Locke & Key

"I'm cold."

"Kill the vampire, sweetheart, then you can have a hot shower and a cup of coffee."

Locke smiled, but didn't let it slip into his voice. "Fuck you," he said. "You only call me sweetheart when you think I'm being a baby."

"Whatever you say. Sweetheart."

Rolling his eyes, Locke pulled out his guns one by one and checked them one last time. "Key, stop trying to flirt with your boss and do your damn job."

"Yes, sweetheart," Key replied, and Locke could hear him typing furiously away on his laptop.

Locke made a mental note to administer a beating when he got home. Lightly touching his clothing, his weapons, ensuring all was as it should be and could be grabbed in a moment's notice – or not grabbed, whichever applied – he climbed out of his beat up car, popped a piece of cinnamon gum, and started walking down the dark street toward the apartment building at the end of it.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy boots, clung to his dark brown hair and black corduroy jacket. He grimaced as the wind briefly picked up, making the cold that much more miserable. Ugh. He hated hunting in winter. Well, at least they weren't up New England way this time.

The apartment building looked like it had survived a small war. It was little wonder only broken vamps really lived in it.

Creaky, broken, it smelled positively rank - piss and cheap booze, sweat and sex, cigarettes and mold, and beneath all of it the unmistakable stench of old blood. Locke's nose twitched. Ugh, he hated broken vampires.

"Hey," Key said in his ear, "even the nastiest broken vamps are better than a single top vamp."

Locked glared at the dark, mildewed stairwell he had to climb, wishing Key was present to receive the glare and not a couple miles away. "Stop doing that."

Key sniggered. "Not my fault your thoughts are easy to predict."

"Shut up. Final count, how many would you say?"

"Mmm," Key murmured thoughtfully, keys clicking at a rapid fire rate. It was a familiar sound, soothing in the nasty atmosphere of the rundown building. "Reports seem to indicate three to five. Given the low population density in this area, the lack of crime...the absence of any sort of animals in your prelims, I'm going to say five, possibly six. No one has ever reported so much as finding a body, so they're smart or at least neat."

Locke glanced at a puddle of some questionable substance. "If you say so."

"At least they're not so broken as to ignore that sort of thing," Key said. "Six at most, come on. It won't take you long at all. I'll start the coffee once you're on your way back."

"Shut the fuck up," Locke said. "You do your job, I'll do mine."

"Yeah, yeah," Key replied, then fell silent save for the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard.

Locke weighed his options, touching each of his four revolvers, and finally settled on the Blackhawks. The Smith and Wesson were more fun, but guns meant for 'big game' were hardly required for a bunch of stupid broken vamps.

Unfortunately.

"If you want to play with the Model 500," Key said in his ear, laughter plain in his voice, "we can always switch to hunting top vamps."

"Fuck you," Locke muttered, drawing his Blackhawks and finally approaching the stairs. He didn't bother to be quiet, because any second now the vamps would pick up his scent anyway.

Oh, how they would pick it up.

There were two ways to hunt vamps when it came to smell – hide your scent, or show it off.

Locke's favorite day of every month in school had been show and tell.

He'd barely cleared the landing when a door at the end of the hall flew open and something that looked vaguely human half-lunged, half-stumbled out.

Ugh. He hated broken vamps, but he always felt sorry for the bastards, too. He wondered sometimes which feeling motivated him to pull the trigger.

Raising the gun in his right hand, Locke fired. The Blackhawk was by no stretch of the imagination a quiet gun. Nor a pretty one, so far as results went. The vamp went down like a lump of raw meat, finished off neatly and handily by a .44 hollow-point silver bullet.

The only thing his mama made better than bullets was chocolate chip cookies, and the fact she was due to be sending him both shortly was immensely cheering.

Locke turned as he heard something behind him and raised his second gun, taking down two more. That was three down, about three to go.

He grimaced at the strong smell of blood, which did not go well with the rest of the nastiness filling the old building. Not much remained of the corpses. Broken vampires weren't strong enough to have the regenerative abilities of a top vampire, but even if they did the hollow point silver slugs caused too much damage for that to fix. Even a top would be pissed off for a couple of hours after taking a hit like that.

Four bullets left in the first gun, three in the second. He still had the Smith & Wesson and the semi as a final resort. Whistling cheerfully now, ignoring the pained sigh in his ear, Locke moved toward the first vamp he'd shot, stepping over the mess and into the apartment.

If he was not already long-resigned to the stench of decay and old blood, it would have made him gag. Broken vamps were the worst – converted from humans, which seldom went well. It usually broke them one way or another, creating the repulsive, pathetic creatures he most frequently killed.

Shit, someone turned him into a bloodsucker he'd fucking go psycho too. Well, he'd kill himself, but that was beside the point.

He heard shuffling from what was probably a bedroom and moved that way, carefully moving around the drained corpses and other rot spread across the floor, wanting badly to puke.

"Think happy thoughts," Key said.

"Stop reading my fucking mind," Locke muttered.

Key snickered, then once again fell silent.

Cautiously Locke pushed open the bedroom door, ready to fire – but when he entered, all he saw was a broken vampire lying prone on a bed with stains best described as interesting. A lamp cast orange-yellow light, making everything that much uglier. The vamp moved, lifting its head just enough to look at him with eyes that might have belonged to a drug addict suffering serious withdrawal.

Locke shot him in the head and turned away before the mess really did make him hurl. Didn't matter how many years he did this, he never really got used to it.

He went through the remaining rooms as quickly as he could without being too hasty, then tracked back the way he'd come to explore the apartment from which the other two vamps had come. Nothing but more nastiness.

Frowning, he returned to the hallway. Fuck, he didn't want to have to explore the entire goddamn building and every apartment in it. If there was nothing but vamps around….generally they kept to the same hovel, and the first floor of apartments made the most sense…

Standing perfectly still, he listened, waited. If a vampire was close enough to smell him, it would come for him. He worked hard to make his blood the feast of feasts for a vampire. If nothing showed, he'd go up another level.

