? Like you never want to be out of their sight, or away from their company?" Speed could feel the same warm blush on his own cheeks that was also coloring Horatio's freckled face.

"Sure," Eric answered easily. "At least a couple of times."

"Souls recognizing other Souls. It's not uncommon down the years for those who have known each other in a different lifetime, to gravitate together in the next."

"You're saying Souls return after death?" Calleigh was about ready to flail. "Are you joking?"

"I'm telling you the truth."

"Prove it!" she growled.

"Calleigh, if science could prove the existence of the human Soul, there would be no more Atheists," he said flatly.

Horatio never moved.

Eric suddenly realized he was holding his breath.

Having spent so much of her working life in assisting the dead, it was not really a horrifying notion to Alexx, that Souls were apt to do such things. It was hearing it from the mouth of her boy that she was having trouble with.

Speed stood smoothly up, tossing the cushion he'd been hugging, back onto the couch as he walked away.

Horatio followed him.

"Did I miss something?" Eric asked innocently.

Calleigh threw her own cushion at his head.

Speed disappeared into a neatly hidden side door that everyone had missed, given how it was discreetly tucked behind a corner partition wall.

It led to an office that was a startling contradiction to the Oriental atmosphere of the rest of the Penthouse.

It was darker, filled with older, heavier, distinctly European style furniture, the most notable being a large, very solid desk, along the top edge of which were carved some familiar and yet quite singular symbols.

Three walls of the room were taken up with floor to ceiling bookshelves, each crammed with old tomes bound in leather and cloth, their spines gleaming with gold embossed letters. An emerald green rug sat in the middle of the floor, like a square of rich grass on an acre of dark earth.

Paintings of Irish landscapes, framed elegantly in gold and displayed on easels, were scattered strategically in the niches, and a well padded, wonderfully soft looking tan leather couch, positioned across from the window, was partnered by an antique reading lamp on a long-angled arm.

It breathed of Speed, like a visual representation of his Celtic Soul.

On the wall above the desk there hung a sword.

A huge, dangerous, and very old sword.

It had to be, in Horatio's estimation, almost 50 inches in length from point to pommel, but it was the strangely attractive, yet really very simple design at the end of that pommel, which caught his attention.

It was circular.

Not set with fancy jewels, or scroll work, or even etched with Gaelic significance, it was a plain and unadorned ring, through which the tang of the blade could clearly be seen, bisecting the diameter.

"Is that your father's sword?" he asked, lingering in the doorway.

"Ay, it is. In Gaelic claideamh," Speed answered, moving around the desk and reaching for something in one of the drawers. "I killed many a British with it. And more than enough of my own kind through the centuries."

He sounded so very matter-of-fact about it that anyone else might well have failed to note the quiet tone of underlying sadness, unless they'd known him for some considerable time.

Or in another life.

"Vampires?"

"Irish. But yeah, Vampires too. Those who refuse to live as part of the Clan structure, and disobey the laws of our society are considered Rogue, Hunted down, and ended."

"Something tells me it's not quite as simple as you make it sound."

"It's not."

"Do you Hunt?"

"Sometimes." Sitting down in the high backed office chair that sighed beneath him, he produced a rather hefty, old-fashioned photo album of the type that had once been hugely popular for family memories or archiving rare images.

In fact, Horatio half expected it to send up a cloud of dust as it hit the blotter. Which made him think of other dust he'd found that day in unexpected places.

"Before you go any further, Speed. I brought you these…" he said quietly, and from his inside jacket pocket, he produced a small, clear plastic evidence bag, to which no red tape seal had ever been attached. "I thought you should have them back. Your ID is being held for obvious reasons, but your cell phone was buzzing every few minutes earlier on until the battery quit."

Speed stood up.

The bag held his personal items: phone, keys, wallet, watch, and the necklace he had been feeling painfully naked without.

Horatio stepped into the room and softly clicked the door shut before walking to the desk. "The bag they were originally in, was sealed at first. I should know. I did it myself. Alexx gave me what you had on you, and I could see with my own eyes that it was covered in blood. All of it. So too your clothes. Then I blinked, and the blood was gone. All that remained in the bottom of the plastic, was dust. And your belongings looked for all the world like nothing had ever happened. The dust just fell away." He held the bag out like a tantalizing prize that could only be won under the most difficult and trying of circumstances. "What you were wearing? The same thing happened. Care to explain?"

Speed felt remarkably like a perp facing down the stern reproach of Lieutenant Caine in an interview room at the Precinct.

"Anything biological that is removed from a Vampire, will eventually turn to dust. Hair, skin, blood, teeth, digits, limbs, the whole thing. If a Vampire is decapitated it's pretty much instantaneous. The entire body is gone, generally before it hits the ground," he said simply, trying to keep it businesslike. "Detached parts will grow back. It's not immediate and its not fun. And its certainly not nice. Blood loss is easier, it just has to be replenished."

He did his best to answer the sort of questions he knew Horatio would toss back at him, and he hoped very much that any deeper clarification could wait.

"I remember that part," the redhead assured him, a light blush coloring his face once more. "I remember it very well."

Speed grinned wolfishly.

"You were naked in my arms, Tim, and all I could think about was how much I was enjoying it." He licked his lips. "This morning I thought I'd be spending tonight arranging your funeral." He sighed, battling with himself for some emotional stability. "Instead I'm not sure yet exactly what all this means. I just thought never to see you look at me again, and then there you were… I mean, here you are." He shrugged, hating the uncertainties he was trying to express.

In a flurry of some considerable embarrassment, he gave Speed the bag, needing a distraction by then before he said anything else.

Great irony lay in the fact that he wanted very badly to say so much more.

"Thank you," the Vampire murmured, quickly tipping his things out onto the desk.

Horatio watched him ignore it all in favor of the small, pebble sized silver talisman on a narrow leather thong, which he slipped instantly over his neck, and pressed firmly to his chest, closing his eyes and breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

"I never knew until now, what it was you always wore under your shirt. So I Googled the rune that's carved into it."

Speed looked at him through fluttering eyelashes. "I totally imagined you would."

"It was familiar. Like the ones around your desk here, but more so." It had actually fascinated him far beyond what was usually acceptable for an item of evidence. Except it hadn't really felt like evidence.

As far as jewelry went it was basic, even crude in its manufacture; no more than a flattened lump of polished metal with a hole in the top for a chain or cord. Even the carving was rough hewn and clearly hand drawn.

Speed caressed it gently, comforted by its presence. "Over the years it's lost a bit of weight as it wore down, but its size isn't noticeably different. It's been retooled a couple of times."

"You're never without it?"

"Never. Actually," Speed answered, glancing down only to extract a couple of very specific photographs from the album lying before him, "I've done some deeply unpleasant deeds to ensure it has stayed with me."

Horatio frowned, openly wondering at such a statement. "That takes dedication."

"It was all I had left."

"From a lover."

It was definitely a statement, not a question.

"To preserve us and strengthen us," Speed whispered.

"Who would warrant devotion that intense?"

"You," Speed replied with desperate longing, brushing carefully past him as he turned to the door, scooting out before he betrayed himself still further.

And Horatio could do nothing but stand there, head cocked to one side.

Speechless.

And a little lost.

Fresh coffee was brewing.

"So is there any chance of getting my boots back?" Speed asked, as Alexx emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Your boots, sugar?"

"I'm hoping you didn't…" He made a snipping motion with his fingers. "Like with my pants?"

She glared at him. "You were dead! I wasn't thinking about your wardrobe."

Eric snickered.

Calleigh threw another cushion at him.

Speed pouted. "I loved those boots! They were Designer!"

"Spent so much on them you forget about underwear, hon?" Hands on hips, Momma Bear Alexx was totally getting her own back on her boy for what he'd put her through.

"You went to work 'commando'?" Calleigh gasped, her eyes growing startlingly round.

"Dude!" Eric cheered, grinning broadly in approval.

Horatio made it to the office door and stopped in his tracks, trying desperately hard not to give a dirty little laugh at what he was hearing. "I have no recollection of underwear being in the MDPD dress code specifically," he said, hoping to God he wasn't red in the face again.

"I didn't wear stuff like that for centuries," Speed interjected, trying valiantly to defend himself and his wardrobe choices. "Kilts hide a lot of secrets."

"Kilts?" Eric latched onto that one way too fast. "I though you said you were Irish?"

"I am Irish! And we were wearing Kilts long before the damn Scots," he growled.

"That sounds like an old, old argument there," Alexx concluded.

"Damn right it is! Started by so-called historians who can't decide what day of the week it really is, let alone translate Gaelic properly. And do not get me started on some of the stupid ass interpretations of carvings and artworks that regularly get trawled out and chewed over like watching dogs fight for yesterday's soup bone." He sat down suddenly, realizing he'd gotten way more verbose than normal. "So can I please get my damn boots back?"

"Sure thing, sugar," Alexx assured him. "They were just fine."

"Thank you."

Horatio sat beside him and Calleigh moved across to sit with Delko, retrieving her cushions along the way.

"Okay then, no dissing the man skirt," Eric laughed, winking at his undead friend.

"I will hurt you," Speed muttered.

"I think a man in a kilt is very handsome," Calleigh drawled, smiling at him encouragingly, flipping her hair back in a subconsciously suggestive manner.

And to his astonishment, Horatio felt a distinct surge of possessive anger that made him want to tell her she should flirt with Eric in future if she wanted to go on working with his team.

It took his breath away.

Speed looked sideways at him, hearing his heartbeat suddenly rise. "You good, H?"

The redhead nodded, wondering what the hell was going on in his head. Ever since he'd been bitten, he'd been uneven and irrational for the most ridiculous of reasons.

"Tired. It's been a long day."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's going to get a little longer too." He handed over the first photograph he'd fetched from the office.

It was large at 15 by 19 inches, and printed on a strangely textured paper.

"Be gentle with it. Its an albumen print, and its getting fragile."

Horatio stared at what was truly amazing detail in shades of gray and gold.

It showed three men.

Two were standing, and one sitting, all on a pile of thickly cut but clean hewn logs, meant for building the defensive walls of an old encampment. They wore the uniforms of the Union Army.

Of those standing, one was built very square, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. His hat was pushed back from his forehead, and despite the beard, so typical of 1860's, he appeared utterly exhausted. Peering at the image a little closer, he could see the insignia of a General on the man's coat.

Next to him stood a much taller individual. Thinner, and more gaunt of face, with dark shadows beneath the eyes, intensifying his cheekbones. He wore nothing on his head, but sported a tidy goatee and carried a cane, seeming to favor his left leg. His uniform was that of a Colonel. Yet the most striking thing about him was the haunted stare with which he viewed the camera.

The third man in the photograph was seated in the middle of the wood pile. Dark of hair, stubbled of jaw, he wore no recognizable uniform, but instead sported a long apron of some kind, stained by dark patches of an irregular nature that were clearly blood splatter. It covered his knees, draping like leather, falling almost to his ankles. He too appeared tired and worn, stooped of shoulders, and heavy of brow. Yet he gazed upon those who would look at him in the future, with a quiet fortitude that was achingly familiar.

"God Almighty, it's you." A tremor ran through Horatio's body as he spoke, and it set the flimsy picture shaking slightly.

Everyone gathered to see for themselves, blinking over their Lieutenant's head as he held out the evidence of Speed's longevity for them to recognize, and to know in their own minds it was all real.

"Oh, my…" Alexx breathed the words, somewhere between prayer and exclamation. "When? When was this?"

"Three days after Gettysburg."

Horatio pointed to the General. "Nick?"

Speed nodded.

And then he pointed to the Colonel. "This is Anthony?"

"Ay, Irish Brigade."

"You were infantry?" Eric demanded.

"I was a surgeon."

"Incredible," Calleigh said quietly. "But we're scientists here. Things can be faked."

Speed rolled his eyes. "I can't let you go run tests on that. Its the oldest photo there is of us. But there's this…"

The second picture he showed them was about 80 years younger, on far more modern and easily distinguished paper.

Black and white, it was also much smaller in size with a thick border to the edges.

It too however, was remarkably clears for its age, its subject matter being two men who were obviously friends, stood side by side in front of an aircraft, circa World War 2.

"I don't know this uniform," Horatio confessed, taking great care to hand the first precious image back to its owner.

"Royal Air Force, England," Speed answered.

The taller man was about six feet or so, with fair hair that stood out starkly against his companion's much darker locks. He also had a cheeky grin that was positively infectious. He had his left arm crooked low over his colleague's shoulder, and the two of them seemed to have been in the midst of sharing some private joke.

On the back, a handwritten notation read:

Flight Sergeant Hoban 'Wash' Washburne

Group Captain Timothy 'Speed' Quinn
105 Squadron
Pathfinder Force
RAF Marham
January 3rd 1943

Horatio frowned at the aircraft. "What is that?"

"A de Havilland Mosquito. Used to call it The Wooden Wonder on account of what it was made from it. We called it a 'Mozzie'."

"You flew?" Eric asked.

"Fly. Still. Never let my license drop. The Mozzie was one of the fastest aircraft in the world. I was working for de Havilland in the 1930's on design and development for greater speeds."

"That's when the name stuck, baby?" Alexx chuckled.

He shrugged. "It was around for a couple of decades before that, but yeah. It stuck. And in the end when I was building a new name, Speedle just fell in there." He looked straight at Calleigh. "This photo you can take. Don't destroy it though. It's the only one I have. Find the Squadron. Check the records. They won't lie."

She nodded. "Its not that I don't believe."

"I know. You just want proof. So would I. So would anyone. Group hallucinations are not unheard of. Still, I can tell you that you're all Chosen Ones now because of what you know, and what I'm talking to you about. None of this is meant for public consumption by anyone outside, no matter how well you know or trust them." He gave Eric a pointed glare. "That includes your sisters."

His friend blushed. "Not unless you want me locked in the nearest psych ward!"

"Like anyone would notice if you were?" Speed huffed. "You remember where we work?"

Calleigh tucked the picture safely in her purse once Horatio relinquished his grip on it.

Their boss had an expression on his face like a man on the most important case of his life, and it didn't appear to be getting any easier for him.

She patted his shoulder as she sat back down again, and Alexx went for the coffee, though their M.E seriously contemplated adding a splash of alcohol to it. They all could have done with some fortification by then.

"Which leads us once more to the problem of your gun, Speed." Calleigh was still not certain of his assurance that he cleaned his sidearm regularly. "Is it possible you just forgot about doing it this week? Cleaning it, I mean. It's not the worst suggestion in the world."

"I cleaned it!" he growled. "I swear to God!" And he Crossed himself for added emphasis.

"I've never seen you do it," Eric said softly, only realizing once the words were out of his mouth, just how judgmental he sounded.

"I gave him a cleaning kit," Horatio informed them, "after Dispo Day. That same night actually. You scared the shit out of us all then, Tim. I know you wouldn't put us through that again on purpose."

"The first time wasn't on purpose!" he snarled. "The kit is in my locker. Check it yourself. Just 'cause I don't sit in front of you all like some dumb kid in Detention, and clean my weapon, doesn't mean I don't do it! Damn it!!" He leapt to his feet and started pacing.

Horatio could feel the agitation coming off him like some radioactive glow. His gaze drifted to the Civil War picture on the coffee table. "You've lived a very long life, so it wouldn't be too extreme to say you've probably made a few enemies in all that time." He was thinking out loud, but it often helped. "And they're probably not all dead and gone. So, how many are Vampires, and do they know where you're living and working?"

Speed stopped mid-stride. "Already been thinking about that. I've not run into another Vampire here that I don't already know and can't account for. Missing heartbeats are a bit of a give away in a crowd."

"You can hear heartbeats?" Eric asked, gawping again with his mouth open.

"I can hear more than you think. Vampires are gifted with enhanced sensory perception in every aspect."

As he spoke, Alexx poured them all fresh mugs of coffee, and produced a dish of cookies that got pounced on almost instantly.

"Better sight, smell, hearing and yes, even taste. Way beyond normal human range. Also enhanced physical strength, speed, prowess, agility, dexterity. When survival is at stake, all advantages help, including learning how to regularly clean my gun. Having a Mate, means being able to defend yourself for their sake too. You die, so do they. A Bonding is commitment on every level." He sighed, easily sensing Horatio's penetrating eyes on him. "I know my Vampire enemies, H. And they're not in Miami."

"Still, you know how this works, Speed," the Lieutenant snapped. "We check names and alibis, and last known…"

"NO! Speed interjected with a violent wave of his hand. "Not this time!!"

"If someone tampered with your gun, that means…"

"Calleigh! I know what it means!" he growled, silencing her with a furious glance. "And there is no 'if', okay? Someone tampered with my gun. So they want me dead. I get it. But Vampires can get shot in the head and still recover. Takes a long time, but it happens. You can't kill us that way. You'd have to blow my entire head off with a shotgun to do that, or to even come close. And no one in that store had one. If another Vampire even wanted me out of the way for a while, there are better means. Believe me on that. And they'd know better. No one wants the Clan's wrath coming up on their asses. Ever. Besides, if I gave you names, you'd go hunt them down, ask them questions, get yourselves facing foes you have no clue about, who could kill you without so much as batting an eyelid. I won't allow that."

