To clear up a few things, Logan does not have an official job. He works underground, using his vampire skills to hunt serial killers, tab missing people, and locate other violent supernatural beings for the thrill of it. Being the un-dead he's good at what he does, but he often gets into difficult situations with breaking and entering, car thief and credit card fraud, among other things. He was in a jam, and Greg recently offered him a position at a real investigation agency in order to make quick cash and to eliminate a couple of more 'dark spots' on his record. That was two months ago. Greg, as well as all the other nimrods Logan has to currently work with, have no idea he is a vampire. They just think he's a very intelligent, very sexy jackass. (Which, he is, among other 'hot' qualities.)

As for your questions about the nature of his vampire abilities, or lack there of, the introduction of Isabella will answer all those questions later on. Ardor will be told in two parts, with the first part probably having about six chapters, and the second part having about seven.

Part I: Chapter I

"Another report of shocking substance abuse here in the downtown city, Aaron, where the home of the Bolderlay family is rather traumatized…" The dim refection of the television blared in my gray eyes a mere nine hours later. The female reporter on the screen was rather fugly. Get a new haircut. "…As earlier reported this morning, their sixteen year old daughter was found in her bed, coated in sweat, blood around her neck with no memory of what had happened the night before. Thankfully, Miss Bolderlay is now in the hospital, alive and recovering. Although the police are looking into it, we can assume it was a result of gang manipulation and violence…" The morning's top story when on as such. The police, as usual, were completely oblivious to what the real reason behind the girl's attack was. Or, how good her blood had tasted.

Crunch. The unhealthy goodness of fruit loops poured into my body as I readjusted my position on my "lazy-boy" and attempted to pull my black boxers down on my toned legs. Milk dripped down my chin, falling to my bare chest as I attempted to find something more entertaining on cable than the news. I didn't bother wiping it away, it wasn't like anyone was going to come barging in on my day off. Not that I had asked for a day off, but with the sudden rise in 'gang violence' a young man like me should have stress enough to stay at home. I played with my spoon between my teeth.

Crack. That wasn't the noise of my fruit loops. "Drop the silverware, Panties, and come with us." Click. There was now a silver rifle pointed to the side of my head.

"Do you mind replacing the door to my apartment? Rent is rather expensive without additional add ons." I looked up at one of the three Manhattan police men that had just broken in on me. I smiled unpleasantly. They had surrounded my chair in the middle of the living room.

"You heard me." The policeman raised his eyes at me. He looked rather intimated. Then again, I do have a six pack, and I am six foot five. And, well, I was shirtless and rather good looking. "Drop it." As if on cue, the one holding the rifle pressed the end of the barrel into my skull.

I took the spoon out of my mouth, and twirled it around in my fingers. As if I was actually going to kill him with it – that was rather impossible. Using my bare hands would also be much more amusing. "Well, actually, I'm not quite done my breakfast, nor am I properly dressed so if you'll excuse me…" I lifted the bowl to my lips. Suddenly I was being thrown out of my chair, and instead, being pressed strongly against the wall to my right. The silver gun never left my head either.

"You know, when I first saw you're I.D. in the station I wondered how I successful guy like you could ever have committed murder. Then we walked in here-" as the first cop spoke my face was slammed into the wall my one of his partners, my hands forced into a tight grasp behind my back by one of his rookies, my bowl of skim milk and fruit loops falling to the floor, "and I totally get it now. It's always the underestimated assholes who do the dirty work." First of all, your assessment of serial killers is completely false ninety percent of the time. Secondly, the man I killed was no ordinary man. Thirdly, that was almost a year and a half ago – what the hell took you guys so long?

I managed to laugh at that, turning my head to the side so my right cheek was against the cream colored paint. "And, being the underestimated asshole I am, I would say your friend here has a thing for me. Why don't you push me up against the wall a little harder, Officer?" Click. The gun was now fully loaded and ready at my forehead.

"Oh, not to worry." I looked at the second one with the gun, calmly defending myself. "I don't swing that way, so there is nothing for you to be a jealous boyfriend about."

His face reddened. He pulled the gun off my forehead, preparing to shoot. "You smug little son of a bitch."

