A Portrait in Blood

"No," he replied quietly, wondering at the same time why Kev seemed so sure of this.

"You're with one of those Queercore vigilante groups, then?"

The slender, beautiful, black-clad man lifted his head and vivid, chartreuse-coloured eyes gazed back unblinking through the tangled screen of his hair. A crooked, appreciative smile twisted his full, pale lips suddenly.

"I prefer to work alone."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Kev was looking him up and down as if he had conveniently forgotten Rayne throwing him halfway across the bed and pinning him down to it on his face.

"It 'can' be, just not for me." Rayne's eyes glittered coldly.

"What now?" Kevan asked, as the other man picked up his long jacket and slung it casually over one slim shoulder.

Again that frosty stare skewered him for the briefest instant.

"You thank me nicely for a very satisfying fuck, and I piss off and leave you alone," Rayne told him sarcastically, as he headed for the door. "What else, Kev?"

"Uh... thanks," the big fellow said, suddenly awkward again.

"Don't mention it."

Rayne let the door fall shut between them. The room was pre-paid and reception could think what the hell they liked. Kevan Delaney was not his problem.

4AM:

From the shadows of an alleyway across the road from the miserable doss house where he had watched Delaney take his whore, the Vampire waited patiently. He knew the mortal never dallied long over his conquests and had already guessed that the boy might leave alone. Kevan Delaney had only been coming to the Rembrandt for a couple of months but already he was predictable. Persistence generally got him laid but he liked his boys young and a little the worse for drink, just to be on the safe side.

Usually he took them to his car, or if they were nervous, just up an alley or to the top floor of the nearby car park. It was easy enough to pick them off afterwards. The police were already suspicious of Delaney. If they charged him it would be a pity, but no great loss. Manchester was full of sexual predators and he would soon find another to follow. They sluts they preyed on were sweeter meat, deserving of everything they got. He loved the fear in their eyes as they realised he wanted more than just a hand-job in a doorway. The terror as they knew they were dying made them taste all the sweeter.

This one would not take him long to purify. The sweat was still fresh on his skin and the Vampire could smell the heat of his recent impure coupling with Delaney. The boy was still aroused, flushed from the sudden, violent sexual act; his blood hot and sweet. He did not look back as he was followed into the darkness.

Rayne was midway across the road when he heard footsteps following him. 'Déjà vu!' Expecting it to be Kevan, he pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his borrowed suede with a little smile and quickened his pace. The mortal was persistent, they often were. It was a curse he was learning to live with. Generally, he had found, a little casual violence dissuaded further harassment.

His pursuer drew level in the mouth of an alleyway behind Fountain Street. As Rayne turned his head to acknowledge the man with a mocking smile, a powerful, cold, bloodless hand was slapped over his mouth and he was thrown violently back into the shadows. Something slammed him against a wall with the sort of force that would have stunned an ordinary mortal victim; maybe even broken his neck.

The young Vampire lashed out and twisted in his assailant's vice-like grip, uttering a low, guttural snarl of fury as his powerful attacker forced his head back and sank long, cruel fangs deep into his throat. It fed greedily, with no initial concern at all for its victim's identity. Then it stopped, startled, as the realisation sank in. Puzzled eyes the colour of dark honey locked directly onto Rayne's icy-pale, chartreuse stare and a little hiss of utter incredulity escaped the other Vampire's bloodied lips as he realised, too late,

that this was one of his own. Already his victim's blood was turning to dust on his exposed fangs as he spat it out.

Rayne registered loose, blond curls and a strong, arrogantly handsome face; full lips and immaculate fangs. The other Vampire's aura was cold, and dark with blood. He was old; but probably no more than three or four hundred years. There was a depth of hate in him that took the younger creature by surprise though. A passionate flame burned in him and it gave his hollow, undead aura a fierce white light. Maybe once he had been a Cleric, or some kind of Holy Acolyte. A churchman... deeply religious but warped by years of servitude to the Darkness. It was often the case with men of God who had forfeited their souls.

Whatever he had been expecting tonight, a fellow bloodsucker was not it; certainly not a bloodsucker with a soul intact. Now the Ancient's lips parted and a little hiss of astonishment escaped him.

"What 'are' you?"

"Surprise!" Rayne said, with a small, malevolent smile.

As he spoke, a shadow fell across the mouth of the alleyway. He heard a clink of metal on metal. So did the Nocturne and as he wheeled to face this new danger, something hard and heavy struck into him with a clatter of sound, making him stagger back momentarily. The blond Vampire recovered faster than his assailant. As he fled the alleyway like a dark rag caught in a whirlwind, he knocked the intruder sprawling to the ground.