He was convincing, and utterly sincere, yet Eric caught the wrong suggestion in his words entirely.

"Are you saying us mere human beings are all inferior? I mean, we do know a few things too. More, now you've explained it better. We can take care of ourselves better than most. We're trained really well."

"Not against Vampires you aren't. That's why we have Hunters like Van Helsing.

You'd be taking on something that looks like you but seriously isn't. You're not up for taking on a target that moves faster and hits harder than anything you'd expect in your life."

"Speed?" Horatio drew their attention back to the point at hand. "We have a job to do too."

"Then I'll have Van Helsing check a few people out in the morning. I am not having my friends get themselves into Vampire bitching and politics until they know a damn sight more about how this all works."

"So there are humans who Hunt Vampires?" Alexx pressed a warm mug into his hands, then frowned at what she'd done.

"There are, but they're incredibly rare, and they tend to be some of the most vicious, cold-blooded, nasty fuckers you'll ever meet in this, or any other life."

He almost spat on the floor, so strong was his vehemence.

"Should you maybe have some blood, honey?" Alexx hoped to calm him down, and figured caffeine might actually be a bad thing in his system by that point.

"As Chosen Ones who know about Vampires now, that would normally entitle me to a quick snack from any one of you," he chuckled wickedly, as their jaws fell open simultaneously, and Horatio gave a slightly strangled sounding cough. "But I'll get a bag later."

"Wait! You keep blood in the Penthouse?" She was horrified.

"And my apartment. Bagged, sealed, and properly chilled. Though its easier to drink when its warm, and fresh is actually way better."

"Where d'you get it?" Horatio demanded.

"I don't raid Blood Banks, Labs and Hospitals, H," Speed joked, "though there have been a few times."

"I think he's more worried about you forcing Chosen Ones to give blood," Alexx explained patiently, taking his coffee back and putting it on the table.

"No one forces the Chosen to do a single goddamned thing. Ever. They give freely, and they know precisely why they do it too. It's an intensely personal act, and our relationships work both ways, and no, I do not hold blood donor sessions in my living room. Our Doctors used to but you may have noticed that medical science has moved on a few leaps in recent years."

The snark was a defense mechanism he had never quite managed to properly control.

"What I keep here," he continued, "and anywhere else I am, is discreetly hidden in a small fridge, and is carefully cloned."

Every scientist in the room snorted in disbelief.

"Not possible," Alexx said simply.

"Theoretical," Horatio agreed, "to end the need for donors at all, but no one's done it yet. It's too unstable."

"What about that sheep back in the 90's?" Calleigh wasn't sure where she was going with that particular thought. "It was cloned, right?"

Alexx nodded. "Sure it was, but human blood? For human use? The proteins are possible but the DNA is not capable of that much reproduction and breaks down." She shook her head at Speed. "You sure you've been told that correctly? It's cloned?"

"I'm a Medical Doctor too, Alexx. Or did that fact get lost somewhere in the realization that I really was at Gettysburg as it happened? I might not have practiced in a while, but I make a point of staying up to date and qualified."

Alexx blinked at him and sat down with a thump. "It's a lot to keep grasping at, baby," she replied helplessly.

"I know," he murmured, bending before her to pat her hands as she clenched them in her lap. "And I'm not helping much, but the quicker you all realize I'm not a liar or a conman, or a fool, the sooner you can accept what's happening. This will change your lives forever. And I'm sorry its scary and confusing. I can't stop it being that way."

She held her head up and glared at him archly.

He smiled timidly, and it grew into a cheeky grin. "Its still me, Alexx. Remember?"

Leaning in a little, she kissed him on the forehead. "I know it is, and you're still my boy."

It took him some admirable self-restraint, yet he did, after a pause that felt like a lifetime's worth of unspoken words, finally manage not to tell her how true that statement actually was. Instead he returned the gesture and kissed her fondly on the cheek.

"Vampires are incredibly resourceful. Have to be to survive. Adapt or die, right? We also have amongst our number, all across the world, some of the smartest minds in history, covering every field of endeavor." He stood up. "That includes medical practitioners with better brains than mine, and centuries in their chosen subjects of study. So, trust me. We have cloned blood, and I'm sure that once the legal stuff is sorted out, and we know how to get the technology out there without stepping too hard on the ethics of those who are all too easily offended by such concepts, it'll be seen as the huge advancement it is." He sighed, tired and growing increasingly weary. "Sometimes, the world doesn't always change in good ways."

Alexx nodded carefully, hearing the deeper truth in what he said.

"You qualified in a particular field?" Eric asked. "As a doctor?"

"Trauma. Turned out I have the temperament for it." Speed shrugged. "Still, cloned or not, blood is in short supply sometimes for a lot of hospitals."

"It doesn't adversely affect the Vampire to drink it cloned?" Horatio had been silently sipping his coffee, and watching his horizons expand beyond all imagining.

"Its not as fulfilling as fresh, and you need more of it to facilitate healing when compared to fresh. Any blood from a packet can start the process though, and its always easier to consume when warmed. The advent of the microwave has been a blessing, that's for sure."

Eric chortled. "Sounds like it should be a biohazard. Remind me never to use the gear in your lab for heating up my coffee ever again."

"You shouldn't be drinking in my lab in the first place, Delko!" Speed was rightfully outraged and horror struck all at once, until he realized his friend was joking with him. Whereupon he frowned and growled in annoyance. "Dude! We seriously have to work on your sense of humor, and the reasons why you don't have one."

Horatio snorted loudly, and everyone else smirked.

Eric included.

The redhead had always enjoyed seeing his team appreciate one another, and he was glad they still could. It made him a lot less anxious for their immediate future. "But we still have a problem," he reminded them carefully. "Getting to Speed's gun means someone either pulled off one hell of a pickpocketing routine and switched it out of his holster while he had it on, or they got to his locker."

"Serial number. I checked it. It was the very first thing I did. Its not a duplicate or a different weapon. Its Speed's gun." Calleigh was on firmly professional ground with her information.

"So that leaves me wondering who, outside of the MDPD, would be able to get to Speed's locker and go unseen some time in the last two days." Horatio knew only too well what came next.

He checked his cell phone for messages, then stood up and headed out to the balcony, dialing Frank Tripp's number along the way.

Speed sagged into the warm cushions his Lieutenant had left behind, and kept an ear cocked to whatever was being said outside as Calleigh spoke up, her voice filled with concern.

"I think we should all check our weapons, and our lockers. If someone could get to Speed's, then who's next?"

It was a chilling thought that none of them could deny.

"I know these things take time, Frank."

"We are totally on this, H."

"Then while you're waiting, get the internal footage from cameras in the corridors outside the locker room."

"Already on it."

"How?"

"The minute you said I should get Speed's locker dusted and do it on the down low."

"Frank…"

"It's okay. I know what I'm doing, Horatio. Just tell Speed to keep his pants on, and he'll get answers as soon as I do."

Having ceased to focus on the immediate conversation in the living room, Speed gave all his attention to what was being said on the balcony, and promptly snorted in amusement at what proved to be a somewhat socially unacceptable moment for his friends.

Alexx glared at him. "This really isn't funny, baby!"

He shook his head, blushing fast, wondering if H was about to drop his phone in the pool way below them.

There was an excruciating silence, and he could almost see the Lieutenant working through his shock to figure out the answers. It was what the man did best, after all.

"You're a Chosen One?" he asked.

"From birth. Family history. Tim saved my great, great, great - add a few more greats - grandpappy from getting a crossbow bolt in the back some time around the early 1500's. Been a part of the Vampire secret ever since, one generation to the next. I'm guessing you're just getting this right now, seeing how you froze up on me back there."

"Yeah."

"Great! Helluva kick in the nuts, huh?"

"That's one description for it."

"I'm keeping Stetler off this, but he's sniffing at it like a dog in heat. When I got something, it's yours, but H…?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's get coffee later, when you're done. We need to talk."

"Yeah…"

Horatio slipped his phone in his pocket, and steadied himself on the glass and chrome balcony rail, not really seeing the beautiful lights of Miami laid out in splendor beneath him across the water. A warm and strengthening wind, tugged at his hair and his jacket in equal parts, but he ignored that too.

The sense of profound loss he had felt, kneeling over Speed's prone and lifeless body that morning, still haunted him, only he realized standing there in the wake of such astonishing revelations, suspended over the city it so often felt like it had fallen to him to protect, that what he'd actually lost was his innocence. The world he thought he knew more than enough about to function in as an adult, was no longer the same one he'd woken up in at the crack of dawn.

Speed was right.

Everything had changed.

And he knew he was lost in it.

With no going back.

He took a deep breath, and peeled his rather sweaty palms off the sticky railing, turning to go inside, schooling his features into what he knew was the calm control his people expected.

"I have no intention of staying dead, Eric! I happen to like this damn job!"

Speed's comment was the first thing he heard, and though it sounded angry, he knew it was more the voice of tired frustration.

"What if Speed wasn't the target?" he asked, throwing one more possibility into the mix.

"One of us?" Alexx was confused. "But, why? Wouldn't that be purely random? No one knew Speed would be with Horatio until things unfolded. He could have been with me or anyone of us! Even Tripp, or Stetler!" She frowned, realizing she was doing that a lot lately. "Though why you'd willing be with Stetler I'm not sure. But in any given day its not impossible."

"What if Horatio, or any one of you was killed because of me?"

Tim spoke quietly enough, but the significance what he said served to hit them all pretty evenly.

"Your career would be over, and you'd be blamed, but no one would look further than a dirty gun." Delko shrugged. "Sorry to put it that way."

"He has a point," Calleigh said quietly.

"You'd be the patsy," Horatio concluded. "It might not have mattered where or when though. Just that it happened somehow."

"Which makes us all targets," Speed muttered, "thanks to me."

It was deeply reassuring that the redhead leaned down to where he sat, and squeezed his shoulder.

"Here's what we're going to do until Frank gets us some evidence. Tests on Speed's locker are still happening, and he's busy going through Security Camera footage. Until something pans out from that, we're going in to work prepping for a funeral. I want every detail. Give me tears, grief, whatever it takes. You lost a colleague. Don't over do it, or rouse suspicion. Just play it cautiously. You're going to get a lot of attention. If whoever did this is close to us, lets see if we can pull the perp out of the woodwork."

Calleigh flipped her hair back, batted her eye lashes and wailed, "Oh! Oh, God! I can't believe he's gone!" And with that she fell into Eric's arms, sobbing pitifully like the heroine in an old black and white melodrama.

Alexx found her lips quivering as she tried desperately hard not to laugh.

"Never fear, Calleigh," Eric responded valiantly, deepening his voice sternly. "We'll find a way to go on without him, I swear it." And he buried his head in her hair, trying to be all manly.

"It's nice when people care so much," Speed growled, glaring in mock horror.

Calleigh got up, moved around the table and deliberately slapped him upside the head before hugging him tight. "We do care," she said firmly. "That's why we're here."

***

The sky was just starting to lighten when they left, and yet it barely seemed to be much of a surprise for any of them that they'd talked clear through the night. But Alexx wanted to kiss her other babies before she had to turn round and head to work again. Eric needed to go reassure his family that his team were all pulling through the horrible tragedy that had struck them. Calleigh wanted to pamper herself with a long, hot shower. And Horatio needed to sit with Frank and talk about Vampire Lore from a human perspective, though it never crossed his mind to actually tell them all that.

Speed too was about ready to drop by then, needing blood and a lot more sleep, but he did feel remarkably emboldened by just how much he'd been able to get out in the open at last.

He led them to the elevator, once Alexx had finished tidying up the kitchen. He'd told her not to worry about it on at least six separate occasions, but she was, and forever would remain, their Mom, and she insisted.

At which point, no one argued.

Speed watched his friends as they stood in the car. They had believed, though they had every reason not to.

He smiled a little sheepishly. They were leaving him exiled in the luxury of what Calleigh had deemed to be the most beautiful prison in the world, and there he would stay, a dead man, until Horatio said otherwise.

When he told them he'd been confined in worse places, they completely accepted it.

Somehow, saying thank you to them, seemed no where near enough.

His eyes lingered a fraction of a second longer than they should have upon Horatio Caine, and just as the door slid shut, so the redhead slipped out again at the very last second, allowing the safety sensors no chance to react.

For a moment he could hear his team all gasping in astonishment as they disappeared.

Speed eyed him cautiously, every nerve in his body tingling as they stood there, face to face.

"Who was I, Tim?"

The words were barely a whisper, the compulsion to ask, overwhelming.

In the elevator, Eric was a little bemused at Calleigh and Alexx both snickering and giggling in delight. They had clearly seen something going on that he'd missed. "Okay, what?" he demanded, thinking it was probably a girly thing. His sisters made similar noises over boyfriends, make-up and shoes. "C'mon!" he whined. "What?"

"You can't have kept missing that?" Calleigh chided.

Alexx chuckled.

He flailed. "Missed what??"

Their ME pursed her lips. "You're an investigator, sugar. What did you just see?"

"Horatio left us standing here?" he muttered, shrugging.

"Why?" she pushed.

"I dunno. Talk to Speed without us?"

Calleigh giggled some more.

"To say something in private?" he ventured triumphantly.

Alexx rolled her eyes.

Eric looked at the two of them.

"Did you miss the part about Mates?" Calleigh asked, elbowing him in the ribs like he was some co-conspirator in the whole thing.

"Souls that match up, right?" he answered.

"Yes, at least that's how I see it. There's so much more though I'd say. But basically that's what it is." Calleigh nodded. "I mean, I wonder if we all have one, even as humans? Y'know, 'the one'?"

Alexx nodded too. "We always want 'the one'."

"The one, what?" Eric was not following. At all.

Calleigh sighed and tutted all at the same time. "The one special person. The one true love of your life. The one person you'd do anything for. Even die for if you had to."

Alexx sighed like she was fifteen years old again. "You caught the part about you dying when your Mate does?"

"It's kind of romantic, like the ultimate love." Calleigh was in total agreement.

And Eric was in total denial even as the truth of it hit him. "Are you saying that…?"

"Explains everything." Alexx was adamant. "You caught the looks too? The way they stand next to each other?"

Calleigh discovered she was blushing. "Its so cute! And H has no idea he's even doing it most of the time!"

"Oh, totally! And Timmy tries so hard not to stare at him. It's really sweet." Alexx had a smile a mile wide.

"You think Speed's always known? I mean…" Calleigh wasn't quire sure how to put it properly. "Do Vampires know this stuff straight away?"

Eric was still lagging behind on the details. "Known?"

"Oh, honey its so simple," Alexx cooed. "But I think we need more answers on how a Vampire knows. How do we as as regular ol' human beings know whether we found 'the one'?"

"True," Calleigh mused. "It's not really an exact science, no matter what books are written."

Eric finally got the plot about half way down to the lobby. "You mean Horatio is Speed's Mate?" he gawped.

"YES!!!!" the two girls squeed together, and the resulting noise was not only loud enough to deafen him, but echo way back up the elevator shaft to the Penthouse.

"You mean, Horatio is gay?" Eric cried flailing a lot more after that. "How does that work?"

Alexx threw her hands in the air and looked at Calleigh, whose mouth had fallen open.

They both glared at poor Eric like they'd never seen him before in their lives.

"Baby girl?" Alexx said quietly, patting Calleigh on the arm significantly. "He's all yours."

Upstairs, Speed and Horatio were equally distracted by the startling squeal that reached their ears, yet neither could look away from the other.

"You said," the redhead continued, "I was worth the devotion." He licked his lips, sensing his throat tighten. "And I recognized the Rune you wear. I knew what it was before I researched it." Had he spoken too loudly, his voice would surely have been lost to him, and he knew it. "We are connected, you and I. But how?"

"You were my Lord," Speed answered very simply, taking the single step forward that put them in such close proximity there was barely a movement didn't force them to touch.

A momentary flicker of recollection, vague and elusive, danced there in the depths of Horatio's eyes, yet he saw it plainly.

"We were lovers?"

"Ay."

"In Ireland?"

"Ay, Mo Shearc…" The lilting Brogue of his homeland filled Speed's voice with surprising richness.

His fangs dropped without thought or effort.

"…bhí tú mo domhan," he murmured in his native language, kissing him hard, before another thought could form in either of their heads.

Horatio gasped.

It stole his breath.

On reflex he embraced the passion of it, holding Speed in his arms, remembering the touch of bare skin he had felt before beneath his hands, and craving that again.

All else was instinct.

Mouth on mouth.

Chest to chest.

Fingers tangled in his hair.

A shiver shook him deeply.

The hot and needy press of Speed's tongue against his own, tasted of the purest pleasure.

He moaned.

And was rewarded with a sudden shove against the wall.

He was being possessed.

And it was desperate, urgent.

Forceful.

Demanding.

Overwhelmed, he had nowhere to go.

There was nowhere to hide.

So he let it happen.