A faint creak.

He turned – and swore. "You're not fucking broken."

The vampire before him bared his pointy teeth in something that was part smirk, part grin, part you look really damned tasty, hunter.

In his ear, Key was cussing up a storm.

Locke dropped his Blackhawks and drew the Smith & Wesson even as the average-type vampire lunged for him. The guns roared as he fired, flashing bright enough to light up the dark hallway for a heartbeat. With enough firepower to take down a bear, they were more than enough to put a hurt on an average vamp.

It jerked back, right off its feet, and Locke wasted no time in shooting it a second time.

"Get it?" Key asked.

"Yeah," Locke replied tersely. "None of the research suggested a true vamp might be skulking about."

Key was silent a moment, but Locke could hear him clicking away at a furious pace. Though he'd never fucking admit, he loved to watch and listen to Key type – it should be inelegant, or tedious, or something, but somehow he found it graceful and captivating.

"I still don't see evidence of that," Key said at last. "Maybe he was a not-so-proud papa stopping by like we did. Shitty timing."

Locke grunted an acknowledgment. "I'm going to check the rest of the building."

"Yeah," Key agreed, then went back to typing and listening.

He made quick work of it, exploring every floor – but his searching turned up no more vampires, and even forcing himself to double check resulted in nothing. Tired, cranky, thoroughly fed up, Locke called it a night. "Going to torch it, then I'm fucking done."

"Roger," Key said. "I'll go start making the coffee. Your mom's package arrived."

"If you eat all my fucking cookies," Locke replied, "I'm going to engrave your name on a silver bullet."

Key snickered. "If you kill me, darling, you'll never figure out where I hid them."

"So long as it's not in my mother fucking underwear drawer again," Locke groused.

He pointedly ignored the loud, obnoxious, entirely too gleeful laughter roaring in his ear and trudged back to his car to get what he needed to set the building on fire.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Locke said, just standing and gawking.

Key grinned and added fuel to the fire by pulling down the brim of the gimme cap he wore – black with a detailed bat stitched in silver thread, with brilliant red eyes. Locke loved that hat, he wore it constantly unless he was on a job.

On top of all that, the motherfucker was holding a cup of coffee and had a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth.

"You just love pissing me off, don't you, asshole?" Locke groused, stomping loudly across the cement floor of the workshop to where he kept all his guns. Pointedly ignoring Key, he set to work checking, cleaning, and reloading his guns before locking all but one of the Blackhawks away.

That done, he stripped off his jacket, sweater, and undershirt, then moved to a backroom to finish stripping before he stepped into the shower area. Once this had been a locker room, and it still showed in the benches and lockers, the ugly tile and half dozen shower heads. Cheap rent, though, and by the month – all they really needed. Not much longer they'd probably be moving on further south. He fucking refused to hunt vamps further north this time of year unless it was strictly necessary.

Finished showering, he grabbed a towel from the row of hooks and scrubbed his hair mostly dry before toweling off. Moving to the first row of lockers, he opened the third one down and pulled out clean boxers, socks, undershirt. Opening the next one, he tugged on jeans that were neither too tight nor too loose. Tugging on a long-sleeved red t-shirt, he sat down to pull on his boots, then finally returned to the workshop.

A fresh cup of coffee, a plate of cookies, and his gimme cap waited on his makeshift desk. Grunting, he drank half the hot coffee in one long swallow, then tugged on his cap and snatched up a cookie.

Yummy.

"You're still an asshole," he said eventually.

Key laughed. He had platinum hair, blue eyes, and a pretty face – the spitting image of an angel or a mama's boy. Except for the part where he was a smartass, troublemaking computer nerd with a death wish. "Job well done, sweetheart. Sit back and relax, stop getting so uptight."

"Something about you brings out the uptight in me," Locke replied dryly.

"I can ease that uptight, you know."

Locke groaned. "Don't start with me," he said.

Key just grinned his evil grin, the one that could also be insanely hot at the worst possible moments. Namely when Locke's libido needed an ice-cold shower before he did something stupid.

He didn't know why he kept resisting, because if there was one thing Key had always made clear it was interest in Locke – but he couldn't quite give in. Something held him. A niggling sense that said it would be a bad idea, and Locke had learned the hard and painful way to trust his instincts.

Those instincts said he could trust Key with his life…but weren't fly with fucking him. Which was too bad, because he wanted to see what that pretty but dirty mouth looked like around his cock.

Shifting in his seat, Locke summoned a scowl to counter that damned grin.

"Come on," Key goaded. "We're a regular bad porn joke, obviously it's meant to be."

Locked groaned.

Key just grinned. "Key. Locke."

"Wrong," Locke replied, despite knowing it was always stupid to actually attempt these discussions. "We've got two keys and no locks. So shut up."

The evil in Key's smile cranked up about three notches. "Not if it's a key for the back d—"

"Shut up!" Locke half-shouted the words to drown Key out, mortified and maybe the slightest bit not mortified, which was more upsetting. "Don't you have work to do?" he asked desperately.

"Yeah, yeah," Key said cheerfully, though Locke didn't miss the slight disappointment in his eyes.

He couldn't help it. Something about Key, despite their being partners in hunting for the past five and a half years, nagged at him.

Maybe it was just the lingering foul taste of his last partner coloring his perception and fucking up his instinct. He'd pondered that possibility before. Steven had been perfect – partner, friend, lover. All of it. Until he'd put a knife – literally and figuratively – in Locke's back.

Key had approached him in a bar in California one night, knowing way more than Locke had thought anyone should know. Since then, he'd learned Key was good at knowing shit he shouldn't. Way too fucking good, but at least usually it worked to Locke's advantage.

He'd agreed to cooperate with Key for a job or two. When he'd finally left California, however, Key had been with him. They worked well together, despite the chronic smart ass from which Key suffered.