"Kevan!" Rayne threw himself out onto the street, but already the Dark Vampire was gone. Clenching impotent fists, he returned to crouch beside his heroic 'rescuer', who was merely bruised and dazed, but triumphant at having got in a blow with his kit bag.

It would have served him riht if he had been killed but Rayne still bowed his head in mingled rage and relief.

'Shitshitshitshitshit!!'

5AM

"Why the hell did you follow me?" the Vampire demanded wearily.

Rayne Wylde was still fuming nearly half an hour later as they sat facing one another across a battered, Formica-topped table in one of Piccadilly's all-night kebab shop-cum-cafeterias. A multi-layered bag lady snuffled quietly over a plastic beaker of cold tea in one corner and a young Pakistani couple surrounded by suitcases argued softly at another table by the door. Apart from this they had the place to themselves.

Kevan was shovelling chips into his mouth from a polystyrene tray as if food was going out of fashion. Rayne tried not to watch him eat and deliberately ignored the instant coffee he had ordered to keep Kev company. He was ravenous by now.

"Dunno.... couldn' elp it!" the mortal mumbled, still chewing. He paused to squeeze a blob of ketchup onto his chips. "Couldn' just let you walk away, I s'pose. An' it's a good job I didn't!"

He looked up emphatically.

"I 'had' him, Kevan. I had the Vamp who's been killing all those boys, and 'you' let him get away!" The Vampire controlled his rising hysteria and shook his dark mane impatiently. "Christ on a fucking bike, Kev! What d'you mean... you couldn't help it?"

Kevan shrugged his bulky shoulders awkwardly and dipped a chip in the ketchup. When he spoke, he sounded deeply embarrassed.

"What I said.... Look.... it's easy for you, lookin' like you do! Bet you 'ave to beat blokes off with a stick, don't'cha? But I never 'ad a fox like you before. I couldn't just let you walk away."

Rayne let his chin sink into one cupped hand and propped his elbow on the corner of the table, staring incredulously back at the mortal. The flicker of the overhead fluorescents was already beginning to hurt his eyes and he was starting to feel as if he had stumbled by accident into a Stephen King novella.

"Kev... what the fuck are you trying to say?"

Kevan looked even more uncomfortable than he felt.

"Well... like told you..." he mumbled almost inaudibly, even to Vampiric ears. "I never went with anyone as hot as you before... not like I was with you tonight... not even when they were pissed!"

The young Vampire blinked once, slowly.

"And....?"

"Well... I mean... You're... you're a right catch, aren't you? I mean... you're not a kid. You know what you want. I can understand - like - you didn' let me do you cos you 'fancied' me or nothin'...." Kevan actually flushed at that admission and Rayne lowered his head to hide an incredulous quirk of his lips. "...but - fuck it! You're a seriously foxy lad, right! It was a fuckin' fantastic shag... and I... I don't even know your name!"

Frosted green eyes lifted slowly and met Kevan's own, staring almost deliriously through the tumble of his shoulder-length, sable hair. In a quiet, deliberate tone, Rayne murmured; "Let me get this straight... an hour ago, you thought I was a Vampire, and you wanted to bash a stake through my heart in a cheap hotel bedroom? Now you think I'm a fox and you want my number!" He laughed weakly. "Jesus H Christ, Kev!"

"It would be nice, knowin' your name. Since you know mine!" Kevan told him solemnly, making a stoical attempt to keep his dignity intact. "An' in return, I'll give you your fuckin' Vampire!"

For a moment, Rayne just stared at him uncomprehendingly. Several misplaced mental pieces clicked slowly into place in his head. Then words began to fall from his lips of their own volition.

"You... you recognised him?"

Kev nodded solemnly in response.

"You've been setting bait for him?" Rayne's eyes widened and the pupils contracted to accusing pin-pricks.

"I didn't mean to get them killed. I needed to find out who he is; where he rests," Kevan protested weakly, a chip halfway to his mouth.

"But you know who he is?"

"I only just knew it tonight... when we saw him in the alleyway. I had my suspicions, Foxy. Already suspected him, our Vampire, but tonight when he come out of that ginnel towards me, I knew for sure." Kev devoured the chip and took a sip from his polystyrene cup.

Rayne blinked at him incredulously.

"Uh... It's Rayne... my name... Raymonde Wilde. You can take me to him?"

Kevan nodded once, grimly. He stabbed another chip with his plastic fork and raised it to his lips like a trophy, but did not eat it.