Wanting it.

Needing it.

And there was nothing but that moment.

Sufficient to convince him nothing else existed, he was content.

A hand tore open his collar, already loosened by the night that passed them by in new discoveries.

A whispered sigh.

The slightest sound.

A single word.

His own.

"Yes…"

He turned his head.

Exposing his neck.

Willing.

Eager.

Brown eyes.

Knowing eyes.

Flashing gold.

It was good.

It was right.

A thigh forced its way between his own.

He moaned again.

The bite was an exquisite sweetness.

Lust consumed him.

Given strength, he would have begged to fucked.

Claimed.

Filled.

Taken.

Somewhere along the way he may have forgotten to breathe.

The man in his arms was his to take in equal measure.

He knew it.

And he wanted everything.

All of it.

He shuddered.

The touch of Speed's thigh to his crotch, rubbing him hard in all the right places, drove everything else from his conscious mind.

His hips bucked.

He was lost.

No going back.

And he trembled then, as the rush of orgasm had him coming in his pants.

But he really didn't care.

Speed's chuckle in his left ear was both dirty and wickedly arousing, and Horatio found he was gasping again for breath as that suddenly familiar tongue lapped at his neck to heal the puncture wounds.

Instead of asking how Vampire saliva closed such marks, which was what his rational mind urged him to do, his thoughts flew instead to how Speed's tongue would feeling cleaning his currently sticky cock…

Sated, and way more at peace in himself than he had been for quite a while, Speed lay his head on Horatio's shoulder, sensing their bodies start to relax. It had been a real struggle for him not to simply keep Feeding and Turn his Mate right there. He wanted to. So very badly. But he knew that sensation wouldn't go away until they were properly Mated and secure in their Bond.

It was a powerful thing to be so close to completion after so long.

And it made him shake uncontrollably.

Strong hands ran up his back, so very comforting and warm.

"Go raibh maith agat," he whispered, oblivious to the fact hat he wasn't speaking English.

Yet H understood him. "Why would you thank me? I'm the one who should be saying that to you." He was somewhat amazed he could even form words after the intensity of such passion, yet he was still on his feet at least, so he figured he probably hadn't passed his prime yet.

"I was afraid you might deny this. Be curious, be rational, but never want me." Tim buried his head into the curve where shoulder met neck, and planted the softest kiss to the smoothly muscled flesh there. "You fill my senses," he whispered, "as no one else ever has, or ever will."

Horatio took a tremulous breath. "I had never thought of you…" He coughed. "I mean of us, this way. I should admit that now."

"You've never been with a man?" Of all the possibilities he had been considering from that first day when he'd looked up from his microscope in the lab, and seen his Lord smiling gently back at him, it never crossed his mind that Horatio would be a virgin in certain terms. Admittedly, there were a variety of attractive and generally either unavailable or unlikeable women forever drooling in the redhead's wake, or mooning after him like love sick puppies, which severely tested the Vampire's growlingly reluctant patience no end. And though the man turned more than a few male heads now and then too, he had never committed himself to anyone for more than the occasional dinner.

Speed pulled back a little bit, losing his train of thought in the most beautiful pair of blue eyes he had ever seen in his considerably long life.

He had feared losing the man in his arms, more to a criminal's bullet than the charms of a lover. Or perhaps to some would-be terrorist's badly constructed bomb, given Horatio's particular penchant for explosives.

He had feared losing everything to his own stupidity, to his inability to step up and start wooing the man whose Soul would complete him in every conceivable way, to his terror at imagining he would not be wanted, or his courage coming to him too late as it had once before.

Horatio frowned, not liking the way Tim had recovered his color, only to pale again in an instant. "You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?"

Speed shook his head slowly. "Sorry, what?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "just tired. What were you saying?" He offered a little smile that he hoped was encouraging, but figured probably wasn't.

"For a moment it was like you were miles away." Horatio reached out to cup his cheek, grateful that the Vampire didn't try and flinch away.

"Old memories," Speed whispered.

"Ah! That sounds more like it. I was having them too."

"Really?" He moved with the redhead's touch, appreciating every caress.

"I was trying to explain that I've not been with a man in 25 years. Probably more. I was at College. It was a one night thing. It was good. We were friend, and we studied together sometimes, but we moved on. We were exploring. That was all."

"Oh!"

"Oh?"

Speed chuckled. "I was thinking maybe you'd never…"

H pulled him in closer and kissed him tenderly. "Compared to the long life you've lived, I may as well have never done much of anything. I think its going to be your turn to teach me."

Speed grinned that altogether way too cheeky grin. "I could spend another lifetime doing that."

"I don't doubt it." When he too grinned, it lit up his whole face. "But I have to get out of here. Your good name needs clearing, and Frank is waiting."

"And you'll need to change your pants before you go back to work."

H found his cheeks were suddenly as red as his hair. "Yeah," he coughed, trying not to laugh, "not done that in a while."

"It's okay," Speed purred, kissing him one more time before stepping reluctantly away and letting him go. "Don't be embarrassed. I wanted you to do that."

Horatio took a moment to adjust his tie, straighten his shirt, re-button his jacket, and pat down his hair. "I feel like some shy kid after a really hot date."

"You look like it," Speed snickered.

"You're so not helping!" H stood a while at the hallway mirror, willing his features to return to their normal pale and freckled shade, instead of the sexually heated and pleasured sweat he currently held.

"Will you call me? Soon as you know anything?"

"Of course. Why don't you get some rest?"

"Is there any point me telling you the same?"

"Not really, no," he snickered, actually flattered that someone cared enough to even suggest such a thing. "I'll sleep when this is done, and we know who's behind your death."

"Dia luas, Mo Shearc," Speed replied, flicking back a stray lock of hair from Horatio's forehead.

"Y'know, the Gaelic is very sexy."

"You recognize it?"

"Vaguely. It's like I want to but if I think on it too hard, it slips away."

"I know. It'll come. Don't stress on it."

He nodded. "It's unsettling."

"It'll get better. I promise you that."

They stood there, each as equally unwilling to part as the other.

Finally they snorted as the full impact of what they were doing, hit them both simultaneously.

"I am leaving now!" Horatio declared, firmly tugging his jacket down to hide the stain on his crotch.

"You'll be fine," Speed smirked with a wink.

"And thinking of how I got this way every step I take home."

The laughter that he carried with him down in the elevator, kept him smiling broadly even when he ran into Tripp in the hotel lobby.

"Frank?" He felt the cold hand of the real world wrap itself around his chest. "You knew I…?" He frowned. "Of course you knew."

"Been here before. More than once. Nice place." Despite the manila folder he was clutching with some very obvious intent, he had a positively satisfied expression that Lieutenant Caine found quite disturbing.

"You have something for me?" He did everything he could not to appear self-conscious.

"Couldn't wait. Saw your guys leave. Had Delko take your Hummer. Wasn't sure if I should let Tim see this too, then I figured you and he were…" He was about to make a few anatomically incorrect hand gestures but thought better of it. "…and didn't want to be disturbed."

Horatio frowned darkly, trying very hard not to tug at his jacket some more. "Your consideration is duly noted, Frank. Now what d'you have?"

"Not here."

"We're not going upstairs. Speed's getting some sleep."

"Figures, seeing you've been at it all night." Tripp glanced at the Lieutenant's crotch significantly. "Glad he finally told you the truth about himself."

Horatio squirmed and fidgeted a little bit, and felt utterly stupid for doing so. "It's not…"

"Oh! It's all cool with me!" Tripp chortled quickly. "First time I got bit, I came like Mount Vesuvius. Mind you, I was sixteen years old, not going on fifty," he teased.

"Vampires Feed from children?"

"Absolutely not! Sixteen and above, or whatever is considered 'adult' age in the modern world. They only use kids if there's extreme circumstance, and only with consent."

"Have you and Speed…?"

"Many times. It's what I do."

"And what do you get in return?"

"Protection." He smiled generously. "C'mon, lets get out of here. We can talk on the way."

"I need to go change."

"We'll get coffee to go," Frank snickered, as they headed for the door. "You want cream with that?"

Horatio growled low in his throat. "I hate you."

"There's a 24 hour dry cleaner over near Starbucks."

"You know I could shoot you and leave your body where its never found."

"Then you wouldn't get what me and Toby got…" He flapped the folder in his friend's face. "This is going to make your head spin!"

The humor was gone in an instant.

"What d'you have?"

"Prints, fiber, and gun oil."

Horatio blinked.

"And a moment of video footage that doesn't fit with security logs."

"You've been busy."

"I wasn't the only one from the looks of it."

In the Penthouse, Speed finally had to admit he could no longer avoid his cell phone, and plugged it in at his desk, watching in some mild amusement as his text messages arrived and it started vibrating its way, in some manic frenzy, all across his blotter.

Sitting down, he let it do whatever it needed to do, and though after a good ten minutes and least two separate tap dance routines it was still sporadically buzzing, he couldn't let it keep going.

With a sigh he flipped it open, scrolled through to his voicemail, and hit play.

The first message was predictably enough from Nick:

This is your Father. Call me. Now!

Followed by Warrick:

Call your Father. Do it now!

And then Tony:

Squirt? You did not just get shot again? Was your gun even clean? Oh, and call Dad before he sends Mom in. Love ya!

Speed sighed.

REALLY? REALLY???

It was Jimmy.

And he was pissed.

There was the sound of a scuffle.

Then it seemed Noah got the phone.

You're lucky I distracted him. Call your Father, Speed.

More worrying was Van Helsing's message:

How many more times, kid? I sense you and me and lot more training with firearms. A lot more.

Because that was going to be so much fun.

Keep doing this and I'm moving to Miami.

Gregory House gave grumpy threats really badly on the phone.

Speed rolled his eyes.

Nick was still tightly in control by the time he called again.

But not by much.

Call me or I'm sending Riddick to slap you stupid.

And then Warrick:

Call your Father, Speed. He's not joking about the Riddick thing.

Speed sighed.

Yo! Dude! Call him or he's gonna keep calling me!

Tony really was a whiny ass bitch some times.

I am so disappointed in you, Timothy. I've not seen you in such a long time. Evy and I should take a trip to Miami soon. We can all have tea. That would be very nice. Oh, and do call your Father. There's a good boy. He worries so.

Lady Heather had a way of making him feel like he was five years old.

Four.

No, three.

Explaining how and why he was friends with a Madam would be a fun lesson for

Horatio and his other colleagues.

Mr. Speedle, this is Mr. Acres at the 'Antique Tome'. The books you requested have come into the store. They shall be kept behind the main desk for you as per normal. Please come pick them up whenever you're ready. As always, it's a pleasure to have such a discerning customer.

Speed grinned.

Some things changed.

But others remained blissfully reliable.

Seriously man, do not have Nick send me down there.

Blade sounded deeply troubled by the very concept. Though sometimes it was actually hard to tell with him one way or another.

Looking for that brand new carpet at just the right pr…?

Delete.

Weekend sale! Only at the Miami Fabrics and Homewares Store…

Delete.

Spam was more persistent than that average virus in his opinion.

And just as annoying.

Is your life insurance as fully…?

Delete.

Again.

I'm sending Riddick.

Nick was unlikely to be argued with.

Not using that tone.

Just want to warn you, Riddick is on his way.

Warrick sounded surreptitious.

"Yeah, thanks Mom," Speed muttered, headdesking.

Literally.

Repeatedly.

Your ass is toast, Squirt!

Tony was crowing.

Speed blew him a raspberry.

The last message he could take, was 40 seconds of unnerving silence.

Then:

I'm sending the girls.

Riddick sounded sour.

Speed hiccuped.

Ignoring the rest of his inbox and every last one of his text messages, most of which were telling him to either call his Father or check his voicemail, he hit #1 on his speed dial.

The moment it connected he yelled, "SERIOUSLY? ARE YOU SERIOUS?? ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SERIOUS WITH THIS?!!"

"Never let it be said I don't care about my kids," Nick replied quietly, taking the loud and annoying tirade totally in his stride. "Thank you for finally letting me hear your voice, though turning the volume down might be good."

"I was out of it for a while. I got shot!"

"I noticed that. A sudden sharp pain to the chest tends to get my attention."

"So Riddick's sending the twins? I don't even know what this is about yet, without those Hellions making it worse!!"

"Then why not tell me what exactly is going on?"

"I figured you were on a case."

"That was yesterday."

"I can handle it."

"Getting shot suggests otherwise."

"Its not the first time."

"You're telling me."

"Its not Clan related."

"Can you be sure of that?"

"I can't be sure what day it is right now."

"Then Riddick is sending the twins. Where are you in the city?"

"The Penthouse. I'm going to bed."

"Does your team know?"

"They do now. Rising from the autopsy table couldn't exactly go unnoticed." Speed shuddered.

The look on Horatio's face as he'd closed his eyes and surrendered to the healing dark there on that ugly shop floor, would stay with him for a very long time.

No one deserved that much pain.

"Was your gun clean?"

"For the five millionth time, yes!" he sighed heavily. "And I need you to believe that."

"I do," Nick answered quickly. "The Bond we share never lies."

Speed heard his Sire's voice drop to a comforting more fatherly timbre that made his chest ache for wont of a hug.

"I'm sorry, Papa," he whispered.

"Talk to me, my little one. Leave nothing out. Then I'll let you sleep…"

***

It was mid-afternoon, with the next shift safely engaged in their own cases, and the previous crew all gone home, when Horatio backed Rick Stetler into an empty conference room and shut the door.

"What is this about, Lieutenant? I've been trying to find you for hours, and you just waltz me in here like I'm some kind of suspect? Alexx has been at work since this morning, finishing Speedle's autopsy report. Have you read it yet? I was going to tell you how sorry I was for your loss, but now I'm not entirely sure Speedle didn't cause the entire incident."

Caine had been expecting some kind of bluster, but knew he couldn't show a single stray flicker of emotion on his face, or in his eyes.

Instead he turned and closed the blinds.

"Sit down, Rick," was all he said.

"I have work to do, Horatio. Speedle's body appears to have been moved. Someone has to account for that."

"Yes, they do. Now, sit down."

"You can't talk to me that way."

"And you can't get away with murder. I won't allow it."

The color fled from Stetler's features with such astonishing haste, that to all intents it seemed he'd pass out any second.

"I think," he coughed, countering such an accusatory statement with an easily explainable solution, "your head and your heart are too wracked with grief over the death of a close colleague, to make much in the way of sense. So, I shall forget we ever had this conversation, and focus instead on helping you through the internal investigation that has to follow any officer involved shooting. You need to take some time to get your thoughts straight. It's perfectly understandable."

Horatio simply blinked at him. "Are you done?"

The smile that Stetler offered him by way of what was meant to be encouragement, looked more like a sanctimonious sneer as far as the redhead was concerned.

"Sit down, Rick."

"I'm not in the mood for this. Speedle's gun jammed. Calleigh's report details that sorry fact quite clearly. He was naive, foolish, lazy and it finally caught up with him. His record is against him. We're just lucky he didn't get you killed too, with such carelessness and reckless endangerment."

"You read Calleigh's report?"

"Of course I did! Speedle was reprimanded for poor gun maintenance once before, so that was the first thing I wanted to see. He was his own worst enemy."

"Then you know what kind of fibers the gun was jammed with?" Horatio asked.

"Dusquene's report was very thorough. It was some kind of manmade thread, most likely from a floor mat in a car, and old gun oil."

"Exactly. Those threads have been examined thoroughly. I know the make and model of the car they come from now."

"Well, that's good!" Stetler nodded. "Not that any of this will bring Speedle back. He probably dropped his gun somewhere and never bothered to see if it was dirty."

"Speed rides a bike, Rick. The bright yellow Ducati that's still sitting outside. Did you miss it?"

"Then it was probably a Departmental vehicle. One of his friends' cars, or at a crime scene! Come on, Lieutenant! Didn't I say you were making no sense?"

"Actually, no. Record checks show Speed has not been in contact with either the make or model of car in question. His recent cases are well documented. It turns out we're very good at keeping track of these things, and seeing that he doesn't take his gun home at the end of the day, it's not likely he had it in anyone else's vehicle. I have our internal camera footage to prove he leaves every day without his firearm."

Stetler's eyes narrowed. "You'll be telling me next his friends' cars aren't a match anyway."

"They're not. Neither are any of our Departmental cars. Hummers are distinctive after all. But the fibers do match the car you were busy selling yesterday morning while Speed was dying on that shop floor in my arms."

"That's your evidence?"

"The same fibers were in your locker."

"You processed my locker?"

"Certainly."

"What the hell for?"

"Your fingerprints were found on Speed's locker, which is strange when we don't share the same locker room."

"I've been in that locker room countless times, Horatio! This is bullshit!!"

"What were you doing in there the last time?"

"Looking for one of your CSIs probably."

Lieutenant Caine shook his head. "At 1am, the night before the shooting? When you knew none of us weren't even there? Or working late? When our own Security logs show you signed out, eight hours earlier?"

"Clerical error!"

"On the logs perhaps, but the cameras have synchronized time stamps and have not been tampered with or adjusted in any way."