Despite the fact he was keeping a secret. Locke knew enough about secrets to know Key was keeping one, and that – no doubt combined with his past – kept him from making more than a few enthusiastic fantasies reality.

He ate another cookie as he wrote a report on the night's events.

Five minutes after he emailed it home, a chat window popped up on his screen.

Locke rolled his eyes, and typed to his mother that he was fine, the average hadn't even fucking touched him, the bullets were perfect and the cookies tasty.

An hour later she finally signed off to go to bed – no doubt his father had been yelling at her for the past forty five minutes – and went to get more coffee.

He smiled faintly to see Key had made him a fresh pot, and went in search of his geek.

The bottom floor of the building they were renting had been a workshop of some sort, the kind to require a locker room. Upstairs had clearly been living quarters, likely for whoever had owned the workshop.

Key was stretched out on a ratty couch in the living area, something they'd scrounged for twenty bucks from college students desperate to get rid of it. They'd cleaned and de-fouled it as best they could, but Key had still thrown a quilt over it. He lay with his head on the farthest armrest, so he faced the door, and flicked his eyes up as Locke appeared.

"Thanks for the coffee," Locke said.

"Sure," Key said quietly.

"Who are you chatting with?" Locke asked, moving to the couch and lifting Key's feet, sitting down before letting them fall across his legs.

"Old friend in Cali," Key replied. "I was asking him about our average."

Locke grunted. "I'd have asked my folks, but fuck – I'd still be talking to my mother. I'm going to fucking kill Billie for teaching her how to use a computer – and instant chat."

Key laughed and playfully dug his heel into Locke's thigh. "Your mom is cute. At least when she's bugging you and not me. She thinks I'm good for you, by the way. I didn't tell you that."

"Yeah, yeah," Locke said, and took a sip of coffee to avoid saying or doing something stupid.

Key sighed softly. "We've got only the park to investigate, but likely it'll only be one broken. By end of week we can move south. That should make you happy." He closed his laptop with a faint click and set it aside, folding his arms beneath his head. "I called ahead to price places to stay. Nice little thing by the sea. No one wants it 'cause people were murdered there."

"Right up our alley, then," Locke said, drinking more of his coffee.

"Billie recommended it," Key replied. "Your brother is like a vampire hunter slash real estate agent."

Locke sniggered at the idea of Billie as a real estate agent. "I think it's more that he's good at finding places to hide." He stifled a yawn. "I guess if we're moving soon, we should start packing and shit. What's this thing in the park?"

"Crazy homeless guy, according to the natives, except he likes to attack people – a few have reported that he tried to bite them. Cops have tried to find him, but never have any luck."

"Easy enough," Locke said, finishing his coffee and bending a bit to set the mug on the floor. He leaned back with a soft sigh, resting his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes.

He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a week, but that required moving.

The feet resting on his lap vanished, and he heard Key move. Then a warm hand lay gently against his cheek, soft against the stubble.

"You're an idiot," Key said, and there was no mistaking the affection mingled with the frustration in his voice.

It hurt, and though it was probably more imagination than reality, it also made the old scar on his back hurt. He didn't want to face another betrayal someday, not matter how much he might care about his partner.

He cracked his eyes open, instantly taken by the goddamn wow of Key's eyes. So fucking blue. His own were a muddy brown color. "You have no room to talk."

"Tell me about it," Key said softly. "You'd think after over five years of 'not interested' that I'd fucking give up."

Locke frowned. "Yeah, well. You haven't quit making your idiotic jokes, either."

"Guess I'm dense or stubborn."

"Yeah, but you're pretty. It's allowed."

Key laughed briefly, then leaned in just close enough to brush a feather soft kiss across Locke's lip. In the next breath he was gone, and Locke was alone. The room was quiet, but his thoughts were plenty loud enough.

Locke shouldered his duffle bag and slammed the trunk closed, then shoved his keys into the front left pocket of his jeans. Turning around, he started to cross the parking lot to the motel room they'd rented for the night.

One flat and a nasty mess of snow did not pleasant traveling make. Fuck it was the unanimous decision; the vampires could wait an extra day to get shot.

He'd taken three steps when he realized that the rather nice looking backside crouched in front of the bushes off to the left belonged to someone he knew. A sinking suspicion growing, he stomped through the snow and ice to where Key was all but buried in the bushes – and Locke could hear all too familiar noises coming from him.

Noises which elicited pathetic mewling sounds in response.

Stifling a groan, Locke dropped his duffle bag and crossed his arms. "No." He nudged Key's lower back with the toe of his boot. "I said no."

"Aww," Key said in protest, slowly standing up and turning around, arms curled against his chest – and a tiny kitten cradled in them. It was the color of soot, with bright green eyes way too big for its evil, manipulative little face. "It's all alone. No sign of mama."

"No," Locke said again. "We travel too much for pets, and – just no. I'm not arguing about this. You're pretty, but that doesn't mean you can act like a girl and try to adopt every cute stray that stumbles into your path. Come on, be a man and put the kitten down."

Key ignored him, stomping away from the bushes and across the parking lot, stopping only to swipe his keycard before vanishing into his room.

Locke watched him go, and could tell from the set of Key's shoulders that he was in deep shit for the acting like a girl crack.

Sighing, he picked his duffle back up and made for the room.

It was old and dingy, with the same part mold, part too much cleaner smell that all hotels seemed to have no matter how up or downscale they were.

Key sat Indian-style on the farthest bed, back to Locke.

Biting back another sigh, Locke threw his bag on the floor and knelt to dig out the few things he wanted close to hand. He was already wearing the Desert Eagle, but he'd be happier with one of the Blackhawks and he needed to ward the doors on the chance an unwanted guest tried to pay them a visit.

No one gave a fuck if a few or even several broken vamps died – vamps wouldn't kill their own, but they didn't fight too much if certain among them got personal with a silver bullet. Killing an average vamp…fifty fifty. A week and a half later, nothing fanged was bitching about it, so they were probably safe.