Rayne held his gaze solemnly, if a shade impatiently.

"Kev... Go on... where is he? Where does he hide?"

The stocky man finished his chips in silence, never taking his eyes off his companion's expectant face. Rayne chewed distractedly on his lips, on edge now. Outside the glass-fronted cafeteria the sky turned pearly grey whilst Kevan was eating and making him suffer. Now the Vampire relaxed slightly, forcing himself to be calm. There was no point in urgency. The soulless Nocturnes did not share his tolerance of changes in the light and temperature and their murderer had likely fled back to his daytime hiding place by now, hence his frustration in the alleyway.

"Don't do this to me, Kev," he implored at last, softly. "Please..."

Kevan wiped his lips on a paper napkin and leaned forward, looking the other man steadily in the eye.

"Rayne," he said at last, still licking his lips. "That's a pretty name. Meet me this evenin' in the Rembrandt, Rayne. Make out that you're not expectin' me, like you never got your pants down for me tonight. Okay? Pretend like you don't wanna know me. That should be easy enough for you, eh? You play along with me, and I'll show you your killer." He pushed himself to his feet, finally, patting the younger man lightly on the shoulder. "Thanks for the chips, Fox!"

For a second or two he seemed to hesitate. Then, as Rayne looked up at him enquiringly, Kevan bent down, touching his lips briefly to the Vampire's ear and whispered; "...'And' for the fuck!"

TWO DAYS BEFORE XMAS:

The pub was quiet when he reached it. Although it was only four-thirty it was already dark outside and the warm, golden glow of the Rembrandt's lights were a welcome attraction. Only a handful of festive-season drinkers occupied the tables and the seats at the bar this evening. There was no sign at all of Kevan, but Dave nodded to him - grudgingly, he thought - as he hopped up onto a barstool.

"Stolly, right?"

"You remembered," Rayne said brightly.

"'s my job," Dave responded with rather less enthusiasm, retrieving the frosted bottle from the ice box and pouring a shot as a chill fog rose from the spill of liquor. He pushed the glass across the bar without meeting Rayne's eyes. "You gonna be a regular then, or what?"

The dark-haired man sipped his drink and glanced at him tentatively.

"If that doesn't put anyone's nose out of joint," he said at last.

Dave's answering smile was guarded rather than welcoming but he did at least look up.

"You wanna watch yourself round 'ere."

"How d'you mean?" his customer enquired, managing to maintain an innocent expression, even though something in the bartender's manner jarred his nerves. Dave was suspicious of him and he could not for one reason think why.

"This isn't like one of your posh, city-centre pubs," he said sagely now. "You wanna watch your pretty face, mate."

'Who says I drink in posh pubs?' he wanted to say, but the sound of the door being opened and quickly closed again distracted him and another drinker commandeered Dave's attention. Rayne heard the familiar clink and thump of a canvas tool bag hitting the wooden floor.

"Becks, Kev?"

"Got it in one!" a familiar, gruff voice answered him.

Rayne steeled himself not to look back, but Kevan quickly covered that accidental contingency by sidling over and putting an arm around his shoulders.

"'ello darlin'! What you doin' back in 'ere? Still lookin' for a bit of rough, are we?" Leaning closer he touched his lips to Rayne's hair and whispered, sotto voce; "Act surprised... tell me to piss off, Ray!"

Instinctively, Rayne shrugged out of his grip, the adrenaline starting to race now.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!" he snapped with real verve, meeting the bigger man's eyes as he turned on the stool.

"Awww, c'mon baby. I know you're aching for my big knob. Why don't you just come out back with me and I'll give you what you need." Kevan grinned broadly - to anyone not currently reading his stable aura, he was totally paralytic and spoiling for a serious fight. Rayne saw the truth of it though. He had given Kev the lead he wanted. To add oil to the fire he slapped the big man hard across the face.

"I 'said', get off me!"

To his surprise, Kev hit him back; not hard but firmly enough to knock him off his seat and onto the floor. Behind the bar, Dave was yelling abuse at Kevan as Rayne pulled himself to his knees, using the stool as a lever.

Before a fight could break out, a calm, level, imperious voice cut through the sudden chaos.

"I thought I had made myself clear, Mr Delaney. I won't have brawling in this pub. Do you understand me?"

Through the stars in front of his eyes, Rayne could just make out a tall, strikingly familiar blond man at the far end of the counter. He wore a stark, charcoal suit-jacket and pants over a dark sweater. The Nocturne narrowed his eyes and walked slowly around to confront Kevan. As he coolly surveyed the scene, a frown also creased Rayne's perfect brow, then the older Vampire's amber gaze moved from Kev's face to his own.