"This is insane! I was probably looking for someone else!"

"No one else saw you, or can recall you engaging them in conversation."

"Irrelevant!"

"Are you finger prints inside Speed's locker, also irrelevant?"

"Planted!"

"Now that is extremely hard to achieve, as you well know."

Stetler backed into the conference room table and crashed down on the nearest chair.

The part of Horatio Caine that wanted so very badly to rip the IAB Sergeant's head off, was actually justified in maintaining so much self-restraint.

"On finding your finger prints we then had probable cause to search your locker, and found fibers and gun oil consistent with the same mixture that was already found in the firing mechanism of Speed's gun. It was all over the toe of a pair of standard issue crime scene slip-ons that were balled up in the bottom of your gym bag. Did you forget about them in your haste? Or intend their disposal later?"

"Planted! Easily planted by whoever got into Speed's locker and left my prints!!"

"Doubtful given that the shoe imprint inside the paper liner matches the shoes you're wearing right now."

The silence that fell was positively horrifying, even to those watching through the two-way mirror, whose number included both Lieutenant Caine's immediate Captain, Sergeant Stetler's departmental head at IAB, Stetler's Union Representative, Frank Tripp and Yelina Salas - the latter detectives having recently executed a Search Warrant on Rick Stetler's house, where they discovered further samples of the same fiber and oil mixture in the garage.

"This doesn't make sense, Horatio! It's all coincidence and circumstantial evidence. I have no motive! I know how a crime scene is processed. If I was smart enough to wear slip-ons over my shoes, why didn't I wear gloves to ensure there were no prints?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure you wore gloves."

"Yes! I damn well did!" Stetler leapt to his feet as he yelled, but a moment later the full impact of what he'd just said, hit him squarely in the head, and he sat back down with a thump, all the air rushing from his lungs.

"A trick…" he whined, head in hands.

"Why? Why did you do this? Why Speed?" Horatio knew there was no way in hell he could let it rest until he had motive.

"Because he never deserved you."

Everyone watching held their collective breath, no one quite sure they'd heard correctly.

"Go on," Caine urged.

"Rumor had it, you two were seeing each other after Dispo Day and that whole fuck up. Everyone knew you were the one cleaning his gun for him, covering his sorry ass in more ways than one. It was only a matter of time before you threw yourself in harm's way trying to save his pathetic life. And I couldn't allow it. You're a brilliant man, Horatio. Hiding behind the mindless fools you're burdened with is not how your life should be lived. Don't you get that yet? I was about to defend you. I would've backed you all the way! Oh, I used to be jealous as hell of your success. I never hid that. You got promoted above me, you got the attention, you got the cases. You were living it, H. All of it. Better than I ever could. And once I saw that, I realized my place was watching your back, making sure you could do what you had to do. Took me a while to figure it out. And when I did, you were sleeping with your own damn CSI like a fool!! You were about to wreck everything if anyone ever found out. I got Yelina to come on to you just to see if it was true you were dating someone else, and time after time you refused her. What was I meant to do? Lose you? Let Miami lose you to that pathetic sonofabitch?" Stetler shook his head, standing up and getting in the Lieutenant's personal space. "So Speedle had to die. Problem solved."

Horatio thumped the self-righteous, smiling face in front of him, hard enough to send the man sprawling on the floor, a spray of blood erupting from his nose that marked the wall behind the redhead's left shoulder.

No one watching, so much as flinched.

"Rick Stetler, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Timothy Speedle…" he began.

"What?" Stetler coughed, holding a hand to the bloody mess pouring down around his mouth. "Attempted?"

"Oh, didn't you hear? Tim's alive." Horatio delivered the coup de gras with such nonchalance it should've won him a major round of applause.

"What the fuck?!!"

"My best CSI is smarter than I'll ever be, Rick. Cleans his gun regular as clockwork. Checks it every time he puts it on, like every good Cop should. When he figured there was a problem, he told me what he'd found and I had him wearing Kevlar. The rest was a sting operation that he ran himself with my backing, to see who exactly might want him dead. Had to be someone close enough to get to his gun. Finding you was just a matter of teamwork and good science - two things about this job you've never understood."

***

Once everything was officially done.

Once Alexx and Eric and Calleigh knew the truth.

Once Tripp was thanked.

Once Yelina offered her repeated, tearful and sincere apologies.

Once Horatio and Timothy were granted a week of leave to de-stress before coming back to face the consequences of everything that had happened.

Only then was there one thing left that Lieutenant Caine could even begin contemplating.

The Penthouse Suite at the Mandarin Oriental.

He had been up and working for 48 hours, though he actually thought it closer to 60, and he had pulled off what to all intents ought rightly have been impossible, pushing for cooperation and calling in favors everywhere he had them.

And he had accumulated more than a mere handful in his years on the force.

But he was done, and whilst the comforts of his own bed were more alluring then they had been in quite some time, he had made a promise to a Vampire, and it needed keeping.

Besides, he figured spending the night in a luxury apartment, crashed out on the couch, couldn't possibly be all that bad.

His phone buzzed at him about two blocks and a bridge away from his destination, and though he hated talking on it and driving at the same time, he knew enough people would still be trying to reach him even then, that if he ignored it he might seem suspiciously ungrateful.

He also made the mistake of not checking his caller ID, though there actually wasn't one.

Not even an 'unknown number' message.

"Caine."

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

The redhead frowned, too tired it seemed, to put a name to the familiar voice. "Who is this?"

"I know it's been a while, but am I that easily forgettable?" the voice chuckled smoothly.

"Warrick Brown?" Horatio suddenly felt flustered, but unsure as to precisely why.

"Yeah, man, I thought I should call when I heard what was going down. Its not every day your life gets changed that radically."

Caine snorted. "Are we talking in terms of arrest or Vampires?"

"Both."

"You know about…? Wait, of course you do. Why wouldn't Tripp tell you?"

"His loyalties to the Clan are unquestioned. His family is honorable. Always have been."

"How much else did he tell you?"

"That no one in the Clan's Leadership or Ruling Council has to worry about some old enemy coming for us."

"You have a lot of those?"

"A few. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Then what?"

"You now know what Speed is, and he's told you what that means. I get that its a pretty shitty way to find out, but history is riddled with worse moments. I want you to call me any time. You'll get a text message shortly with a very private number on it. Memorize it, and then delete it. We can talk about all this, and you can ask me anything. That line is secure. Do you understand?"

"Such paranoia comes with the territory?"

"Think of it as security for the future, Horatio. Its how we've managed to survive this long."

"And that's how long for you?"

"Nearly 300 years. Mine is a long story, but for the most of us they're pretty long anyway. Its gonna take you a while to accept, and I just thought you'd need a friend to help you get there."

"I appreciate the thought. It's still too surreal I think, for the sort of questions I need answering."

"Understandable. Tripp said you're doing okay so far."

"Thanks," Horatio snickered tiredly. "I think."

Warrick laughed, but not in scorn. "Welcome to the Clan, Lieutenant."

Sure enough, as the call ended a text message arrived, but there was no way Horatio was anywhere up to even glancing at it, let alone remembering its contents.

It could wait.

Speed however, could not, and the overwhelming desire to see him again, leapt still further in his chest as he parked in the hotel lot.

He had much to explain, for once the ball had started rolling, everything happened remarkably fast.

Straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket, he headed through the lobby to the discreet private desk, where a member of staff lurked on duty in badgeless and polite anonymity.

"Please call the Penthouse and inform the current occupant that Lieutenant Caine is on this way up."

"Certainly, sir. Are you expected?"

"Very much."

And though he had no particular desire to come face to face with a Samurai sword wielding Vampire when he arrived, he had to admit on reflection, that such an image was certainly not unattractive.

As he rode up to the Penthouse, he found his thoughts drifting to just exactly how much time he had spent with Speed since joining the Department. What Stetler had said about rumors of them having a relationship, had to have come from somewhere and yet, he could see no favoritism. Nor could he recall working with Speed more than with anyone else on his team, and though they had covered some intense cases recently that had required them spending several long and tedious nights collating paperwork, various reports, and a lot of evidence collections prior to trials, such things were no more or less than he would do with any of his fellow investigators in need of help, advice or experience. It was worrying that perhaps he had treated Speed more as a friend than colleague. Or perhaps he had treated his entire team with too lenient and casual an attitude?

He shook his head, knowing he was only second guessing himself because he was exhausted. Rumors and personal bullshit found their way into every work place sooner or later. Where people spent sometimes endless hours in one another's company, it was only to be expected that a certain degree of gossip might sneak through the cracks in the Break Room wall.

Being the subject of it was bad enough, with the kinds of things he knew would be circulating following Stetler's arrest.

But there were no regrets.

Not when it came to doing his job.

When the elevator reached its destination, he paused before stepping out.

Just in case.

"No sharp edged weapons for a greeting this time?" he asked, smiling at the welcome sight of Timothy's scruffy face and disheveled form in the main living room doorway.

Speed shook his head. "Only if I knew you weren't alone, and only to see Eric scream like a little girl again."

Horatio snorted.

"What's happened, H?"

"I'll tell you everything in exchange for coffee and a night on the couch."

"How about tea and a night in bed?" Speed blushed the very instant he realized what he'd said. But there was no going back and retrieving his words.

Still, tired or not, the redhead took it in his stride. "Let's compromise with wherever I fall asleep first."

"C'mon in, H," Tim chuckled softly, "I can deal with that."

They sat in the kitchen, on high stools at the central island, as the tumult of events leading to Rick Stetler's confession were all laid out. Speed said nothing, simply making tea, allowing Horatio to get it all said in his own way, which served as something of a cleansing moment for the Soul.

The bright lights over his head kept him awake a while longer too, and the Lieutenant was weirdly glad of that.

As he spoke, he watched Speed's expression, noting the wary acceptance and the puzzled relief. There would be questions, but they were all of them likely to be dealing with those for the next few months.

There seemed little left to say when Horatio finally fell silent.

Speed tapped a spoon on the counter top. In part he rather wanted to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and yet to know that his death had been the result of nothing more than rumor, made him sadly disgusted and bitterly angry all at once.

"I should've been more careful," he said at last. "You lied to cover for me, when the truth is I could've gotten you killed. You deserve better than that from me." He threw the spoon in the sink, where it rattled with a startling clatter. "I'm really sorry I screwed up."

Horatio sipped his tea, liking whatever the sweet licorice and chamomile mixture was that he'd been given. It was soothing, and had a comforting smell that settled his thoughts.

"But Stetler?"

He watched Speed process it.

"Seriously? Because he thinks you're a hero?" The Vampire frowned, knowing how that actually sounded. "Not that you're not a hero in this city, but when did Stetler stop hating your guts? He's always loathed the fact that you even breathe the same air as he does! Now he's your 'wing man'? Do me a favor!"

Horatio smiled at Speed's disbelief, recalling how Eric and Calleigh had reacted with similar disturbing hand gestures.

"No one could've seen that coming. Not even a Vampire with all your sensory advantages."

Speed sighed, shifting off his stool. "I can go back to work?"

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"You have accrued some vacation and you're going to take it."

"Your doing?"

"Who else?"

"Oh, I thought maybe Nick…" Speed rubbed his eyes.

"No, but Warrick called me."

That made a certain pair of dark brows shoot up in his direction. "Seriously?"

Horatio nodded. "I have some kind of super secret phone number to use and everything. I'm thinking there's a decoder ring coming my way pretty soon." He looked at the Vampire from under hair that had fallen tiredly into his eyes.

"Very funny. Still, Warrick?" When he'd barely gotten Nick to delay the twins? "You're getting the full on mother hen experience then."

"I thought that was meant to be you and Alexx?"

"Warrick is Mom too. If I didn't think your head would explode, I'd tell you why. I should call him. Did you explain what was happening?"

Horatio followed him out to the living room. "Didn't have to. He already knew, courtesy of Frank Tripp. Besides, it's not every day IAB get one of their own arrested like that. The guys in Vegas were probably hearing it on the grapevine right around the same time."

Which was crazy.

But true nonetheless.

Unbuttoning his jacket and slipping off his tie, the Lieutenant crashed onto the same couch he'd spent most of the previous night using.

At least he already knew how comfortable it was.

Speed stood at the balcony window and thought about all the ways he might otherwise have reacted in that jewelry store to keep the situation from escalating, or what he might have done had he really noticed the tampering with his weapon. Horatio had made him out to be somebody he wasn't, and it forced him to realize that he'd been pretending too many things for a bit too long.

The problem with living for more than the generally accepted number of centuries typical for a human being, was that it often became all too easy to hide behind each new persona that was developed for blending into society as the years wore on. But the time had come to tell the truth, and he was more than happy to be himself again.

No more lies.

No more excuses.

With a smile, he turned to Horatio, only to find the redhead had managed barely kicking off his shoes before slumping back against the cushions and falling soundly asleep. He still had that softly tumbled lock of hair in his face too.

Speed chuckled, moved the stray loafers out of the way, picked up the beautiful lavender colored silk tie that had slipped to the floor somehow, and reached over for the blanket on the other end of the couch, tucking it carefully over the long, outstretched legs and slim waist of the man he had waited several lifetimes for. And it was all he could do not to touch him.

In part, he wanted to move him to the other bedroom, and there let him rest on a proper mattress, yet he couldn't bring himself to risk waking him.

So he was being cutesy, but he totally didn't care.

Turning down the lights, he settled himself beside Horatio, letting his memories drift past the mists of the American Civil War, to a quieter, slower paced life, where the meadows were greener, the air sweeter, and the days felt vital for the sake of his youth.

He smiled, lost in remembrance…

He had been scrawny as a boy.

Small.

His brothers both called him a runt, like he was the tiniest pup in the litter. But they were huge, at least to him, big and solid, square shouldered and broad. They were strong. Built for the land. Built for the sword he could barely even carry for himself.

They teased him, and they tormented him like only siblings ever could.

Until he'd begged his Father to teach him how to fight.

Trouble was, that precious sword seemed almost as big as him, and though he kept trying at the first lesson all boys were taught, he simply couldn't do it.

He'd been 10 years old when he began.

His stance was good.

His Father was encouraging.

But Hefting was apparently a skill the other village boys would forever beat him at.

They even held competitions for it every year, and he was just never there.

So that too had to change.

He was sick of being laughed at by everyone for being a scholar, not a warrior.

"Ye know lad, it's not always the strength of body a warrior needs," Callum said briskly, correcting his grip a bit.

"What use am I if I cannot fight our enemies?"

"You are not meant for fighting this way." His father bent down again to face him, and tapped him on the forehead, right between the eyes. "You were meant to fight this way."

Timothy huffed at him. "I will learn this."

"Alright then, let's try and see if you can at least Heft the blade a'fore ye this time?"

He glared, gathered all his strength and heaved the mighty sword, astonished to find it land somewhere behind them.

He blinked.

It was going to be a long afternoon, but Callum knew better than to tell his youngest child there was no point forcing himself to do something he wasn't meant for.

There was nothing, in Timothy's mind, that he could not accomplish.

"Well, go fetch it, child!" he grumbled good-naturedly. "It won't come home by itself."

Timothy ran through the thick grasses of the fallow, fleet of foot and sharp of eye lest he trip on the tangled clods.

He knew the names of every wild flower growing in the green, as well as how best to use them for healing, and which were to be avoided. The older, learned folk of their Clan had already taught him much, and yet his restless mind strove still further for the mastery of new skills.

Closing his eyes, he deliberately ignored all else around him - the wind on his arms and legs, the plant leaves tickling at his ankles, the sounds of his Father yelling at him to take care, the thump of many hooves approaching fast, the bark of dogs.

He drew a breath.

He settled his hands around the sword's thick pommel.

Then heaving with all his might, he let fly.

Whereupon there came a horrifying pause.

Then a desperate and high-pitched yelp of surprise, followed by the sounds of a terrified and whining dog racing away at full tilt.

He cracked an eye open.

A huge smile lit his face.

For he had indeed Hefted the family heirloom some considerable distance, and it stuck out of the ground having landed point first just as it was meant…

He swallowed.

…three feet from the stamping hooves of his Clan Leader's rather disturbed mare.

His Father ran toward him, gesticulating like a man who had lost each and every use of his mind.

Yet all Timothy could do was stare with open mouth at the enormous achievement he'd just succeeded in, regardless of the vast number men afoot, and well dressed riders who were swarming about the meadow, intent it seemed, on disturbing the peace and causing a raucous fuss.

The calmest of them all however, was the young redhead, who leapt from the back of his animal with some considerable grace and assurance, utterly ignoring the advice of his man-at-arms not to make himself vulnerable.

"Lord Sean!" Timothy's Father cried, bowing respectfully. "Forgive us! The boy did not see you. He is overly ambitious for one so small."

Callum had not exactly had much dealing with the red haired son of their late and sadly lamented leader, yet from all he had heard, there were great hopes indeed for his new Lordship, as a wiser head than most expected, sat firmly upon the strong shoulders bearing considerable weight for one so untested.