Never paid to be sloppy, however. His dad would kick his fucking ass. If his mom didn't do it first.

He glanced up as he finished checking and loading his gun, sliding it into the holster at his hip.

Still being ignored.

Damn it. He fucking hated when Key ignored him.

Heaving a loud sigh, he made certain he had his wallet and tromped back out to the car.

When he returned an hour later he was short a chunk of change he would have preferred to put toward a good steak dinner. Depositing all the stupid crap on Key's bed, he sat down in a nearby chair to remove his boots, then snatched up the TV remote and collapsed on his own bed.

After a moment he sat up to shuck off his jacket and guns, then lay back down in just his lightweight blue sweater. There wasn't much on, and he doubted he'd fucking notice if the Cowboys suddenly decided to start playing football in their birthday suits.

He turned the TV off again. "So what did you name it and how the hell are we going to lug the damn thing around with us? Cats don't travel well."

The silence dragged on, and Locke was about to go back out for the beer he'd almost gotten in the first place when Key finally broke it. "I'm not a fucking girl, you asshole."

"I know," Locke replied with a sigh that was part aggravation, part relief. "I'm sorry – but come on, it's just a damned kitten."

"Yeah, well, it was freezing to death," Key replied. "If I'm not going to leave someone as grouchy and foul-mouthed as you to freeze his ass off in the snow, I'm sure as fuck not going to leave a tiny kitten. I'll give it to your fucking cousin when we see her for Christmas."

Locke rolled his eyes. Key would give up the kitten the same way he'd give being grouchy and foul-mouthed. Like fucking hell he'd be giving up the damned kitten – not after Locke had sacrificed his fucking steak dinner to buy shit for the fluffy menace.

Whom Key was still petting, with his back still to Locke, and what a shitty evening this was turning out to be. If a vamp did stop by, Locke was going to offer it a snack.

He turned the TV on again and decided sullenly on watching the news. There was the temptation to order straight porn just to see Key get all twitchy over the boobs, but if he was still being partially ignored then he wouldn't get much of a reaction.

Sighing, he lay down completely on the bed and pulled his cap down over his eyes. It was entirely unfuckingfair that he had to put up with all this shit but didn't get sex.

Of course, that was also his own fucking fault, if he felt like being honest which he didn't.

"Sulking doesn't look good on you, sweetheart," Key said.

Locke didn't reply. See how Key liked being ignored.

He heard movement, then there was a dip in his bed as Key sat down on the edge.

"You suck at ignoring me, Locke," Key said.

Locke didn't say anything – but he did tense when a hand slid over his stomach, warm even through the layers of sweater and undershirt. Still he didn't look up, or otherwise move. Mostly cause if he did the hand would go away, and he didn't give a fuck if his instincts said that secrets meant no sex – that hand felt good.

His cap was pushed back, away, and he didn't need to open his eyes to know Key was way too close for comfort. He opened them anyway, immediately done in by too-blue eyes.

He liked to think Key kissed him, but looking back later he never really knew for sure. The way Key wound up straddling him he also preferred to think of as not his fault, but really he preferred not to think about it at all.

He tasted like peppermint and coffee, a pretty damned tasty combination in its own right and all the better for tasting like Key too.

As apologies for adopting stupid kittens and ignoring partners went, Locke thought it was pretty damned good – even if he suspected Key wasn't apologizing so much as mollifying.

It was the knock at the door that broke them apart. They stared at each other.

The knock came again, and torn between annoyance and relief, Locke twisted so that Key was lying prone on the bed. Untangling their limbs, he grabbed the nearest of his guns – the Desert Eagle – and strode to the door.

He knew it was a vampire before he had the chain undone. Instinct. As he opened the door, he could also smell it.

Coppery. Sharp. Vampire.

Underneath the metal tang, however, he smelled something ever so faintly sickly sweet.

Fuck.

Locke stepped back as the door was pushed open, raising the Desert Eagle as the top vamp stepped into the room. Behind him he heard Key pick up his Blackhawk. "What the fuck do you want?"

"To see your license for one, hunter," the top said calmly. He was a handsome one – for a vampire. Black hair, dark green eyes, features that were the perfect line between handsome and pretty. Perfect, at least, for some smarmy men's magazine that sold twenty dollar deodorant.

"Asshole," Locke said, just on principle, but didn't argue the demand. Still leveling his gun at the top's head, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the leather fold that never left his person if he wasn't naked. He tossed it.

The vampire caught it easily, and flipped it open. He contemplated the license for several long moments. It wasn't really much to look at, so Locke didn't know why the bastard was staring. Him looking slightly too neat and tidy for the unsmiling picture to be a mug shot. He'd worn the blue sweater his mother had chosen 'cause she would have given him six kinds of hell if he'd worn anything else.

He tossed it back, and Locke caught it. Shoving it back in his pants, he returned his free hand to the gun.

"Now, how about your license?" The vampire asked, turning to look at Key.

Locke didn't take his eyes off the vamp, watching as he caught Key's license, frown deepening as the vamp started chuckling.

The vampire tossed the license back, laughing softly.

"Let's see your clearance, giggles," Locke snapped.

Smirking, the vampire reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He tossed it over.

Catching it, Locke flipped the wallet open and held it up so he could look at it without taking his eyes completely off the vampire.

Registered level nine. Fuckity McFuck. A top amongst tops. Damn it. "What the fuck are you doing here, giggles?"

The vampire plucked his wallet from Locke's hand and tucked it away. "I have come to have a word with you."

"I don't want a word with you," Locke snapped.

"I want you to do something for me," the vampire said, speaking as though Locke had not. "Word on the street is that your family is the best in hunting, and you're one of the top on offer."

Hearing one of the old vamps say something like 'word on the street' was like hearing his grandmother say 'what up, my homeslice?' Jarring and more than a little surreal. Old school should stick to old school.