"You..." he hissed softly, pupils contracting in recognition, as Kevan edged towards the tool-bag he had dropped by the bar.

"Yeah... me!" said Rayne Wylde through clenched teeth, ignoring the slow healing of the bloody nose Kev had just given him. "Thought I was just another pretty boy did you? Feelin' hungry were you? Thought you might walk me home?"

"I smell the perversity on you," the older Vampire exhaled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "Death has not purified you. It has simply made you more depraved than ever."

"I hate to disappoint," Rayne said with a little smile that had neither humour nor warmth.

"You're all the same, dead or alive," the blond Vamp hissed disparagingly. "Little whores, shedding your clothes for any man. Reeking of sex and squalor and you're proud of it too. You're reprobates, all of you. Filthy little perverts! Death is too good for you."

Rayne saw Kevan edging closer, the chamfered spike in one hand and his mallet in the other. The few early drinkers in the bar had stopped talking and were looking their way. Rayne held Gerald's dark, golden gaze laughing softly to himself.

"It's done 'you' no favours either, has it darlin'?"

"Party's over, Gerry," Kevan called out to the pub's Vampire proprietor. Rayne was still glaring at him, bathed in the older creature's self-righteous disgust. A small muscle twitched in his left cheek but he held Gerald's cold, amber stare as Kev came for him from behind.

The handful of fascinated patrons scattered in horror, fighting to get to the door as Dave sprang up onto the bar with a tyre iron in one clenched fist. Rayne braced himself for the attack, wishing he had thought to come armed.

As Dave bounded down from the counter to defend his boss, Rayne half-turned and reached back towards the bottom end of the bar. There was a tall, ornamental light fitting there, fashioned in the likeness of a black, cast-iron sunflower. Now the lithe young Vampire wrenched it clear of it's mooring and turned back to the fight. Kevan had gone for the Nocturne with his spike and his hammer and Dave leapt towards them both, the tyre iron raised in his hands.

This time Kevan did not hesitate. He let Gerald have it, squarely through the left lung with his makeshift stake. As the older Vampire dropped to his knees, Rayne uttered a howl of fury and went for Dave with the iron barb of his sunflower.

"Jesus, Ray! No!"

Kev hurled the mallet towards the jagged base of the shaft, knocking Rayne sideways as Gerald struggled with the metal stake buried deep in his chest. Dave dropped the tyre iron and back-pedalled smartly towards the bar, his eyes wide with shock.

"Fuck it, Kev! You didn't tell him? He could've fuckin' killed me with that thing!" the bartender yelped, seriously aggrieved.

"There wasn't time," the big, red-haired mortal came over quickly to stand between Rayne and Dave, keeping them apart. "Ray... back off! He's with me... we're both CID, Ray! Special Branch!" He groped in his jacket pocket for his badge, waving it in the Vampire's astounded face.

Rayne stepped back from them both, his ice-green eyes huge with astonishment. He negotiated Gerald, who was still rolling about the wooden floor, bleeding profuse amounts of blood-dust and clutching at the stake in his breast. In a few moments the Nocturne was going to recover enough to get that thorn out of his flesh. Then he would make them all very sorry for even contemplating this action.

Gerald hissed at Rayne, who moved back from him, still gripping the sunflower in one hand.

"Have you got an axe?" the younger Vampire demanded bluntly.

"What?" Kevan exclaimed.

Dave said, "Behind the bar... for fires and emergencies."

"This 'is' an emergency," Rayne told him, utterly deadpan. "Get it. Now!"

As Dave threw himself back over the counter, Gerald came roaring up from the floor, still staked and mad as hell. Blindly he went for Rayne bellowing; "No-o-o-o! Not yet, you little pervert! I won't be stopped! Not now... Not with so much filth to clean up!"

His younger opponent braced himself again. Even so, Gerald's impetus ripped the sunflower from his hands, smacked him across the face with it and took him to the floor. Last night, with the dawn coming fast and an option to flee, the Nocturne had gone for the safest option. Here, he was forced to fight for his Un-life and, as he was bowled to the floorboards, Rayne got the fleeting impression that it had been a long and bloody Living Death.

Screaming in fury, the Nocturne ripped the crowbar from his breast and struck out at his Nemesis with it. A glancing blow caught Rayne's shoulder as he kicked out at Gerald, trying to get from under him before the Dark Vampire could inflict greater damage. The next blow punched through his left shoulder and pinned him to the floor.