The streets of downtown New Harbour were all but deserted. Now that the only remnant of the day was the sun's purple memory on the horizon, Alexei and Damon had no company on the pavement but the peeling adverts for UV flashlights and 'sunlight' cabs. Unfortunately for the human population, fabricated UV light did little more than temporarily disorient whoever it was directed at, whether their heart beat or not.

  For once, Damon was without the ratty brown jacket he had some irrational affection for. Only in its absence did its necessity become clear. Alexei didn't like the jacket, but it had protected him against the full force of Damon. With it gone, Alexei was forgetting why he'd been agonising about accepting Damon's offer for a second date.

  It wasn't only the way Damon looked—his fresh-pressed brown slacks and plain white shirt, how they let his sculpted body take centre stage—but his gate changed, too. Damon no longer walked with a hunch in his shoulders or a heavy set to his steps. It was as though that jacket had weighed the world.

  Alexei chalked it up to the moonlight and his overactive imagination. A deadly combination that caused mistakes he couldn't afford, not with a pureblood at his flank. Alexei agreed to the date because he still needed more information about Damon if he wanted to carry out a discreet and successful hit. Now that he had a new assignment from Dmitry, Damon's death would have to wait. Alexei would let the pureblood carry on with his strange infatuation until the time was right.

  Damon, grinning at Alexei like a kid in a Christmas commercial, said, 'We're almost there,' his fangs glinting in the moonlight.

  Fists curling around the pair of daggers sewn into his trouser pockets, Alexei forced his eyes into an expression he hoped looked more like a smile than a squint above his surgical mask. Damon's infatuation could only last so long, and Alexei needed to work if he was going to keep the pureblood's attention long enough to kill him.

  For the first time since they'd met, Alexei wished Damon had a pulse. If he did, Alexei could have listened for an acceleration in his heartbeat or a stutter in his breath. One human, alone amongst the silence of early night, was manageable. But Damon wasn't human, and his body betrayed no obvious tells. He was steadfast like the thumping of a drum, each step perfectly timed to the rhythm. Alexei could only imagine what an ill-fit pair they were: Damon with his golden radiance, and Alexei hunched with his hands in his pockets like he wasn't on a date with a man many humans would gladly have traded places with him for.

  Alexei made an effort to stand straighter and grimace less, but he refused to relinquish his hold on the daggers in his pockets. With Damon at his side, he was unlikely to be the target of a vampire attack, not to mention that Alexei could take down the average leech with his bare hands, but his jaw unclenched and his steps eased with their familiar shape pressed into his calluses.

  A lone police car whizzed by, and Damon pulled Alexei down a concrete flight of stairs. Alexei's breath hitched, his heartbeat paused, and he caught Damon's forearm as it attempted to link with his. The world stalled like the earth's rotation had come to a deafeningly silent halt. No air pulsed in and out of Alexei's lungs. He was still as his mind fought his body's reflexes. When Alexei finally took his first breath of stinging air, trying to blink the inhuman dilation out of his functional eye, he could only be glad he hadn't flipped Damon onto his arse, or worse, stabbed him in the throat. It probably wouldn't have been enough to kill, but the patrolling police cars wouldn't have missed a human-looking man covered in blood walking home in the middle of the night.

  It was just a flinch. Humans flinched, and Alexei's heart was thumping against his ribcage once more, his lungs engorging with air.

  'I am so, so sorry.' Damon's words were like static, and Alexei had to concentrate to hear them over his own heartbeat. 'This is the place, and I just thought you wouldn't want to risk explaining this to the police if they decided to inspect me and I… I'm just making excuses. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.'

  Alexei stared at Damon. He didn't know what else to do. Had it been Volchek, he wouldn't have grabbed Alexei like that, but if he had, Alexei could have given a terse nod, and they'd both have moved on. Every second he spent staring into the wall behind Damon and not moving landed in Alexei's gut like a lead weight. He needed to do something, or else Damon was going to realise that Alexei's neuroses far outweighed the naive interest Damon had in him. Alexei settled on the only thing he could think of to convey any reliable meaning: a thumbs-up.

  It felt wrong. Alexei would much rather have punched something, but Damon's eyebrows unknit slightly.

  'You're sure you're alright?'

  Yes or no questions were easy. Alexei liked yes or no questions. He nodded. He was fine. All of his limbs were accounted for, and there had been no blood spilt between either of them. His knives were still tucked into the seams of his trousers, and Damon was far too busy searching Alexei's body like a Where's Wally page to notice the hastily duct-taped facade of Alexei's humanity peeling at the edges.

  'Okay,' said Damon, but his lips pulled taut enough that Alexei didn't believe him.

  Taking a deep breath, Alexei rolled a crick out of his neck. It popped, and the air flushed out from his nose. Damon was interested in something about him. Alexei only had to find out what it was and use it to string Damon along until the time was right. It was a mission like any other.