"Fuck off and die," Locke said. "The only thing I do for bloodsuckers is introduce them to Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson."

The vampire laughed again. "You are amusing. I'm afraid you do not have a choice; you will help me."

"Oh, I have a choice," Locke replied. "I'm leaning toward pulling the trigger. It wouldn't kill an old bastard like you, but it'd piss you off and that'd make me pretty damn happy."

He almost did pull the trigger when the motherfucker laughed again. Seriously. He was getting real damned sick of that sound.

Then the bastard grinned in that way only vampires could – all fang and menace. One hundred percent pure I can and will rip out your throat and enjoy every second of it and there's nothing you can do about it.

Which was more or less true. The older the vampire, the more trouble. Generally, though, the really old vamps kept to themselves. They weren't interested in others, except as an occasional meal. Locke didn't think he'd ever heard of one just popping in to ask a vampire hunter to 'do something for him.' What the fuck?

"I want you to retrieve someone for me."

Locke put a bit of pressure on the trigger.

"A human," the vampire continued. "He belongs to me. Another top took him and I want you to get him back."

"Why us?" Key asked before Locke could repeat his desire that the vampire fuck off and die. "You could do it yourself easily, or get the hunter for your level to attend to it."

"Ah, child, if it were that easy I would not be here. I want this matter resolved more quietly than that. If I do it myself or drag in a top-level hunter, it would be supremely problematic."

The words were said matter-of-factly; like it was par for the course that one vampire would ask hunters to kill another. This was only one reason of many he hated vampires – they made no goddamn fucking sense.

"Which top?" Key asked.

Locke was going to kill him. They did not hold conversations with vampires. They killed vampires. That was it.

"Tremont," the vampire replied.

"Ah," Locke said. "Now this makes more sense. You're Alessandro."

"Yes," Alessandro replied, smirking. "My permit said as much."

"Shut up," Locke snapped.

He heard something that sound suspiciously like a snicker coming from Key's vicinity. Ignoring that, but making a note to come back to it later, he focused on Alessandro. "Answer is still no, and if you don't fuck off then after I'm done killing you I'm going to call Preston and then he'll kill you."

"Get my human back," Alessandro said slowly, "or I will see to it that everyone in your vampire hating world knows your little partner there is a half-breed."

Locke froze. What? He unthinkingly turned to look at Key, who had gone white – not pale or sickly, but stark fucking white.

A half-breed? Key? He so was fucking not a…

"Oh, my," Alessandro said with a chuckle. "I see you didn’t know. I smelled him a mile away and realized it was probably a secret between the two of you. I see it was a secret of one. Hmm. Tremont has a young man by the name of Heath. Bring him to me, and if you kill Tremont in the process – all the better. Succeed and I will see to it your secret is kept, child." He tossed a large brown envelope on the bed. "There is all the information you should need."

He turned and left as suddenly as he'd come.

Locke dropped his gun on the bed as he spun to face Key. "You're a motherfucking dhampir?"

Key nodded, still white-faced.

"A goddamn half-breed," Locke said in disgust. "You may as well be a fucking vampire and you never goddamn told me and you were kissing me and I knew you were keeping secrets but I never would have guessed you were a fucking dhampir."

He couldn't think straight. He couldn't think at all.

Key moved around the bed and toward him in what seemed like slow motion. Unreal. Yet now that he knew it seemed so fucking obvious – Key hated his guns, Key loved bad weather, hated summer…so many little fucking things that he should have noticed, except he'd been too busy trying not to notice Key.

He acted without thinking as Key reached him, swinging hard, bitterly satisfied to feel Key's jaw beneath his fist, the grunt of pain as Key stumbled back and crashed into the TV.

"Get the fuck away from me." A dhampir. A fucking half-breed. Maybe he'd been planning to make the kitten a snack.

"Locke, you don't—"

"I don't want to hear it," Locke snarled. Half-breed. They weren't allowed to have hunting licenses. More often than not dhampir turned into broken vamps. He'd killed more than a few of the fuckers. This whole time….he'd just been making out with a more or less vampire. "You're a fucking liar and a fucking vampire."

He turned around and started throwing his shit back in his bag. At one point he felt a touch to his shoulder, but only turned around to punch Key a second time. After that, Key stayed on the far side of the room.

Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he strode to the door.

"What about the job the vampire wants us to do?" Key asked faintly.

Locke didn't turn around, knuckles white where he gripped the doorknob. "You're the half-bloodsucker who didn't want to share his secret. You retrieve him. It's got nothing the fuck to do with me."

Yanking the door open, he slammed it shut behind him and then stomped across the snow-covered parking lot to his car. Throwing his bag in the back seat, he cleared away all the snow and ice he could, then threw himself into the driver's seat and started the car.

He made his way slowly through the miserable weather, hands unsteady due to the crappy heating in his old car and the rage still coursing through him.

Locke counted corpses as he reloaded his revolvers.

Seven. There should be nine. Looks like two had gotten away. But where? "Ke—" He stopped himself with a curse, an all too familiar ache flaring to life in his chest. Stupid, lying fuck. Three weeks and Key still had him feeling pissed off.

Or something.

Locking the cylinder of his second Blackhawk back in place, he moved quickly past the corpses spread out in front of him toward the back half of the house.

Somehow he wasn't having as much fun as he usually did. As difficult and unpleasant and smelly and dangerous as the job was – he'd always enjoyed it. No one could hate being a vampire hunter and do it anyway. It just wasn't possible.

He'd always flown predominantly solo. Every now and then his brothers or sister needed assistance and they teamed up then. He'd hired on local help in larger cities…it wasn't until stupid fucking Key that he'd gotten himself a full time partner. Even Steven hadn't really helped him all that much; he'd done his own thing most of the time.