Beside him rode Lord Iain O'Neill from the neighboring lands, and he watched what was happening with a look of dark amusement on his squarely aggressive face. He was as rough at the edges as Lord Sean was quietly commanding, and they made for a startling pair, especially from a small and innocent boy's perspective.

"Father, I'm going to make a run for it!" he hissed, though he could clearly see what the hunting party he would have to dash through to get clear, seemed more than likely to have him down in a matter of moments if he so much as dared glance in the wrong direction.

The Wolfhounds bayed, straining against the well muscled arms of their attendant keepers, though he quickly realized one such man was loudly distraught at having lost his Master's personal prize beast when the sword of the Quinns almost sliced its head off. Needless to say, the hapless creature had bolted without so much as a second glance, and Timothy wondered whether he should tell the poor soul he'd more than likely find the dog safe at home, lolling before the first available fireplace it could locate.

He shifted on his feet, made all the more uncomfortable by his Father's hands falling heavily upon his shoulders to keep him from fleeing.

It fell to Lord Sean to retrieve the offending weapon, which he appeared to be capable of with an ease that Timothy instantly envied.

"Did you lose something, boy?" he asked brightly, admiring the fine old blade as he carried it to its owners.

Opening his mouth to try and answer, there was nothing more humiliating than the squeak that came out.

Lord Sean's smile never wavered. "Callum?"

"Ay, my Lord?" his Father answered.

"Yours is a fine name, and a strong family amongst our people. I had no idea your sword was so very impressive. It makes my heart swell to know you teach your sons the ways of our ancestors with it." He bent down in order to be eye level with the smaller Quinn. "I believe this is yours," he said carefully, passing the sword over with both hands and ensuring it was safely held before he let it go. "Just so you know, it really helps if you have your eyes open when you're sword fighting," he said quietly. "Never doubt yourself or your size. The skill is in making any weapon so much a part of yourself, it does your bidding. Do you understand?"

Timothy sucked down a deep breath before replying firmly, "No my Lord, but I will," with such surety it won him what was without doubt, the most astonishing smile he had ever seen in his short, yet determined lifetime.

"Good man! Keep to your studies. There is nothing we cannot learn, even in age and advancing years."

Lord Sean stood up and playfully ruffled Tim's scruffy, dark hair.

"Something tells me I'll be glad one day to see you wield that blade for me again…"

It was the sound of the phone ringing that made Speed leap virtually off the couch in shock.

He had no idea what the time was, or how long he'd been sat there, but in that silence filled only by Horatio's evenly pace heartbeat, the perpetually cheerful electronic chirp of the Penthouse private line was quite stupidly loud.

And he'd been right on the verge of falling asleep too.

He scrambled for the handset on the end table just near his left elbow, and was equally shocked to find that somewhere in those moments he'd lost to the past, Horatio had squirmed around beside him and was lying curled up right there close and tight, using his lap for a pillow.

He had to smile at the bright red hair falling across his thighs, and the warmly exhaled breath playing over his knees.

His Lord was not a memory or a wish any more.

He put the phone to his ear.

"I wondered how long it might take for you to finally answer!" a rich and welcoming voice said softly.

"Then you should've left me a loud and angry message," Speed replied.

"I did, but then I doubt you even played them all."

He chuckled. "How well you know me."

"Better than most, I would say. Why are you whispering?"

"I have a sleepy redhead in my arms."

"Ah! So finally you have told him of inescapable truths, eh?"

"It was inescapable."

A rumbling laugh, solid and knowing, answered him back. "Still you had me worried for you. There are too many enemies out there, and sometimes we forget."

"Don Diego! Are you implying I was distracted?" Speed teased.

"But of course, querido corazón, I know you. The one who is yours has been in your life too long with you not doing a single damn thing about it. Had events not turned out as they have, I would most surely come to tell him for you before you were left to the agonies your Father once knew."

Of all the men he had ever known, Diego León Montoya Sánchez was one who could say such and truly be heard.

"You would?"

Apparently Timothy still had the capacity for squeaking like he did as a boy.

"I mean," he coughed manfully, "you would?"

"Of course I would! Tonto! You would certainly do the same if it were me in your shoes."

Speed snorted, having been seriously contemplating how the whole 'your Trace expert is secretly a 14th Century Irish Vampire' would've gone down in the quiet professionalism of Horatio's office. "This from the man who pounced me the moment we met, and fucked me senseless?"

"I do not recall you stopping me," Diego teased, just slightly. "But that was a long time go. Today is what matters more. Are you coping?"

Speed ran a hand through H's hair, so very softly it was barely a touch at all. "I think so. Nothing happened as I would've wanted, but does it ever happen that way?"

"Rarely. Very rarely. You are feeding?"

"What are you, channeling Nick now?"

"Finally a compliment!"

"Really?"

"I am concerned is all. It is permitted, yes?"

"Yes. No aches and pains. It wasn't a head shot."

"And that makes it alright?"

"That makes the difference between waking up on an autopsy table, and waking up in a crematory oven."

"Y gracias por compartir esa bella imagen!"

"Usted es buy a gradable," Speed snickered. "I'm good though. Seriously. It'll take a while to get everything straight, but the worst is done."

"And your Lord accepts it?"

"He didn't run away shrieking that I was the spawn of Satan, if that's what you mean."

Diego chortled at the memory invoked. "Really, you fall foul of one insignificant little Bishop and they never let you forget it!"

"Its good to hear you laugh."

"Its good to know you are well."

"Its not the first time I've been shot."

"Ah! Sadly this is so true. But then you are the one who must explain such matters to your Lord."

"There should be some interesting conversations around here in the near future."

Diego snorted. "You were always a fine story teller."

"Yes!" Speed beamed. "Still am. But he can deal. He's far stronger than anyone ever gives him credit for being. Stronger than even he knows."

"I do not doubt it. As I do not doubt the smile you wear right now. Just do all of us, who for our pains care deeply about your well being, the great courtesy of not losing either him or yourself before you Bond."

Speed heard well, the gently grumbled reproach. "Ay, all that can be done, will be done."

"Te quiero todavía, querido corazón."

"Aún te amo."

"But you are his now. Be sure to tell him of me."

"Oh!" Speed's slightly sensual sigh was just on the wrong side of provocative. "That should be fun."

And Diego felt a pang of strong regret at what he once had held, and later lost. "I shall let you get some rest, but if you get shot again, there will be no holding back the Vampire Leader hell bent on saving you from yourself."

"Because I'm really only five years Turned and wet behind the ears?"

"Oh, Timothy! Do not underestimate yourself, when you are at least five and a half!"

They both shared the joke, put at ease by such humor.

"Go now…"

"Señor?" a voice in the background said respectfully. "Your car is waiting."

"…take your Lord to bed. After all, he looks so terribly handsome in that purple shirt."

The line went dead.

Speed's grin was pretty huge as he put the phone down, but the movement he made in doing so managed to disturb Horatio a little, and it was only as he reached to soothe him back to sleep, that he realized his Lord was indeed wearing the very same dark purple shirt he had seen him in when first they met through the viewing window of the Trace Lab in 2003.

There was just something about a man in a purple shirt that was seriously attractive.

Speed frowned.

How did Diego know that H was in that shirt unless he…?

The other voice he'd heard was all too familiar, and he knew then what was going on.

"Damn sneaky Spaniard!" he grumbled.

"Señor Diego?" Adam on the private desk in the lobby, had been a Chosen One since High School, when Speed had snagged him out from the path of an oncoming bus that might otherwise have killed him. "Lance is awaiting your arrival. He will take you straight back to New Orleans as soon as you wish it."

"¡Gracias!" Diego replied generously, standing up and buttoning his jacket.

The remains of a sandwich and coffee lay on the low table in front of him.

He had contemplated seeing Timothy again, to ensure for himself that the Irishman he cared about so very much, was both healing and taking care of the mess he had gotten himself into along the way. Only the arrival of a certain decidedly forceful redhead had stayed his plans, and though disappointed that his journey from the Manor had not achieved its final goal, he was pleased nonetheless to see with his own eyes at least, the man for whom Timothy had so very nearly given everything in the MDPD.

His sources had told him all he needed to know of the Lieutenant, the shooting, and its conclusion.

And Fate would begrudge his Clan's Advisor no further, the one who came to complete his worthy Soul.

It made the Spaniard long that much more passionately for the Mate he had yet to find for himself. But still he smiled, and rewarded Adam with a generous tip as he left.

One day, he knew without question, he would be made whole too.

But not quite yet.

***

Horatio woke to the tantalizing aroma of bacon, eggs and coffee, and wondered if he'd died and gone to Saint Peter's breakfast nook at some point during the night.

Only when he opened his eyes though, did he realize that mistake, but it took him way too long to fathom out exactly whereabouts it was that he did find himself.

It was a couch.

Long.

Soft.

White.

Soft.

Expensive.

And white.

Okay, so his powers of deduction seemed to have temporarily fled, and he'd clearly fallen asleep in his clothes, which was sadly not the first time.

His mouth started watering.

There was sunlight coming from somewhere.

He blinked and sat up, groaning like a man near death, and feeling a lot like one too.

That was when he realized where he was.

He shifted to put his feet on the floor, and figured only Speed could possibly have covered him with the blanket that fell across his legs.

It was a weirdly comforting thought.

Padding into the kitchen, unable to find his shoes, he hoped he didn't look as rough as he felt, whereupon Speed - brandishing a frying pan and spatula like some professional chef on a TV cooking show - instantly bid him sit.

He took the stool he'd had the night before, sipping gratefully from the steaming coffee mug already awaiting him. "A man could get used to this," he murmured, not sure what particular 1950's black and white drama he'd stepped out of, but then again he'd never really been one for the whole 'fend for yourself' thing when it came to cooking. In fact, Alexx was the one who started the nasy rumor that he used his local take out food places so much, they knew him by ringtone. "I didn't know you could cook."

"You didn't know I could come back from the dead either," Speed replied. "I got skills." He grinned proudly, tossing crispy bacon slices onto a plate. "Hungry?"

"Ravenous. How long was I asleep?"

"You got about ten hours."

"That's a first," he confessed.

Speed really wasn't shocked.

Over breakfast they spent an hour talking about anything and everything, except Stetler and the shooting, which felt like a huge relief for the both of them.

Suddenly it seemed they could connect on a level that wasn't immediately vital or potentially life threatening.

And it was almost normal.

Human.

"I should tell you about Ireland." Speed filled the dishwasher when they were done. "About how I first met you."

"I think I was dreaming about…" Horatio frowned. "…fields. Is Ireland all green? I mean very green?"

"Ay, that's why they call it the Emerald Isle," Speed assured him. "There's nothing else like it anywhere, and I've been just about most major places there are to see in this world."

"I was riding a big, big horse. And I haven't done that since…" Horatio's frown deepened further, knowing some of his childhood years would forever be a traumatic blank. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, but I was riding through the greenest fields I'd ever seen. It was glorious. When I looked up, there was a hawk in the sky over my head. Dogs were barking. It felt as though…"

He shook his head, his words evaporating.

He'd been about to say that it felt like coming home, yet his rational mind refused to give it voice, knowing full well how his tired imagination had quite obviously been primed for such images.

Speed certainly saw his expression change, but didn't want to push what he knew to be a startling flashback. It shocked him that Horatio had been remembering the same thing he too had played through his own head the night before, and he figured that influencing anything else that might come from the redhead's past, would surely not be conducive to convincing him of the truth about it.

"Were you trying to kill me?" He said it so very innocently that it was all he could do to admit he'd even dreamt it. "I'm pretty sure it was you," he muttered. "It was weird."

"Not weird." Speed sat back down with an incredulous gasp. "Just an unusual way for two people to meet."

"You were a boy."

"Yes."

"And I was…" He shrugged. "It felt like being in a theatre, looking into it. Then it was more than real. I was there, and you were smiling so nervously. Like the first time we met."

"It was the first time we met."

Horatio was confused. "Tell me."

And so Speed explained it, in as much detail as he dared, watching H gape at him, expecting him to shake his head in denial.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

And as H heard every nuance of what he'd dreamt, laid out for him with the clarity of a poet who had been there at his side, witnessing it all unfold, he knew there was no escaping the vivid reality of his having lived once before.

"You were Lord Sean O'Garmledaig," Speed concluded, "and I loved you from that moment on."

They were frozen then, neither knowing for a while just what else there was to say.

Everything that Horatio Caine had been raised as a Catholic to believe, though he had long ago ceased actively pursuing his faith, screamed at him that it just wasn't possible; it had to be a trick, a delusion, a temporary mental breakdown or some other loosening of his mental faculties. Yet the detective that thrived on facts, evidence and irrefutable proof, had no way to accept it either, until he realized that what he actually felt needed none of those things to justify the truth.

"Don't be afraid," Speed whispered. "This is a hard thing for some people to wrap their brains around."

"Have you," he swallowed, "lived before? In another time?"

"Ay, I lived in Ancient Rome. I was Antonius Maximus Meridius, first born son to Nicolaus Valerius Meridius."

Horatio wanted to put the pieces together, but the edges of his mind took a while to see the bigger picture. He blinked when it seemed to all make a fragile kind of sense.

"Your Sire. A Roman General named Nicolaus?" It suddenly felt like discovering a genuine possibility for time travel. "He knew you? That's why he Turned you?"

"That and the fact that I was dying. But I don't want to talk about that yet. Not fully. Just know that Nicolaus saved me. Let that be enough."

Horatio nodded a little vaguely. "I have a lot to learn."

"Yes. But there's nothing that you won't be able to handle. I've never doubted you. Doubted myself sometimes, but never you."

The man who would be his Mate, gave him a charming and encouraging smile. "Will you Turn me?"

"When you're ready," he whispered.

"It's a lot to accept."

"I know. But you have to choose. I'm not permitted to force anything on you. There are laws…" Speed shrugged, knowing full well he'd broken them a few times himself. "I chose what my Sire offered. You also have the same choice."

"You wanted revenge? For your Clan?"

"Amongst other things. Yes. I wanted to see you returned. I wanted that chance. And I didn't want to end my life in a field, staring up at the sky and aching with regrets."

"You never doubted you'd see me again?"

"Not once. Not ever."

"You've seen other Souls come and go?"

"Ay, and each affirmed that its a given truth. Souls return to seek completion."

He thought it perhaps another quirk of the many strange concepts running in a battering frenzy through his mind, that from time to time he could hear a soft Irish lilt in Speed's otherwise American accent, that certainly hadn't been there before.

"I have so many questions, but I should go home. Shower. Change. I need to work all this out."

"Stay?" It was said before the urgency of it could be stopped, and Tim instantly regretted the way he'd grabbed for Horatio's hand to stop him standing up. But what he was, and what he wanted would not be denied, for though he had given assurance that he could wait for his Mate a while longer, there was still a burning need within him that nothing but the redhead could ever possibly alleviate. "I have a dry cleaning service and a shower," he said, somewhat apologetically. "Stay a while? Please?"

And there was nothing in the world that Horatio could possibly have done after that, to counter the big, sad, and infinitely hopeful puppy eyes that were shamelessly begging him not to go.

The Mandarin Oriental Penthouse Apartment had, or so he discovered, a vast guest bathroom that on first glance looked bigger than his own modest house on the beach. Thankfully though, it soon yielded each item his heart could possibly desire, and with his every stitch of clothing secured in a bag for sending out to be cleaned, he set about enjoying the amenities. Certainly the full body steam shower that wrapped right around his aching back, was a particularly blissful experience he took time enough to fully savor, until his skin turned a healthy, glowing shade of red, and his muscles finally eased. It was quite glorious, and while he would have readily had such a thing fitted in his own bathroom given half a chance, there was a certain part of him that wanted an excuse for returning to enjoy it all over again, which inevitably led to not unpleasant images of getting Speed in the shower with him, which then in turn provoked memories of having watched that tightly honed, nicely curved and very naked butt of his sashay across the autopsy room barely two days before. A moment later, and he was lost in the memory of the Vampire's bite, and the passionate lust it had inspired, his cock hard and throbbing eagerly without any kind of physical stimulus whatsoever. At least until he heard Frank Tripp in his head telling him in no uncertain terms how he got off the first time he was Fed on.

His ardor wilting somewhat, like a bucket of cold water to the face, he cussed the Detective for being a sonofabitch before finally relinquishing the hot water and hunting for a robe. A shave made him feel a whole lot more human, but in cleaning his teeth he had to look long and hard at himself in the mirror, trying to picture how he'd appear with fangs and brilliantly glowing eyes.

It made him shiver, expecting to wake up at any moment, only to accept that his reality was in so many ways more acceptable than even the most startling dream.

By the time he ran a comb through his hair and took a deep breath, he had managed to marshal his thoughts and questions into some sort of order, and he emerged into the living room again to the smell of…

He sniffed the air wafting from the kitchen, puzzled by the mixture of aromas.

"What is that?" he asked, as Speed glanced up from the book he had been curled into the couch with.