  But Damon was staring at him, or more precisely, his hair.

  'You've got a stray hair.' Damon lifted his hand, but paused in mid-air.

  Alexei didn't think much about his hair. He usually slicked it back. It was efficient. It kept his hair out of his face during the height of his job's physical demands. But it was also severe. Alexei had been going for something more casual. The word sat uneasily in his mind just behind his eyes. He didn't have the first clue what casual was. He didn't know what to do with his clothes, his body, and, least of all, his hair. He'd just combed it and let it fall from the middle the way he did when he was alone in his apartment. Alexei didn't know what was fashionable or flattering, and he hadn't cared until Damon had started staring at it.

  'May I?' Damon's voice was softer than the night breeze wending through the narrow staircase alcove.

  Alexei angled his head towards Damon's hand. He felt like a cat leaning in to be pet, but the gesture conveyed enough meaning. Alexei's scalp tingled where Damon corralled the errant hair into place with a single finger.

  'There. Now you're perfect.'

  That word hit Alexei like a punch to the nose. Shock and pain reverberated through his skull faster than lightning.

  Perfect.

  Alexei had killed people for less.

  He was the furthest thing from perfect. His scars, creeping through the cracks in his mask and eye patch, his foul disposition, and atrophied personality were the antithesis of perfect. Either death had twisted Damon's sensibilities beyond repair, or he was lying. The former was manageable. The latter meant Alexei was playing a far more dangerous game than he'd thought.

  'Come on,' said Damon, leading Alexei the rest of the way down the staircase.

  When Alexei's hands found their home around the hilt of his daggers once more, it was out of precaution, not for comfort. He was doubly glad for them when the door swung open to reveal a pair of Black Dragon thugs in response to Damon's patterned knocking.

  The barrel of a gun landed between Damon's eyes before a word was uttered between them. Alexei glanced between Damon, the gun, and the thugs. Firing it would do little damage to a vampire, let alone a pureblood like Damon. A shot through the temple might disorient him for a moment, but unless the thug was a poor enough shot at point-blank range to angle so low he hit the brain stem, it wouldn't kill or even disable a leech temporarily. Besides, guns were terrible weapons to fight vampires with. Small external wounds healed quickly. It was easier to do real damage, like hitting an artery, with a knife.

  Not that any of that mattered. Damon could have stepped out of the way the moment the thug's finger twitched, which was precisely why the Chinese left vampire killing to the Russians. They were clumsy, so clumsy that neither of them recognised the Wolf as he stared them down. Alexei's identity was only a secret because few people who met him lived to remember his face. His scarring wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

  That being said, it was usually only powerful members of the Brotherhood who interacted with Black Dragons, and vice versa. These two were grunts at best.

  'Gentlemen,' said Damon, plastering a sultry timbre on his voice and letting his golden eyelashes fall half-closed.

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  'No leeches allowed,' said the one pressing the gun to Damon's forehead.

  Damon looked down at him with a coquettish smirk on his lips. 'I have a special invitation.'

  The other Dragon appraised Alexei, noting his obvious human traits and discarding him. It was a good thing the Black Dragons kept to private security.

  'What you have is ten seconds to get out of here before I put a bullet through your skull,' said the Dragon.

  Before the thugs could follow through on their promise, a low, honeyed voice wafted from behind the pair's wall of muscle. 'What's going on out here?'

  A stout woman in a sequinned cerulean dress squeezed through the pair of Dragons. Her defined curls had a few inches of grey grown in from the roots, and the memory of countless smiles was etched into the skin at the outer corners of her deep brown eyes.

  'Damon?' Her voice lit up with more emotion than her short body could contain. 'Where have you been?'

  Damon's sultry smile stayed in place, but his eyes flared in the low light. 'Oh, you know me. Always taking care of business.'

  'Yes, well, send Raphael my kindest regards, and tell him he can have you any other night of the week.' The woman shooed the Dragons away with a flick of her pudgy wrist. 'Come, come.'

  The air inside the dimly lit bar was thick with the heat and noise of human bodies. Alexei's nose wrinkled under his mask, and he hoped Damon couldn't tell. The whole place reeked of alcohol. Alexei hadn't the faintest clue how humans could stand the stuff. Its stench alone turned the meagre contents of Alexei's stomach.

  Pulling them into the only open table left, a small booth tucked into the corner near a platform packed with instruments, the woman squeezed in next to Damon and said, 'Who is this fine young man you've brought with you?' She smiled at Alexei like she expected him to answer.

  A few seconds of Alexei staring at her passed before he realised the rapport he had with Dmitry didn't work here. Alexei turned his attention to Damon.

  'Someone special,' said Damon. 'Alexei, meet Madame Lycelia, the owner of New Harbour's finest jazz club.'