A partner who made bad jokes and never knew when to stop being a smartass. A partner who didn't blink at the idea of killing and burning bodies but couldn't bear to leave a little kitten in the cold…an obnoxious asshole but one who could make a wicked pot of coffee.

Who was also a fucking dhampir and right now was probably laughing at how gullible Locke had been.

That knot in his chest twisted again. Locke banished his thoughts with a curse and kicked open the door to the kitchen.

Something came at him and he dropped it, the sound of his revolver in the enclosed space deafening.

Eight.

He eyed his options – the back door was wide open…and the pantry door firmly shut. Checking the vamp he'd just killed, satisfied it was well and truly dead, he stepped toward the pantry. Kicking it open, he lifted his gun and fired.

Nine.

Easy peasy. Double checking the final corpse, he turned and made his way through the house to give it a last once over.

He was nearly done with the second floor when he heard a car coming up the long gravel drive. Who the fuck…? Quickly clearing the remaining rooms, he strode downstairs and out onto the ramshackle porch of the old cabin he'd just cleared of a vampire infestation.

The cherry-red camaro parked right alongside his own green mustang had him swearing a blue streak. "What in the blazing fuck are you doing here, Pretty Boy?"

"Fuck you. Mama told me to track your ass down and beat it."

"Go to hell, Preston, and take mom with you."

Preston rolled his eyes. "You refuse to answer your phone, you won't sign on to chat – not even a fucking email. Of course mama is worried about her baby boy. Why the fuck are you being an ass? Where's Key and why isn't he beating the shit out of you already?"

"Shut up and go away," Locke snarled, stomping down the stairs and to his car.

"Ah," Preston said. "I see. You broke up with Key. Why'd you go and do a stupid thing like that?"

Locke slammed the car door shut and turned back around. "Fuck you. I didn't break up with him because we were never fucking dating because I don't date motherfucking dhampirs. Now go the hell away." He opened the car door again and threw himself inside. Fuck. He still had to burn the house.

Swearing, he climbed back out, slammed the door shut, and went to fetch supplies from the trunk.

"Dhampir?" Preston asked. "You're fucking kidding me. Key? No way."

"Yeah," Locke said sourly.

Preston whistled. "Clever little bastard to keep that a secret for so long. How'd you finally figure it out?"

"Would you go the fuck away?"

"Not now that you've told me your ex-boyfriend is a dhampir. You sure have shitty ass luck, Locke."

"Fuck off and die," Locke snapped, all but shouting the words. "He wasn't my goddamn boyfriend." He slammed the trunk closed and then stooped to retrieve the cans of gasoline he'd taken from the trunk.

Preston rolled his eyes. "Twenty eight and you still act like you're fifteen."

"Oh, yeah, like you're one to talk."

"I will kick your ass, and we both know I can do it," Preston said, grabbing him by his jacket as he walked by and throwing him against the car.

Locke snapped and threw a punch. "Go the fuck away!"

Half an hour later he had nothing to show for his efforts but a bloody lip and sore body. But Preston had a black eye. That made him feel a little better.

"Mama never spanked you enough growing up," Preston said with a grunt. "Can I let you go or you going to keep being a pain in the ass?"

"Get the fuck off me," Locke said sullenly.

Preston grunted and let him go, standing up and hauling Locke to his feet. "Now, asshole, what the fuck is your problem? If you miss Key that goddamn much, go fucking find him."

Locke turned away to retrieve the things he'd dropped before they started fighting. "I don't want to talk about it. Go away."

"Why don't you tell me the whole story," Preston said with a sigh. "Cause if you don't, I really will kick your ass and then we'll have to deal with mama."

Rolling his eyes in defeat, Locke finally told him all that had passed.

"Shit, is Key the one I've been hearing about? I was on my way to figure out what the fuck happened with Tremont when mama told me to find you and skin you alive."

Locke went cold. "What the fuck happened with Tremont? Can't you keep your fucking tops under control?"

Unlike him and Billie, Preston kept an eye on all registered top vampires. Less fighting, but a hell of a lot uglier when they did decide to fight.

"Fuck you," Preston retorted. "I was across the damned country doing precisely that when I got the call, and thanks to you I still don't know what's going on. All I know is Tremont was attacked and about twenty broken and six average are all dead, and Tremont was badly injured. Do you know how much fast talking I'm going to have to do if your boyfriend is behind this?"

"He's not my—"

"Yeah, he was, except in your fool head. Shut the fuck up. A hunter could kill that many vamps if he was trying, especially if he was the kind who hung around you."

"Why the fuck didn't Alessandro pester you?" Locke asked sourly. He knew the answer, but it annoyed him anyway. Tops weren't supposed to be fucking shit up like this, and he didn't even want to know why the fuck Alessandro cared about some random ass human. "Key and I had nothing the fuck to do with it."

"Apparently Key does, the poor bastard. Come on, let's burn this joint down and then you can go kiss and make up."

Locke frowned but didn't rise to the bait as Preston was obviously expecting. It wasn't that goddamned fucking simple. Key had lied to him. For almost six years. About being a vampire. Or close enough to one.

Fuck, he'd seen dhampir before. They were nothing like Key. It didn't make any fucking sense and that was no small part of what was pissing him off. He knew how vampires smelled; Key smelled nothing like that. He ate and drank all the right things to make his blood the tastiest thing ever so that broken vamps had a hard time really running from him on a hunt.

Key fucking helped him kill vamps – why would a fucking dhampir do that? How the fuck had he gotten a license to hunt vamps? Then again, it was Key. He could do tons of shit no one should be able to.

Like deceive his fucking partner for going on six years.

He clenched and unclenched his fist as he thought about the last time he'd seen Key. That fucking hotel room. At the time, punching the bastard had felt pretty damn good. It still might feel good.

Fuck, Key had asked him about Tremont. Had the dumbass actually tried to do it? Key was a geek, not a fighter. Why would he be that fucking stupid? Every vamp there would have known he was a dhampir, and vamps liked half-breeds about as much as humans.