At that very moment, I kicked out behind me at the third one who was holding me up against the wall. I was a vampire – my super human strength was nothing compared to these three so called 'protectors of justice'. Using his own position against him I felt my eyes go deadly as I hurled him at the second guy with the loaded rifle. Number two fired, aiming at me, but at the last second the third guy got in between us. His body fell to the ground. The second guy stood there, bewildered, smoking gun in hand.

"I'm going to make you suffer for life-" My fist ended up right in the first guys' face, the one who claimed I was a 'underestimated asshole', stopping anymore words from coming out of his fat lip. Apparently he had forgotten that since Number Three was stone cold, I was free to move off the wall. He was sent sprawling across the hardwood floor.

I turned back to Number Two. "Want another shot, Dickhead?"

He shook with fear at my black eyes that were facing him. "Holy Jesus…" Bam. The bullet went deep into my bare right shoulder. I looked down at my skin. Blood oozed out then healed itself. The bullet fell to the floor. I jerked my head back up and eyed him with a sly grin.

I swung my arm at him, catching his shirt collar as I threw him at the wall. His body smashed into my dresser, and thundered to the floor lifeless. His gun fell close to my feet. "That's for fucking up my fruit loops." I added.

The first policeman had slowly begun to rise from the ground, blood dripping from his mouth where I had hit him. His pushed up with his elbows, and stood. I turned back around, just in time for his fist to slam into my nose. I fell back, landing on the ground next two his second partner. He slammed his foot into the side of my head. Then his hand into my nose again, and afterwards my cheek. His beating continued. I felt a little pained. My fingers reached for the gun. Bam. The bullet went straight through his left peck, and his body trembled. Then he collapsed. I pushed his body off of mine, breathing slightly hard as I stood, still in only my boxers.

"Next time you want to have one hell of a pajama party, don't call me Panties." I muttered, and wiped the excess blood from my nose and mouth. Realizing then that I was rather misplacing a door, and that my cover – if I ever even had a cover as a legitimate private investigator with Greg's firm – was probably blown. Someone had told the police about my past, despite Greg's promises. That meant I had to leave – maybe not from the city entirely just yet – but I at least had to get the hell out of this apartment. For good. There had been two shots fired, and someone must have heard them.

I knew how to cover my tracks well. Within ten minutes I was fully clothed, and the apartment had been left neat, tidy and without a trace of my existence. Though, in all honesty I had only inhabited the small space for a mere two months and I was smart enough to know I should never get too comfortable in one place for very long. As for Louie, Dewy and Huey I plopped them upright on what used to be one of my couches. I was quite positive Huey was dead.

I sighed. Grabbing my keys off the counter, I swung a duffle bag over my shoulder and tucked the spare key to my apartment into my back jean's pocket. I make sure my camping backpack was snug around my waist. I rather was surprised no one had come running up to my room yet. I mean, my apartment building was not upscale or well known, or very large so it wasn't as if the twenty other residents really would have given a shit about what was happening to someone else as most of them were drunks, druggies, or single mothers with four kids to deal with, but still.

Crossing out worries from my mind, I walked down the fire escape and into the back parking lot. I pulled a battered cell phone that was at least two years old out of my coat pocket. I surfed down my contacts, and eventually pressed 'send'. As I lifted my phone to my left ear, I stepped off the last metal stair and I landed on the cracked pavement. "Hey, you have reached Greg Wilders. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave your name and number after the beep."

"Fuck. I won't be in to work for a few days. Something's come up." I hung up. The one time I needed that SOAB to pick up his damn phone. I realized later that I hadn't left my name. Or my number. I figured the flat out swear would narrow his acquaintance list down fairly quickly.

Making my way quietly down to my motorcycle, I swung my leg over and gunned the engine. Driving onto the nearest highway in the late hours of the morning made me wish I had grabbed some coffee on the way out. If more people were after me, I wasn't about to waste time standing still in a Starbucks somewhere. Nor could I shake the feeling that something else was about to go terribly, horribly wrong.

AN: He just fought three cops in his underwear in his defense of fruit loops. And I probably wouldn't mind a husky guy's voice dropping the 'f-bomb' on my message machine either. God, I love Logan.