It had been necessary for the safety of all concerned that the Vampire focus his attention on a few other things beside the naked and steaming wet redhead in the shower. So he'd done some cooking and decided a tome of Russian Poetry should prove more than suitable for putting a halt to the urgent desire for laying Claim to his Mate.

Sadly the sight of Horatio Caine, freshly scrubbed and warmly scented, wearing nothing but a white toweling robe that barely reached his knees, wet hair slicked back from his forehead and a cheeky smile on his lips, undid all of Speed's fine intentions.

"Huh?" he asked, staring a little stupidly.

"Cooking? Smells?" H prompted, hoping not to laugh. "Were you a chef in Ancient Rome?"

Speed bit his tongue sharply, before he accidentally told him he had in fact been a nine year old kid who got his throat cut the day the devil came for his Father. There was no way in fucking hell, the man in front of him was ready to hear that.

Just no way.

"Huh?" he asked again.

Horatio rolled his eyes. "I'm a Criminalist. I'll figure it out for myself."

"It's Dublin Coddle."

"Excuse me?"

"Good Irish food. It's not done yet."

"Smells like cider."

"Its a sort of Hot Pot thing. Corned beef, bacon, onions, redskin potatoes, and plenty of apple cider. The real stuff, not that watered down carbonated crap you get here."

"Wow! Well, it smells great!" He took a seat across from Speed, admiring the simple tea service arrayed on a tray, set between them over the coffee table.

Speed had a more elegant taste for life than he had ever imagined, though he supposed that after so many centuries of existence in the world, developing an individual style was hardly the most difficult of choices. In fact, just contemplating the vast quantity of world events that his CSI had lived through and experienced in some way, was breath-taking.

"So, what is with you and all the books?" he asked, relishing the seriously comfortable civility of it all.

He could get used to such moments.

"I've always enjoyed books," Speed answered, caressing the original leather cover of the slim volume in his hands. "There's nothing you can't learn from a book."

H realized he was nodding. "Judging from your collection in the office, you have quite the library."

Gentle laughter ensued. "Oh! Trust me, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

"There's more?"

"A lot more. Been collecting for a while now."

"How did you start?"

"I was five. I stole Father Patrick's Bible," he chortled.

Horatio grinned, though he felt his eyes grow rounder in surprise. "Isn't that like, 500 years in Purgatory or something?"

"Only if you don't get caught."

"What happened?" Horatio heard the strange play on words but figured he's get an answer one way or another.

"I was curious," Speed answered with a shrug. "We always opened our home to men of the Church. My job was to be useful, and the best way I knew to do that, was to stay quiet and just pay attention whenever anyone said my name. Of course, that didn't really stop me asking questions."

"Always curious!"

"Damn right! And Father Patrick was one of the good guys. He always tried to answer me. And I never once heard him raise his voice. He was the one who used to say I had a destiny beyond our Clan. But I don't think anyone knew what that fully meant back then."

"Sounds like a fine man."

"If we ever get to the Vatican, I should introduce you. His real name is Andrew Kiernan. He was made a Monseigneur a few years ago."

"He's a Vampire? There's a Vampire in the Vatican?" Horatio sounded somewhat more incredulous than he knew he probably should have been, all things considered, but it was going to take him a while to get accustomed to having Vampires pop into unexpected places. There were probably more than he thought, and they were probably all over the place.

"There's a Vampire that used to be Pope. He's Mated to Michelangelo. Part of Lealta Clan now, in Italy." Speed knew it was rather wicked to hit him with that much information quite so bluntly, but a part of him was rather enjoying the bemused look on Horatio's face. "It's okay to flail," he snickered.

"I'm doing that on the inside already! I mean, Michelangelo? The Michelangelo?"

"The one. The only. Every Vampire has a story. Some are just longer than others."

"I'm getting that. How many other Vampires are there I'm going to recognize from history?"

"A lot. I guarantee. But we'd be sitting here for an exceptionally long time if I explained all their stories. All I can say, is that existence for the Vampire is never boring."

Once again Horatio found himself nodding. "So then what happened with Father Patrick when he found out you took his Bible? I mean, I assume Vampires use different names over the years in order to hide, so he was already Turned when you were a boy?"

"A long time Turned. I just never knew it. Not for years. He's never told me very much about himself, even now after all this time. What he does for the Vatican is not common knowledge. He's softly spoken, a man of science and wit. You'll like him."

"I'm sure."

"He rode away from our farm that day, and was back a couple of hours later when he realized why his bag was a bit too light. Bibles were not exactly pocket sized back then. It wasn't a Bible like we know it now. It was a New Testament. The Four Gospels to be exact. I just couldn't read it and had no knowledge of what I actually held in my hand. I wanted to hear about Noah and the Ark. And well, it felt like I was holding the whole world in my hands as I opened it." He sighed, remembering how it made him shake to cradle the heavy pages in his lap. "I wanted to know where the stories were. That was why I took it. When Father Patrick spoke, I could see what he was saying." He tapped his forehead significantly. "In here. It was real. Colorful and brilliant. Important. If he got them from the Bible, then I could too, right? Bear in mind I was five at the time."

Horatio chuckled trying to picture that.

"Sadly, the images I was looking for didn't fall onto the grass, and when he found out, my own Father threatened to tan my hide so I couldn't sit down for month. I could hear him yelling for miles. It was okay though. I used to have this place I'd run to in the woods, not far away. It was a big old oak with gorse around it that only someone my size could squeeze through."

"And you weren't coming out?"

"Hell no! It turned into a sort of hostage negotiation scenario, with ransom on the book in question."

"What were your demands?"

"Well, not getting a good thrashing was pretty high up there, but what I wanted more than anything was to learn how to read, so that I could understand the stories better."

"You got your way?"

"I think Father Patrick was impressed that I'd not broken down in snotty tears and begged instantly for mercy. The book was beyond price for him. Books were all beyond price to be honest, for the time period I mean, but that one was a treasure for him he could never replace."

"Why?"

"It belonged to a Saint. Or so he said. Like I mentioned before, he's a wily one, but he's an Irishman, so I get it." He shrugged and sat forward to pour the two of them some tea, served the proper way with milk and sugar. "Still," he continued as he worked, "he got me what I wanted, and the Elders in our Clan started teaching me letters and numbers and botany and medicine, and all about the world."

"Education was hard to come by?"

"Oh, yes. Unless you could put your kids in a Monastery and pay for the privilege. I was the only Quinn who ever learned more than counting to ten and scrawling my name, which was about as good as it ever got for most other folk."

"What happened?" Horatio asked, appreciating the warm aroma of the strong, dark brew he was handed, "to your hide?"

"The good Priest made my Father promise not to beat me for my crime, and I accepted that as good enough. But he'd said nothing about not letting my older brothers do the job once he'd ridden away. So you can put money on me not sitting down without wincing for about three weeks afterward." He settled back against the cushions.

"Did you behave after that?"

Speed gave him a truly wicked little smirk. "Depends on your definition of the word 'behave'," he replied coyly, eyebrows waggling. "But for some strange reason, I've always recited the 10 Commandments with 'Thou Shalt Not Steal' firmly at the top."

Horatio hastily swallowed a mouthful of tea before he either sprayed it across the room, or choked to death.

Meanwhile, Speed was a perfect picture of innocence the whole time.

When he finally got some control on his reflexes again, H had to wonder just how many more stories Speed could tell of so long a life. "Its going to take a while for me to think of you as Timothy Quinn," he confessed.

"I'm still Timothy Speedle, at least for now. I don't want to quit this life here unless I absolutely have to. Then I'll change my name. Just…" He shook his head. "Always think of me as Speed."

"That I can do," the redhead answered with a smile. "Stetler's in custody. There's no reason for you to leave Miami."

"It's going to be awkward now, staying."

"I know, but you have an entire team of people behind you, and that includes the Chief of Detectives. Besides, I'm pretty sure you've been in worse situations these last few hundred years."

Speed had visions of having been dragged before the House UnAmerican Activities Commission, not to mention his confinement in the Tower of London, the day he'd held Abraham Lincoln's life in his hands, and the moment he'd started a Revolution with a stray bullet. Many more such spaces between the ticking cogs of the mechanism that drove time relentlessly forward, scrambled to the forefront of his mind in a dizzying rush.

"This is different," he said softly.

"Why?"

"You're here."

"And that changes everything?"

"Yes."

It was frank.

But it was honest.

Horatio watched the Vampire over the lip of his tea cup, seeing in him a certain edgy restlessness he was controlling with great fortitude. "I should really ask you if Interview with a Vampire was genuine, given that these last few hours have felt like I could write a much better book on the subject."

"Calleigh wanted you to ask that, didn't she?" Speed snorted, grinning slightly.

"She wanted to know if Tom Cruise was really a Vampire."

"No, but Brad Pitt is."

Horatio blinked rapidly, waiting for the joke that had surely to be coming.

He was weirdly confused when Speed just stared at him.

"I'm going to put that on the list of things I should ask you about later," he said quietly. "It's quite an extensive list. I just want you to know that."

"And you'll get answers. Trust me on that."

"I trust you so much more than you think I do."

Speed swallowed, lost for a while in the intensity of Horatio's gaze, before standing up abruptly and heading out onto the balcony. Not that he needed air as such, he just needed to not be in immediate risk of pouncing his Mate and screwing him into the couch without warning.

H followed him a moment later, somewhat perturbed. "Were you planning on telling me any of this at all?" he asked. "Or just hoping for a reprieve?"

"Its been getting harder and harder to be around you and stay silent, but the timing was never right." Speed heaved a heavy sigh, feeling his chest ache with a sudden sense of apprehension. Everything he had ever wanted or dreamt of, or spent lonely nights in an empty bed desperately craving and hoping for, was right there beside him, and he was so utterly terrified of losing his calm and his hard won self-control, it was painful. He sounded pathetic and he knew it, but certain things still had to be said. "Between Ray's death, the situation with Megan, now Yelina…"

"I'm not in love with her." The forceful way he spoke was quite a surprise to the redhead. "I know everyone thinks I am, but she's my brother's widow. She's family, and she needs watching out for. She's a fine detective but Stetler used her and I think I was trying to save her from that. You don't leave family behind." He stepped in closer until their shoulders were touching, and they stood there leaning on the rail, watching golden afternoon sun spreading across the water.

"Stetler's lucky I was the only one who got shot, and nothing happened to you," Speed muttered sourly.

"Why?"

"If I'd lost you, I would've killed him."

Horatio turned to observe the Vampire's profile, knowing despite all appearances to the contrary, Timothy was perfectly capable of such a thing. It should've been horrifying, but it wasn't.

Reaching up with a firm hand, he cupped the familiar, scruffy cheeks and drew Speed around to face him.

His efforts won him a gentle smile.

"Know this, Horatio Caine, Vampires are possessive creatures."

"So am I," he replied, kissing him soundly, sensing that for just the briefest moment in time he actually had the power to make a difference in what was yet to come.

Their tongues tangled, tasting, exploring. Neither sought dominance, only equality, and the undeniable assurance that this was how their lives were meant to be.

It lasted long enough for H to find his strength, pull away very briefly and untie the belt of his robe.

"Take me to bed," he purred, barely recognizing the sound of his own lust thickened voice.

It wasn't a plea.

It was a request.

And Speed wasn't about to object.

Instead he found his hands moving under the white toweling, mapping instantly each and every inch of smoothly warm flesh beneath.

Horatio shook.

Goosebumps rose over his skin as steady fingers brushed up his chest, grazed his nipples, and settled on his shoulders before flipping the bathrobe from his body, leaving him stood there naked and exposed. Instinct tried forcing him to cover himself, to let Speed know he was nothing special, just a middle aged man who spent not enough hours in the gym. Yet there came a strangely erotic thrill from the way the Vampire looked him up and down, eyes flashing, fangs dropping, as though searing into his mind each minute detail from freckles and curves, to muscles and ligaments. It was more deeply intense than anything he could recall experiencing in his life before, yet it lasted less than a single beat of his fluttering heart.

"I want this," he whispered, as Speed took his right hand, and their fingers laced tightly together.

Nothing else needed saying.

Speed's smile was soft, belying the darker, feral nature of the kiss that followed it, as he claimed Horatio's mouth.

It was a breathless pause.

Speed slid his free hand into the thick red hair he loved so very much, and held Horatio right there on the verge of longing, before pulling back and leading him inside.

The robe on the balcony, lay utterly forgotten.

Shedding his own jeans and shirt on the way to the bedroom, was a simple enough gesture. He'd already demonstrated a certain natural dislike for underwear anyway, and preferred bare feet to socks, even when he lived in frozen climates with snow on the ground. It came from running free of shoes as a boy, and some habits were harder to deny than others.

But Horatio didn't even stop to ask. Nor did he pay much attention to where he was going until he was thrust backwards onto a large, firmly sprung bed, where he sank into a brilliantly white cotton comforter, and startlingly soft pillows.

He reached up for the Vampire, aware only of the hypnotic glow about Speed's eyes, and the warm pressure of that body applied firmly over his own. He ran his hands across the familiar stubbled cheeks as if to reassure himself that this creature was indeed Timothy Speedle.

"Breathe."

The word was whispered in his ear, no more than a brief touch of lips that in itself felt more sensual than such a moment had cause to, but he was light headed and knew he'd ceased drawing down precious oxygen some time ago.

A flush warmed his body.

He gasped.

The heat of his painfully hard cock rubbed against Speed's own erection, and both men hissed as though surprised by the unexpected sensation.

His fingers tense suddenly at the touch of my lips as I trace my tongue unhurriedly from one to the next. Palms down on the bed, arms out slightly from his body, his shivers a little, letting me feel the tiny hairs on the back of his hand as they start to rise at my bidding.

He has beautiful hands.

Elegant.

Strong.

Steady.

Hands made for the complex dance of bomb disposal, and the intricacies of the chemist's lab.

I kiss along the knuckles, then turn his palm upward, moving toward his wrist, nipping lightly at the pulse point that trembles to my caresses.

He gasps again.

This is good.

My fangs have left a faint red blemish.

I can hear his heart beating faster.

Taste his need.

My teasing tongue brings shivers to his flesh, and I can sense him quit breathing once more even as I breathe deliberately against his skin, kissing along his forearm, slowing down at the nerve center of his inner elbow.

I linger a while, tracing the beads of sweat I find pooling there.

His breathing quickens again.

Unsteady.

If I bit him, he'd scream in orgasm without the slightest further effort.

Grinning, I move on, my lips barely grazing the muscles of his upper arm.

I can see his chest rise and fall.

Goosebumps there too.

He pants.

Harsh.

Desperate.

His nipples stand proud, dark and hard against his pale, freckled flesh, just waiting to be kissed and sucked.

The scent of him is strong.

The Vampire in me, itches to Claim this.

It is mine.

Do it!

Take him.

Do it now!!

Kissing into the curve of his shoulder, his pulse is violently fast.

Memories of what we shared before this, out by the elevator and in the autopsy suite, makes my mouth water.

Thoughts of him in turn biting me, push my hips into his without warning.

He's as hard as I am.

My Horatio.

More desperate now, he moans my name.

I'm not even sure he heard himself say it.

I could do it now.

Just a single bite.

That's all.

Turn him here.

Make him mine.

I close my eyes.

I can't take it.

Not now he's here.

In my arms.

In my bed.

Feeling him spread his legs for me, I nearly lose all control as my body settles so perfectly against his quivering thighs.

Have to focus…

I can't let go of myself.

Sucking his earlobe into my mouth, I squeeze it with my teeth.

God, but I want everything.

And I want it now.

Right now.

Please.

Please!

I hadn't even realized I'd tangled my right hand in his hair again, and turned his head a little to bite him in the most perfect spot…

But he isn't struggling.

He's not fighting this!

Not fighting me!!

It's too soon.

Too soon!

Don't be an idiot, Speed.

Not now.

Like this.

Following the shell of his ear with my tongue, I go back to taking my time, fighting the urges that are tearing me apart.

This is mine.

All mine.

And our first time deserves to be more than a quick, brutal fuck.

Kissing his lips steals whatever breath he had left.

And his hands rise to embrace me once more.

His touch is urgent, and so needy, pulling me down until we are lying tightly entwined.

His mouth is warm, and his tongue responds to mine, seeking reassurance, full of the promise of passion.

It lingers, growing more forceful.

I want to tell him everything.

All the history.

All the memories.

All the pain.

The longing.

The love.

Pulling up, I simply gaze at him.

So close now.

And he smiles back at me.

Encouraging me.

A warm flush has colored more than just his face, yet here he lies beneath me, willing to give himself.

Willing to let me take.

How many people have ever seen him this way?

Not many.

That I know for certain.

It takes a lot for him to drop the walls that shield him from the world, and in turn keep others from seeing into his Soul.

Even so, here I am.

Closer than any other before.

Closer than anyone can ever be.

Does he know I would die for him?

That I already have, just in longing for this moment?

I dip my head to his lips, tracing the shape of them with my tongue, even as his own reaches out to meet me. But I chuckle, low and soft, and sweep over to his other ear, exploring the opposite side of his strongly defined neck, pausing at the sweeping curve that leads me to his shoulder.