"Ah, so you've started thinking again," Preston said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Shut up," Locke said. "He's a fucking dhampir."

Preston tapped the side of his nose. "People still like to say we've got werewolf in the blood because we're got such a sharp sense of smell. It's not true, but even if it was – who gives a fuck? We're not werewolves, and we have no fucking control over our ancestors. Shit, it's not our fault our parents gave birth to us. It's their fucking fault, not ours. Key is a good guy, or so he always seemed to me. Not least of all because it was fucking obvious – even to dad and we all know how he and mom got together, Christ – that he was in love with you. I can understand you punching him…but you should have stuck around to say you were sorry."

"Oh, yes, and let's hear how many times you've said you're sorry for being an asshole, Pretty Boy."

"We're not talking about me," Preston said. "So shut up and let's burn this house down so we can go find your boyfriend."

Locke rolled his eyes, but obeyed. It wouldn't be that easy, but suddenly he felt less like shooting everything he came across.

"You sons of bitches have about ten seconds to tell me where he is, or I'm going to bust caps all over the goddamn place," Locke said, brandishing his Model 500's with relish.

Preston rolled his eyes. "Tremont. If you please."

"Your brother could use some manners," Tremont said. "I have no idea where that nasty little dhampir got to. He took Alessandro's human and left. I've not seen him since and if I ever do I fully intend to take out his throat."

Only the thought of what Preston and their father would do to him if he killed Tremont kept Locke from pulling the trigger.

"Though I concede he was quite the little dhampir. His like I have never seen," Tremont continued.

Preston nodded. "Stop fucking with Alessandro, Tremont. I should be reporting violations left and right. You two are my biggest goddamn headache this side of the country. I wish just once I could go to California without getting yanked back here to sort the two of you out."

"We tried to leave you out of it, this time."

"Then you shouldn't have involved my fucking brother."

"That was entirely Alessandro's doing," Tremont replied. "Do not get upset with me over it. I didn't kill the stupid vampire, did I?"

Preston sighed. "Would you simmer down for a few months? Or learn to share or something? Honestly, the two of you drive me crazy."

Tremont bared his teeth in a nasty smile. "I would sooner kill myself than share anything with that bastard. I'll lay low, however. There's no choice until this wound heals. You wouldn't report it anyway, because otherwise you'd have to report the dhampir and I can see you don't want to do that."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's not start listing all the reasons we can blackmail each other, Tremont. We'd be here all fucking day. Just lay off Alessandro, I'm tired of hearing about your bitch fits."

"Get out," Tremont said. "I've had more than my fill of hunters this century."

Preston smirked briefly. "Too bad. I'll be back next week according to our regular schedule."

"Wonderful," Tremont muttered. "Go away until then."

Locke swore colorfully as he stomped from the room, badly wishing he could shoot something. He was fucking sick and tired of asking questions and getting shitty answers. It had taken them for fucking ever just to get to Tremont, and now they were still stuck in square one.

Was Key even still alive?

"I guess we should have started with Alessandro," Preston said as they stepped into the elevator. Tremont's penthouse was at the top of the highest building in the city. Alessandro, several hours away, lived in much the same manner.

Key had often made cracks about bats in belfries.

Locke frowned and holstered his guns.

The elevator chimed as they reached the bottom, doors sliding open, and Locke walked as quickly as he could from the building and down into the parking garage.

He ignored Preston, who tried a few times to call out to him, and threw himself into his car, peeling out of the parking garage as quickly as he could without killing anyone.

The drive to Alessandro's city was interminable. He wanted to scream. Or punch someone. When they finally reached the city, and Alessandro's skyscraper, he was ready to commit mass murder.

A warning look from Preston was all that kept him behaving as they rode an elevator to the top. A flash of their licenses and the security guard at the desk had only nodded mutely – an adjusted vamp, one who'd been turned and managed not to break. A pity, cause Locke really wanted to shoot someone.

Locke didn't know how Preston did it. He much preferred the shoot'em up side of the vampire business. See problem. See problem with giant hole in its chest. See problem go away.

When the elevator doors slid open, Alessandro was in the lobby – obviously waiting for them.

"Sandro," Preston greeted.

"Preston," Alessandro replied, and Locke rolled his eyes as the vampire kissed each of Preston's cheeks. Tops. He wished the fuckers had stayed in the dark ages. The older the vamp, the more annoying. He really didn't know how Preston put up with all their shit.

"You're causing trouble again, Sandro," Preston said. "One of these days I won't be able to keep the two of you from facing the music."

Alessandro chuckled. "I was trying to do you a favor, Preston, by keeping you out of this."

"By involving my brother?" Preston snorted. "Not buying it."

Alessandro merely laughed again. "I admit that was not the wisest decision, but I was not willing to trust the matter to another hunter. I had hoped by the time you heard of it, the matter would have been resolved."

"How is Heath?" Preston asked, shaking his head.

"Fuck that," Locke cut in. "Where in the goddamn hell is Key?"

Alessandro laughed again. "What makes you think I have him?"

Locke raised his Smith & Wesson, ignoring the warning look from Preston. "Tell me where he is or I'll do to you what I should have done in the first place, bitch."

"I can see the family resemblance," Alessandro said with a laugh, sliding Preston an amused look. "However, he lacks your…polish."

"Mama tried to polish him, and pop tried to beat manners into him, but I'm afraid Locke was always a lost cause," Preston said with a smile. "However, I will take his side in this. Where's Key?"

"In one of my guest rooms," Alessandro said. "Down the hallway, third door on the right."

Locke holstered his weapons and stormed past him, throwing open the doors to the penthouse proper. He ignored the handful of vampires he saw sitting around and barreled down the hallway.

He hesitated briefly as he reached the right door, hand resting lightly on the knob.

Then he scowled and pushed the door open, almost slamming it shut behind him.

Key was out cold on the bed, blankets shoved back to reveal him dressed in nothing more than a wife beater and the stupid Halloween boxers he'd bought one year with little cartoon vampire bats all over them.

He looked like shit, bandages and bruises all over the place. Despite that, he still was the finest thing Locke had ever laid eyes on. Striding to the bed, Locke sat carefully down on the edge of it. Hesitantly he reached out to touch Key's cheek, tracing the curve of it lightly, up and then down to his jaw.

The bruises from his punches had faded, but there were far too many to replace them.

Key's eyes fluttered, and Locke hastily withdrew his hand

Too blue eyes opened and immediately found him – and the sleepiness abruptly vanished, and the coolness that replaced it made Locke sick to his stomach.

Wincing in pain, Key sat up and scooted as far away as the bed would allow. "What the fuck do you want?"

Locke balled his hands into fists, staring at them a moment before looking at Key again. "I'm an asshole."

"Yeah," Key said, laughing bitterly. "You are. That still doesn't explain why you're here. In fact it would better explain why you wouldn't be here."

"I’m here because I'm an asshole who wants to say he's sorry," Locke snapped.

Key said nothing.

Locke stifled a sigh. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy. "I fucked up, all right? I shouldn't have acted as I did."

"You didn't even give me a fucking chance to explain," Key said. He raked a hand through his hair, looking angry and miserable and defeated. Locke hated it. "I can't fucking help what I am, and I never told you because I knew you'd hate me for it, but goddamn it – I was there for you for how fucking long? You could have let me explain."

"I know," Locke said. He did. "You shouldn't have fucking kept it secret. There were better ways to let me know than to hear it from a motherfucking top. You're an asshole too."

"How was I supposed to?" Key asked angrily. "Everyone fucking hates me. Alessandro is the first vamp I've ever met who didn't want to kill me straight off. Humans want nothing to do with me when they figure out I'm half vamp. It’s not my goddamn fault I was born like this, and being a half breed doesn't mean I suck blood. I never have. I can't heal, I'm not long-lived, and being out in direct sunlight for too long makes me sick. I have sharp teeth and some resistance to sunlight, and I like my steaks rare. That's fucking it. But everyone hates me for it. If keeping my being a dhampir a secret is the only way I can get anyone to care about me, fine. You try being hated your whole life, Locke. Fuck you."

Locke glared at him. "I would have fucking dealt, asshole. Over five years, and how did you expect me to fucking react? Shit, you know me and secrets. Fuck you."

"I'm not Steven!" Key snarled.

"I know!" Locke replied, shouting the words. "Christ all fucking mighty, I know. I get it. I already said I fucked up. It was a nasty surprise, but I'm here aren't I? Shit, you know me." He scrubbed tiredly at his face. "You know me better than anyone, Key. Why did you do this by yourself?"

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain," Key said quietly, speaking more to the mattress than to Locke. "You hit me twice and essentially told me to fuck off. You're hardly the first. It hurt. You told me to do it myself, even though you knew it would be stupid to try. Go to hell."

Locke sighed. "It never occurred to me you would try. You're supposed to be the smart half, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't need the whole fucking world knowing I was a dhampir," Key said bitterly. "You walked out on me. I had no fucking choice."

Closing his eyes, Locke called himself every nasty name he could think of. "I guess that's that, then." Shit, right now he kind of wished Steven hadn't missed when stabbing him. It would have sucked a lot fucking less than this.

He'd expected to be paying for his fuck up for a long ass time…but it hadn't really occurred to him that things would end end. Somehow he'd just assumed they'd be partners again. Key had never looked that cold, though. It seemed pretty clear the conversation was over…that everything was over.

"So what are you going to do once you're all healed up?" he asked.

"What the fuck do you care?" Key asked.

Locke sighed. "Right. None of my business anymore. I just—oh fuck it. Just find yourself a partner less stupid, all right?" He stood up and strode to the door.

"So you're leaving again?" Key asked.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?" Locke snapped, back to shouting. "You obviously don't want me to stay."

Key glared at him. "I want to know why you're here."

"I already fucking told you – I'm sorry I was an asshole. How many fucking times do I need to say it?"

"So you're sorry? That's it?"

"What do you mean that's it?" Locke demanded, exploding. "I'm here, how much more fucking obvious can I be? Do I need to spell it out that I want you back?"

"Yes," Key snapped, shouting now too. "Yes, you need to spell it out you motherfucking asshole. You punched me. Twice. You left me to deal with the vampires alone. You completely fucking bailed on me, asshole. So motherfucking spell it out, cause you sure as fuck made it clear before that you hated me."

Muttering several colorful oaths, Locke stalked back to the bed and knelt on it, looming over Key – then kissed him, and oh fucking hell he'd needed that. Groaning, he sank a hand into Key's hair and kissed exactly as he'd wanted ever since they'd first met. Key tasted a little bit like medicine, but otherwise he was pure Key, hot and male and it fixed every little thing that had been wrong since he'd stormed out.

"Is that spelling it out enough for you?" he asked when they finally broke apart.

Key blinked, looking more than a little dazed, and Locke allowed himself to feel more than a little smug. Then his expression cleared, and Key shook him hard. "You're still in deep shit, asshole. For like, a very long time."

"Yeah, I already knew that. Trust me." Locke would have laid down from sheer relief except he liked the position he was in just fine. "So does this mean we're back together?"

"More like finally together, but yeah," Key said warily. "I'm a dhampir and suddenly you're okay with that?"

"Suddenly my ass," Locke replied. "It took several days, my brother kicking my ass, and seeing you again. I really don't give a fuck what you are, so long as you're mine. Now stop forcing me to sound like a girl, asshole."

Key smiled, like really smiled, his blue eyes blazing with it. "I'm pretty sure a girl would have apologized better than you."

"Shut up," Locke said, and kissed him again so Key would shut up and because now that everything was perfect he had almost six years worth of frustration to finally work out.