My fangs mark him again.

The urge to bite, once more a violent lust inside me.

But I don't dare draw blood now, or my resolve will be gone.

He moans.

My tongue moves on across his chin, and to his throat.

He swallows and his head falls back as I suck lightly at his Adam's Apple, and feel his fingers clench hard into my hips.

He'll leave bruises elsewhere too by the time we are done, but its okay.

Such pains are good.

Planting firm kisses down his heaving chest, makes him wriggle in excitement.

For a moment I'm not certain whether to go left or right.

Left, I think.

Yes, following the slight bulge of muscles to his nipple, drawing a sharp cry from him as I get there.

He pants louder and more eagerly, his mouth falling open as I explore the hot and puckered nub in tight little circles, before drawing it between my teeth and flicking my tongue over the very tip, again and again.

His sudden cry is for more.

For me not to stop.

For me to take him there.

And never let go.

When I kiss back over his chest, the terrible anticipation of experiencing the same sensations as I just induced, excite his body all the more before I even get there. So I move away, watching his chest heave with urgent breaths, before lapping once more at the nipple I started with, getting it nice and wet before blowing lightly across it.

He cries out, his fingers trying to guide me to where he most wants my touch.

"Nuh-uh, not yet."

I push his hands into the comforter instead, and with a shiver I can see him force himself to try and relax.

He sighs, and on that cue I finally move to his other nipple, sucking it into my mouth; gently at first, yet steadily increasing the pressure, harder and harder until he sobs and whines.

"Hush now…" I breathe across the sensitized and throbbing peak.

He trembles uncontrollably.

Each kiss I place after that, moves lower over the muscled ridges of his abdomen.

I had not thought there such definition under those elegant suits he wears.

A shudder courses through him.

Bone deep.

He knows where I am going, but has no idea how long it will take for me to get there.

I stop at his navel, swirling my tongue into it where the sweat lies gleaming, then outward still further to his hips, teasing at those sensitive hollows and the creases just above his legs.

I can smell sex.

My mouth has reached his pubic hair.

The brilliant copper curls from which his cock stands out hard and quivering in expectation, taste clearly of the shower he's taken.

Fluid leaks from the swollen head of his hardness.

It throbs.

Just the gentlest touch of my fingers against his manhood makes him tense.

And he whimpers.

He feels hot.

Silky.

He has a gorgeous cock.

Natural.

Uncut.

Thick.

I lick my lips.

Slipping his foreskin back, the moisture lingers on my fingers.

I have to taste it.

His arousal.

Sweet and musky.

Temptations surface.

All those things I could do to him, vie for my attention.

But they will come.

I have other skills for him to discover.

We will have time now.

I know it.

Moving down, I kneel at the edge of the bed, and trace my tongue slowly up the underside of his right foot, making him thrash around this way and that to escape, but I won't let go, and as my lips surround his big toe to suck it forcefully into my mouth, a long suffering groan escapes him.

This is fun.

Frustration mounting, he wants release, but he quickly adjusts to this new sensation before I move on to kiss and suck each toe in turn.

Repeating the entire process on his left foot, at least grants him chance to calm.

The journey up the inside sweep of his legs, is long but necessary.

In part I am marking him, making him mine, scenting him as I explore those places where clearly he has rarely, if ever, been caressed. Yet I am also learning what he likes, sensing what he needs.

I pause to kiss each ankle, moving from one to the other, moving steadily higher, slow and determined, leaving a trail along his calf muscles.

The short, fine hairs on his legs, tickle my nose.

He pants harder.

Groaning louder.

I place small licks on the indentations at his knees, then sit back and take a while to look at his face, while my fingers trace his inner thighs.

If he could see himself this way, I have no doubt he would say he looks a mess…

…that bright red hair disheveled, sweat trickling into his eyes.

But to me, he looks abandoned and adorable.

I part his thighs.

I can feel the heat radiating from him.

He is totally exposed.

My fingers tease his balls, and they tighten in the palm of my hand.

He bends his knees and raises his legs a little higher for me, encouraging me further.

How can I refuse him?

He bucks and writhes as one more time my lips and tongue discover the most secret parts of him.

I love the sound of that hoarse desperation catching in his throat.

His testicles are heavy, the muscles at his opening struggling to relax as too much sensory input threatens to overwhelm him. But I don't care if he passes out. It would be a triumph in some ways.

Releasing him, his legs tremble as I lick the entire length of his erection, making him sob as my mouth engulfs the pulsing head, gently starting to suckle.

His hips rise off the bed, wanting more, needing more.

Yes, more!

He can't hold back.

He reaches for me, but I'm not ready yet.

There's more for him to feel before I let him come.

There's massage oil in the cabinet by the bed, and it only takes a moment to sit up and reach for it.

He watches me.

He knows what's coming and he struggles to breathe, to cope with what this all means for us as I ease two lubed fingers into his opening, and slowly press them deeper inside.

He's tight.

I push further.

He cries out.

Clutching at the comforter, his back arches.

I push again.

Harder.

His cock throbs.

I hush him.

Calm him.

He hears me.

But still he wants so badly to come.

Dipping down, I guide his erection between my lips just as my fingers slide all the way into him.

One thrust.

Two.

Brushing against his prostate, I suck him to the root until orgasm finally crashes over him. His every muscle tenses as he lets go, and his seed spurts thick and hot over my tongue, rolling down the back of my throat as I swallow every drop he gives.

Each panting breath a shivering gasp, he shudders in a helpless heap.

And I hadn't even noticed his hands clutching at my hair, until he lets go of me and sighs my name.

Grinning, I allow his sated cock to slip from my lips very gently. Still my fingers linger inside him, stroking the taut and spasming walls that surround them.

He is ready now.

"Tim…?"

I hear a tremor in his voice.

His face is flushed.

His eyes dark and glittering, make me painfully aware of how he might appear as a Vampire.

This is mine.

He is mine.

All mine.

Softy withdrawing my fingers and settling between his still shaky thighs, I pull his legs right up around my waist.

Aching to fill him, my own cock hurts so very badly its gone from a tingling, pleasurable pain to a burning agony.

His mouth forms a soundless cry that echoes in my ears from centuries long past.

And he takes all of me in one long, deep thrust…

***

The redhead was under a comforter when he woke, his head mushed into a delightfully soft abundance of pillows, his body blissfully relaxed, and contentedly warm.

It was clearly growing dark, though not quite night yet.

He had no cause to try and determine the exact nature of his whereabouts on that occasion, for though the bed certainly wasn't his, there were parts of his anatomy hurting him just enough with the lingering after effects of some serious sex, to remind him precisely where he was, and why he was there.

He smiled to himself, shifting slightly, and let the memory of what had happened wash over him, concluding with the undeniable knowledge that he had screamed Speed's name loud enough to leave his throat a little sore. Not that he minded. The entire sum of his sexual experience in life was hardly the stuff of lively gossip or raunchy memoirs. He'd had enough diversity to know what he liked, and how to give with as equal fervor as he took. But the idea of one day having truly life changing sex had always been left for women's magazines and daytime television, talk shows, soap operas and romance novels.

Until he met the reality of the Vampire.

And the sex had been mind-blowing.

Realizing he may possibly have passed out somewhere along the way, just made him grin a whole lot broader.

He had some slightly sketchy recollections of being a boneless, sweaty lump barely able to lift his own head at one point, and of being tenderly cleaned up where he lay before drifting off to sleep in Speed's arms.

It surprised him then that the Vampire wasn't there by his side, though he could certainly smell his lover's presence on the sheets.

He felt a little sappy.

But it didn't matter.

At that moment in time, sappy was good.

It was better than good.

It was perfect, especially when it hit him that were he a Vampire too, he and Speed would never be apart.

Not even in death.

And that was perhaps the most perfect idea imaginable by then.

Stretching out in the bed like a big cat, he yawned and wriggled around for a bit.

Only when his stomach growled did he realize he was hungry, but Speed had seen to that already, returning to his side with steaming bowls of Dublin Coddle, which proved so tasty he promptly devoured second helpings, much to his lover's amusement. But it was good food, and apparently good sex had done much to give him a healthy appetite. Only in eating though, and watching Speed consume his own serving, did it actually hit him that he'd never really seen his CSI sit and take a decent meal before.

The Lieutenant wasn't much for encouraging his team to go out and have dinner together regularly, like some of his peers with their own people, though he would certainly not consider stopping them if they chose to. When they did do things after work, just to relax and let off some steam, Speed was rarely with them, usually claiming a prior appointment or stating he'd not heard about their plans. Even in the Break Room he'd rarely seen the man stop and eat. Sometimes he'd been half-heartedly gnawing on an apple, or drinking tea, but never consuming anything substantial enough to be considered real food.

Which rather explained a great deal in his mind about Alexx mothering him so much.

"You don't really need to eat that, do you?" he asked, when he was done with his bowl.

"Why?" Speed snorted, tucking his feet up onto the bed. "You want mine too?"

Horatio chuckled deeply. "Oh, I'm full. Another session like we had earlier though, and I'll probably eat you out of house and home."

A delightful blush swept over the Vampire's cheeks with that particular comment, and he reached out to touch the ruffled hair he'd been playing with not so long before, tugging it over Speed's eyes, enjoying the way his lover grinned so shyly back at him. There was something charming about it, given that he knew from personal experience by then, just a few of the many ways in which Timothy Quinn was anything but coy.

"It's never been like that," he murmured, not in the least bit ashamed to admit it.

"And I didn't even bite you…"

"You don't just bite to feed? Or to Turn someone?"

Speed slowly shook his head, reveling in the redhead's simple touch. "It strengthens the Bond between us."

"That you already started?"

"Yeah, I know you feel it."

"I think so," he replied carefully, frowning as he tried to determine precisely what that was meant to be like. "Wait…"

"What?"

"It gets more…"

"More what?"

"Intense?"

Speed nodded. "In every way you can imagine."

"Seriously?"

"Ay! A Vampire has tastes, urges, desire, that go beyond human experience. When you get to live for an exceptionally long time, it has to have its perks."

Horatio snickered somewhat wickedly, contemplating the possibilities. "You said you have better senses."

"All five. But," he murmured, swallowing the last spoonful from his own bowl, "food and drink is not a requirement to sustain life. Blood achieves that. Sex is not a requirement for procreation. Turning another person achieves continuation of the species."

Horatio could easily follow his reasoning. "Such things become a pleasure instead."

"Very much."

"A fulfillment for the senses."

"Ay, but with you…"

"With me?" He was holding his breath again suddenly.

"With you I have everything my Soul has ever wanted."

It was a humbling and yet powerful admission for them both. It had to be said as much as understood, and the single tear that coursed down Speed's left cheek fell unbidden in silent witness to that truth.

Horatio brushed it softly away with his thumb, before pulling him in for the tenderest of kisses. In his own Soul he knew that he belonged to Timothy Quinn, and always had.

There was no possible way of denying it any more, even to himself.

It would be to cause a hurt that nothing in all Creation could repair.

Their lovemaking in the hours that followed, grew steadily more calming, yet paradoxically still seemed no more than a single stray touch, or fleeting kiss away from frantic desperation.

Horatio left his marks on Speed's willing body, watching in fascination as each one healed from neck, to chest, to thighs.

He quickly developed a particular absorption with that singularly sensitive spot where the firm curve of Speed's buttocks met the backs of his legs, and lavished much attention there with great pleasure, making his lover whine with delightful frustration, and squirm eagerly at his bidding.

Some of the Gaelic pleas he began hearing, sounded eerily familiar, even sobbed into a pillow, and he was adamant he'd once had his young Tim on all fours in a similar fashion, in front of a raging fire, tormenting him for hours before finding his triumph in the tightly grasping heat of his ass.

It was a remarkably comforting recollection that grew all the more vividly real as he pushed his hard and copiously leaking manhood into Speed, and let the shaft of it sink as deep as he could go.

Everything in his life felt then as though it had been leading to such intimacy.

And he fully accepted it.

Just as the Vampire accepted his pumping, sensitized cock, and milked him dry.

It was a source of endless wonder to watch his flesh become one with another, with someone who wanted him simply as himself.

Nothing more.

And as that night passed for him, curled around the man he thought he'd lost forever, he came to realize that forever meant so much more than he once believed.

Sleepy thoughts enfolded him then, punctuated later by soft sighs, and softer kisses, pleasured caresses and sexual peaks reached in languid strokes of mutual, sensual arousal.

***

Horatio woke with the midmorning sun.

Panicked.

Sat up.

Remembered he was on vacation.

And crashed back into bed, feeling like an idiot.

Once again Speed was conspicuously missing from that warm space in the sheets beside him, but he figured he was probably going to have to get used to his lover's restless spirit.

The smell of fresh coffee lured him with the promise of awaiting wakefulness, and so imagining there could be breakfast soon, he stumbled into the shower, where to his very great delight he found his clothes hung on the door for him, his underwear neatly folded, and even his shoes shined.

And he hadn't actually heard the laundry fairies return his stuff!

As was the inevitable way of things though, his phone went off just as he got soap in his hair.

So he ignored it.

In fact, he ignored it twice.

He was on vacation.

With that in mind, he got dressed with neither tie nor jacket, and decided he was awake enough for asking a few more questions about the process of being Turned.

But the kitchen was empty.

A plate of fresh biscuits sat on the island, and a note lay on the coffee maker.

LEFT THIS HERE WHERE YOU'D BE SURE TO FIND IT

He read Speed's looping scrawl and grinned, opening the folded sheet of paper as his phone rang again.

He'd slipped it into his pocket on his way out of the bedroom, and failed to even check his messages.

"Caine…"

He wasn't sure exactly what hit him first.

What he was hearing.

Or what he was reading.

GONE TO FETCH MY BIKE FROM THE LAB. GUESS ITS WHERE I LEFT IT

"He's posted Bail. We don't expect him here but…"

WILL TAKE A DRIVER AND RIDE BACK

"…well, there's no sign he even went home."

Tripp sounded pissed as hell.

RELAX. EAT SOMETHING. WON'T BE GONE LONG.

"…just don't know if he'll finish the job."

Horatio was in the elevator less than 90 seconds later.

Jacket and tie firmly in place.

Gun strapped on.

Biscuit in mouth.

Though he'd gone back for the biscuit.

***

"You weren't wearing Kevlar."

Speed didn't even blink at the accusation, though he did choose to keep his back to Rick Stetler as he busied himself with fussing over his bike.

He seriously could not believe she'd sat there outside in the damn parking lot that whole time, dust settling on her and leaves gathering under her frame.

It was enough to make a Vampire cry.

That he'd been addressed by someone who was really no more than another pathetic asshole in what was actually a long line of other pathetic assholes who had tried to kill him through the centuries, was not that shocking.

He'd heard him coming for a start.

"Aren't you meant to be in jail right now?" he retorted casually.

"Aren't you meant to be in the ground?"

Speed snorted at that one, and shrugged his shoulders.

His shirt tails flapped.

"Not really into the whole being buried alive thing. That would be more Papa's area of expertise."

Naturally his comment went straight over Stetler's head.

Speed cooed at his bike as only a man nicknamed 'Speed' ever really could. In the space of that pause he expanded his senses, hearing no one close enough at hand to intervene - reasoning that no one was likely to be paying attention anyway.

Stetler certainly smelt like he'd spent some time in a cell.

Two day old sweat, and stale socks.

He wrinkled his nose.

There was also a gun pressed into his back.

Discreetly of course.

No yelling required.

Nothing flashy or angry.

"Gonna dump my lifeless corpse in the trash, or leave me where I fall?" he asked, actually preferring to get shot in a way that didn't require having to look his attacker in the face.

His phone began buzzing on his belt.

He reached for it slowly and carefully.

If it wasn't Horatio, it was probably Nick.

"What the actual fuck…?"

He was surprised that Stetler didn't try and stop him.

"Hi, Papa! We were just talking about you," he chuckled lightly.

"What's happening?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just having a little chat with a maniac who's about to kill me."

He could see Nick eyes rolling all the way from Vegas.

"This isn't 1933, boy."

Speed blinked, increasingly convinced his Sire was developing some kind of telepathy just lately.

"Don't ever let him win."

And with that, the line went dead.

"Turn around."

He put his phone back on his belt.

"Turn around."

Speed sighed. "We really don't have to do this."

Sadly however, it seemed they did.

Stetler was far enough away from him that he couldn't just snatch the fool's gun out of his hand, and they were in a distant corner of the lot, with little of any use to him bar the dumpster he might at least get some shelter from.

"Cameras out here," he said quietly, gesturing to where they were attached along the top of the rear wall behind him, and over by the back doors to the main building. "At least one of them will capture nice clear pictures of all this."

Stetler however, was seemingly beyond caring very much.

Speed had seen that same gleam in the eyes of other, better men than Rick.

"You were never wearing Kevlar."

"That's what's bothering you?"

"I saw your body!"

"Well, aren't you lucky."

Despite trying not to frown and show too much emotion, Speed really couldn't help being grossed out at the idea of his bloody corpse getting ogled at like it was still the middle of the 14th Century.

"I don't know how you did it, but there's no way out this time," Stetler growled. "Step away from the bike."

"Did I piss you off in another life?"

"No, you pissed me off in this one."

What Horatio saw as he tore into the parking lot, almost had him crashing his Hummer.

It was the worst possible moment he could have imagined given everything that had recently happened, and yet just as it lurched into his mind that Speed getting shot would not be the end of everything, he knew it would be too much to try and hide it all again.

And too much to bear in seeing it all over again.

But he could only get so far in the vehicle he was driving, and slammed on the brakes while reaching for the door catch, desperate to intervene only to get a group of people leaving the building, walk straight into the road with seemingly no other cares in the world.

Were they blind?

He growled in frustration.

Expecting gunfire at any moment, he glanced across at Speed, still two rows of cars away, knowing full well he'd never get there in time to be useful even if he leapt out from behind the wheel and ran there on foot.

What he saw take place though, took him a while to fully register, or at least it took some time to fully register in his brain given that it was over in less time than it took for him to wonder why no one was paying any attention to it.

The Vampire moved so fast.

It was hard to keep up.

A shot rang out.

Those in the parking lot screamed and hit the floor.

The bullet pinged off the back wall behind Speed, who had dodged it, seemingly with little in the way of effort, before sweeping into Stetler's outstretched gun arm, turning on the ball of one foot and literally ripping his opponent's arm off.

Horatio blinked.

Through the sudden surge of panic and confusion as cops poured into the lot from all angles, he realized he'd been mistaken.

Speed had snapped Stetler's arm between wrist and elbow, to such an extent there were bones sticking up from the skin, and his hand hung at almost 45 degrees from normal.

For a fraction of a breath, Stetler teetered on his feet, staring at the state of his arm in utter shock before finally keeling over.

Horatio wasn't sure whether to be relieved or horrified that such a thing could have been done with so much apparent ease, but if he'd needed final proof that his CSI was more than human, he'd gotten it.

Tripp raced to the scene, having witnessed for himself on more than one occasion just what Vampires were capable of, and knowing better than get the way while shit was going down.

Horatio could clearly hear him yelling for an ambulance.

After that it took him a while to get his brain in gear and move himself from the Hummer, mainly because the one thing he really wanted to do to Speed at that point was not exactly permissible in public spaces. And because all he could see in his future, if those last few moments had gone hideously wrong, was leaving everything behind, no matter the cost, to go wherever Tim bid him.

He would follow him anywhere.

Without question.

He startled when Tripp hammered on the Hummer's side window.

"You gonna sit there all day?"

H shook his head and made a move, only then realizing he'd had one hand on his gun the whole time.

"Where's Speed?"

"He's fine. Kept saying Stetler fell over and broke his arm. Something about oil on the lot." Frank really didn't care one way or the other. "He's giving a statement. Everyone's just glad to have him back."

"He's okay?"

"Didn't you see what he just did? Of course he's okay! He's ticked off but he's fine. You can have him back when he's done. You've helped make him a hero."

Horatio frowned as they headed into the lab.

That thought alone was probably going to have pissed Speed off more than getting a gun in his face.

***

Vacation time was apparently more flexible than either Horatio Caine or Timothy Speedle could ever remember it being before, but the MDPD had clearly been put in a very bad light after everything that happened between their own officers.

Rick Stetler's status as Internal Affairs had gotten a lot of higher ups on the defensive, and questions were being asked repeatedly as to his past competencies, never mind that he had to undergo two separate surgeries to repair his arm.

Discretion being definitely the better part of valor, Horatio and Speed were only too glad to stay out of the situation as far as possible, happy to hide away at the Mandarin Oriental and spend a few lazy, stress free days getting to know one another on every conceivable level, as well as every conceivable surface, though Alexx, Calleigh, and Eric had kept them up to date on the latest gossip once things became a touch more settled.

They even came over for dinner one night, sitting around, managing to talk like nothing untoward had ever happened.

It was normal enough to be comfortably nice.

A mutual agreement was soon voiced between them, that they had no problem whatsoever with Horatio as their boss, being in a relationship with the Vampire they knew as their friend. Both of them were respected professionals, though Speed's dress sense and occasional snarkfests were looked upon more as quirks than flaws.

They all knew however, that such fraternization was not acceptable to those they worked for, who had rules and regulations in place that did not bend for anyone, not even the great Horatio Caine, who admittedly had vast influence in the Police Department.

So secrets would be kept.

They were all Chosen Ones, and they were all friends.

And they valued one another's presence in their lives.

They also knew the value of maintaining such company.

Rick Stetler was recovering, seeing a therapist, and all set to be charged with attempted murder, when his legal team pulled off a coup and had him removed from the State of Florida, with all offenses dropped. He'd lost his badge, his reputation, his house and his pension, but rumor had it he was in possession of certain other secrets that no one wanted in the light of day, least of all the DA who rather than bring down some ugly, and really rather public courtroom scandal on the Police Department's collective heads, arranged a more discreet solution to everyone's problem.

Stetler was persona non grata in Florida.

End of story.

Speed had shrugged at hearing the rumors confirmed.

He'd faced worse in his time.

And knowing he'd Turn his Mate sooner rather than later, kept him calm enough.

Horatio was more concerned with what exactly Rick knew about whom, and why.

But no one was going to talk, so he decided not to push.

He would not be missing Stetler's presence in his life.

Ever.

Yelina had stayed away from her brother-in-law, keeping her own counsel on how things had played out, naturally concerned with rebuilding her own reputation in the Department and distancing herself from the mess. Not that anyone could really blame her for doing so, least of all Horatio.

Time was needed for picking up the pieces and figuring it all out, and everyone needed space to simply breathe.

Nine days in all, passed far too fast, as did most vacations in the bigger scheme of things, and though H had gone back to his beach house for clothes, and to check his mail, Speed hadn't really bothered with his little Studio apartment since the shooting, preferring to spread himself out in luxury for a while before returning to the more modest lifestyle of a science nerd and CSI.

He'd agreed with Horatio that they would need to keep living discreetly, and the Penthouse should become their private bolt hole away from the world whenever they could escape there together. It would probably be ill-advised for either of them to get caught going to each other's houses at any point.

The day before they were due to go back to work, a package came from New Orleans, that had Horatio instantly curious. He'd already been plotting a trip to Sylum Manor, that sat near the little town of Vacherie, about an hour or so's drive from the famous home of Jazz and Mardi Gras, intent on meeting other Vampires and getting to know more about the Clan he was set to become part of.

Speed had slapped his hands from the box lid and told him to be patient. Or better yet, take a walk, get a coffee, do something for an hour and come back later.

"What are you planning?"

Speed smiled about as innocently as his reputation would allow. "Patience! It'll be worth the wait. I promise."

And it was.

It totally was.

For after the allotted time had passed in a strange sense of peculiar anticipation, Horatio returned to the Penthouse and found his lover transformed from American to Irishman.

It was a moment, long to be savored.

Gone were the jeans and blue cotton shirt with the tails hanging out. Gone too was much of the 21st Century altogether, and in the evening light from the balcony windows there stood before him a fully kilted Celt, bare footed and bare chested, save for a long swatch of Tartan thrown from his waist over his right shoulder, secured with a silver pin that looked like a howling wolf's head.

The Rune about his neck, shone dully.

The Love Bind, a tall angular P shape set within an X.

Ever present.

Ever vital to them both.

For a while, all the redhead could do was stare.

The transformation was astonishing.

He had seen some sketches earlier in the week, of Speed dressed in such fashion, except with a form of heavy woolen socks that had risen to just below the knees and were completed by a pair of soft, leather boots that laced around the ankles.

Naturally, he'd been soundly lectured on the social and historical significance of the Filleadh Mór, or Great Kilt, its design and its continual confusion for those who called themselves historians, most of whom Speed firmly believed to be shallow idiots.

Truth was though, that no amount of sketches, drawings or mental preparation, however well done, could compare to the reality stood in front of him, arrayed in the colors of his Clan.

His Clan.

O'Gairmledaig.

The Tartan was instantly familiar: two thick black vertical lines with a single black horizontal cutting through them, each surrounded by a thin line of yellow, that was set with thin white lines of two vertical and two horizontal, forming distinct squares. All of which lay interwoven on a background of rich, dark green.

He swallowed.

It felt as though the old had blurred with the new on more levels than he could possibly determine, and if he took another step forward he'd be lost somewhere between the two.

When he opened his mouth, nothing useful came out, so Speed filled the silence, even as memories rose from his past like shadows in fog; recollections of pushing the slightly smaller man backward to seat him on a long, clearly ancient wooden table, before flipping up the heavy weight of that Kilt, parting his thighs and bending to suck hard and fast on the rampant cock that awaited him, nestled in a thatch of course, dark hair.

It made his mouth water.

He blinked rapidly.

"Before I go to be Timothy Speedle again, I thought it only right you should see Timothy Quinn."

The Vampire spoke in Gaelic, yet Horatio understood it all.

Every word.

It just no longer frightened him any more than he could.

"Do you approve, my Lord?" Speed murmured, his accent a positively alluring thing as he lowered his eyes respectfully.

"My young Tim, how could I not?" The words fell from Horatio's lips before any thought to them could catch up with their intent. "Though it should please me more to see what lies beneath."

His own voice sounded husky, deepened by the Brogue he had not consciously chosen to use.

"Ay, my Lord. As you wish," Speed answered, stooping to grasp the hem of what was in fact a considerable length of material, which he then proceeded to draw with all the shy modesty of a virgin bride, slowly up his legs to bare his knees and then his thighs.

Horatio licked his lips, knowing with absolute certainty that this was a ritual they had repeated before.

His groin felt hot, and his dick, which had already begun twitching in anticipation of a most strongly desired arousal, began to swell all the harder until it strained at his zipper. Yet just as it would seem his intently watching eyes were about to feast upon the sight of his lover's gorgeously set manhood, Speed turned around to face the window, bent forward at the waist all the more, and instead displayed for him his tightly muscled, lightly tanned and very naked buttocks.

Horatio moaned low in his throat, lust surging through him.

Speed had caught a little sun in the last few days, lounging nude on the balcony, totally oblivious to any modern sense of modesty.

Not that his Mate had minded of course. It was amazing what else sun tan oil could be used for.

The submission he was suddenly witness too however, aroused him in ways nothing else had ever achieved in his life, save being bitten by a Vampire in the first place…

He caught his breath, finally daring reach for what he was offered, his hands itching to touch, to caress, to explore.

Speed trembles, barely suppressing a whimper as I cup his buttocks in my palms and squeeze, hard enough to dig my fingers into his flesh and leave marks.

Each time I stroke his ass, he struggles to be still. But I want ownership of every single inch of him, and am certainly not timid in how I go about it, turning a loving touch into masterful possession with a hard enough slap to make a hefty sounding crack and leave my mark on his backside sufficiently red and hot that it would take a while in fading.

It's was a good look for him, and he yelps as I leave a second hand print near the first, wiggling his hips anxiously.

Stooping low, I take great delight in licking the smoothness of his skin, then nipping, biting, kissing and sucking everywhere I can reach with my tongue, memorizing each curve and crease.

He is all I need.

And I know it now.

He moans again as I part his ripe cheeks, teasing his hole, devouring the secret places only I will ever know from now on, making him squirm all the more as I dip into that ring of shielding muscle. I have already laid Claim to him more than few times since he rose from the dead, yet each time feels like the first time we came together.

I still don't understand how that can be possible, or how anything can be this way. How can I want someone like this, and be so very well needed in return? Such things aren't meant for men like me.

Are they?

He shudders.

Repeatedly.

He's close to climax.

Bracing himself, one hand upon his knees, the other flat against the window, he begs me for release.

"Oh, my Lord! Please? Please…?"

His voice is a hoarse whisper.

He begs without shame.

It sends a thrill through me to hear him call me that.

His Lord.

His.

Forever.

My tongue continues to explore.

Deeper.

Whetting him.

I taste his musk.

Preparing him for Claiming.

Another slap when he tries to push back against me.

Not yet, my lad.

Not yet.

I want to savor this.

The heat from his flushing skin is intense.

He opens his legs a little wider, adjusting his stance for me as I continue to plunder his body.

This is mine.

All mine.

And it puts a huge smile on my face to let that reality sink in.

My groin aches, longing for the pleasure of taking him.

He whimpers then.

The heavy woolen Kilt slips a bit, falling into my hair.

Yes, I have done this before, both with and without such preparations as I am lavishing on him. But he knows me, trusts me, understands that pain is just a fleeting thing which heralds the promise of what our coupling will bring.

Standing up again, I give him no other warning but the lowering of my zipper, before taking a firm grip of his hips with both hands and slamming my whole length into him.

He cries out, yet I fuck his ass with a lustful passion that has me grunting with the effort of such abandon.

Speed braces both hands on the glass and takes it all, head down, clenching himself around me at every inward thrust, and gasping each time I pull out.

His self-control is focused entirely on me and what I want, not on himself.

It leaves me breathless, and excites me hugely.

Over and over I ravish him, watching him take my cock, stroke after stroke, and yearn for more, until with one final push, my balls firmly pressed against his quivering hole, I fill him, splashing my come into his body.

The room spins around me for a while, and yet he manages to hold my weight as I lean on him, sweating and panting from exertion, having not even taken off my jacket and shoes from where I'd been outside.

It takes a few long moments of reveling in the glow and enjoying the sensations as my heartbeat settles down, before I slip from inside him as gently as I can.

He sighs, and shifts at our parting.

With one hand I stroke his damp sticky hair.

He's shaking.

Tugging firmly at his head, I get him standing upright, realizing he hasn't climaxed yet, but needs too so very badly.

"Turn around."

I growl my order in his ear, close and personal, giving him just enough space to move.

Obedience comes easily to him.

It thrills me more.

Speed keeps his eyes lowered, and when I bid him raise his Kilt again that I might see his unfulfilled arousal, he does so willingly, showing me his swollen cock, hard and tense, so raw and desperate, wet with fluid, eager for that touch to allow his orgasm.

"You please me greatly, my lad," I whisper, seizing his lips and devouring his mouth, pulling him to me, holding him close, one hand at the small of his back, and the other in his hair.

I am the one to have gotten him this way.

And I adore him.

He grinds his hips to mine, seeking friction, still exposing himself at my will.

"Please, please," he begs again, barely able to get the words out.

I chuckle, possessed by yet more memories of times gone centuries ago.

"Does my seed seep from where I Claimed you, my young Tim?"

"Ay, my Lord. It does," he whines. "I am yours. Do with me as you wish."

Without another word, I shove him backward into the tall, glass door, fall to my knees and take him whole into my mouth.

Not much is required for him to come after that.

The brush of my tongue along his length.

The suction of my lips around his girth.

The tightening of my throat.

And he explodes with a heartfelt sob and so grateful a cry, pumping into me with as much abandon as I had used on him.

Closing my eyes, I let it happen.

Swallow after swallow.

Salty.

Thick.

Consuming his very essence.

I was never one to go so willingly to my knees for a lover before this.

Too strong willed by far.

Too stubborn.

Too much the redhead.

Yet for him?

For my Mate?

I will do anything.

No matter the cost.

And I admit it feels only right that after taking his submission, he should in turn take mine.

When he is done, I release him, licking him clean, watching his cock fall sated and limp.

He is to be admired, this Vampire I lust after.

If I were an artist I would want to paint him, bare and natural, for he is fine of shape and form, even when his manhood is soft.

Enough to fondle in my hands, to toy with and tease…

So sensitive whenever I touch that place behind his firmly hung testes, or tug at his foreskin with my teeth.

When I move, he finally lowers the Kilt, and I stand in time to sweep him into my arms before he falls.

I stroke his hair a while, feeling him relax at last.

"Why are you still wearing clothes?" he asks, lips to my neck.

For the first time in what seems like hours, he's speaking English.

And it's a little startling.

"You completely distracted me," I confess. "I may have been in Ireland there for a while."

When he looks up at me, the grin on his face is both endearingly sappy and blissfully content.

"You were talking back to me in Gaelic too."

"I was?"

He nods.

Something in my head had actually registered that fact, and yet not prevented me from doing it, despite having known not a single damn thing in that language until recently.

"Lord Sean was a very forceful man."

"Ay, he was. All his life he seized on every day God saw fit to grant him," Speed answers, and I kiss him in return.

A kiss softly given.

Full of tenderness.

"Thank you for showing me this," I whisper, awed by it all.

"The Kilt really did it for you, huh?" he chuckles.

"Hell, yeah!" I reply firmly, slipping my hands once more into its folds. "Now, come…"

The Brogue was back, as though the man I once had been felt the need to keep asserting his connection to Timothy for me.

"… in iúl dúinn cith, ansin is féidir leat a thaispeáint dom do meas ar an Éileamh Tá mé i gceist ar do chorp agus spiorad."



To be continued …

Clan War: Bonding

10th Anniversary Edition