  Alexei had heard of speakeasies that stayed open past curfew through Dmitry's interactions with the Chinese. They all hired security to guard the door from undead patrons, usually the Black Dragons. Still, Alexei had never been inside one. The Russians had their own clubs and smoky rooms where they preferred to do business.

  'He must be.' Madame Lycelia turned to Alexei. 'Damon hasn't brought anyone here since before the Great Revelation.'

  Alexei glanced at Madame Lycelia as she spoke, but his gaze quickly returned to Damon. Alexei stared into his eyes like he could glean an answer from them.

  'He's in for a treat tonight.' Damon's thigh brushed Alexei's under the table as he spoke. He may have been addressing Madame Lycelia, but he was looking right back at Alexei. 'How many years has it been since you last performed?'

  'I could ask you the same thing,' said Madame Lycelia.

  Bitter darkness swirled in Damon's eyes as he said, 'This would be a very different club if you put me on.'

  Madame Lycelia hummed. 'I think that was the most successful night the club has ever had.'

  'Don't sell yourself short.' Damon smiled, but it didn't soften his eyes. Madame Lycelia didn't notice. 'You've got a full house tonight.'

  'I can still remember how you sparkled under the stage lights like you were made of pure gold.' Madame Lycelia's eyes fluttered shut as she spoke. 'And the way your voice took over everyone in that room was magical. Back then, I thought you were an angel.'

  Damon laughed, low and short, like he was remembering too. Still, none of it reached his eyes. They were a sucking void in the midst of his perfect performance.

  Alexei slid his hand towards Damon's on the leather seat. He'd seen the same scene play out countless times in films as smooth as silk, but Alexei's hand stuttered over the surface, bumping into Damon's instead of caressing it. Still, the touch ratcheted through Damon like an electric shock. The curtains fell, leaving the staging and scaffolds exposed.

  Whatever comfort Alexei thought his sandpaper skin could bring Damon, it'd had the opposite effect. But before Alexei could yank his hand back, Damon's fingers finessed a path around his with ease. Damon's skin was soft against Alexei's. His hands were blemishless. He'd died before his body could conform to the shape of whatever he'd loved. Alexei's palms were rough, his knuckles scarred from decades spent smashing into flesh far more durable than his own.

  The air flushed from Alexei's lungs. The mumbling of other patrons blurred and muted. Even the sour scent of wine sweetened. For a traitorous second, Alexei wondered if that touch was worth more to him than another dead pureblood.

  The lights in the club pulsed, and Madame Lycelia said, 'That's my cue. Enjoy the show, and Damon, if you ever want to take the stage again, even if it's just for one night, you know where to find me.'

  Damon smiled and said, 'I'm happy where I am,' as his thumb brushed over Alexei's knuckles.

  The moment she left, Damon lifted those hardened knuckles and pressed his lips to them like they deserved tenderness. Alexei searched Damon's eyes, but all he found was searing intensity hidden beneath a shroud of golden lashes.

  Alexei's body was betraying him. His heart lurched, and his skin tingled where it met Damon's, so he pulled away. His hands settled in his lap, and his gaze found the nobbled fingers of the bassist as she embraced the instrument like a lover. Alexei did not need this. He didn't need Damon's tender touches or fathomless carmine gazes, and he certainly didn't need the way his senses came to attention near Damon like he was charged with static electricity.

  The music was beautiful. Every instrument worked in perfect harmony, trilling and trading the melody with ease, but the real crescendo of auditory ecstasy came when the instruments backed away to make room for Madame Lycelia's rich alto. She pushed and pulled the notes like the firm hand of a masseuse, and they flowed through her short body, making her brown skin glow under the stage lights.

  Listening to her sing, Alexei could comprehend how humans had conceived of things like god and religion. He didn't believe in them, nor did he understand the humans who could look at the festering world around them and turn to faith. Still, it made sense that a peasant hundreds of years ago might have heard someone like Madame Lycelia sing and thought it must be the work of something greater than humanity.

  As the song's crescendo built, Madame Lycelia's voice grew with each note until the club's walls felt like they might collapse under the force of her radiance. But it fell on deaf ears. Beauty, auditory or physical, was useless to Alexei. Beauty was fleeting and as easy to cut down as flesh.

  The world was full of beauty: pretty people, enchanting voices, and warm light bleeding from the razor-thin gap between a window and its curtain at night. A slither of space just big enough to see glimpses of the families sitting down to dinner together within. Looking at the humans gathered to listen to Madame Lycelia sing was just like looking up into those windows from the grimy alley floor. They huddled together in their booths, not for warmth or protection, but because it was second-nature for them to take anything they desired, to live like they deserved it. No one had the right to life. It was a privilege the masses gorged themselves sick on, and Alexei felt no remorse for reminding them just how wrong they were.

  Damon's eyes closed as he listened, his face caught in an expression that was either pain or pure ecstasy.

  At least humans had the decency to assign arbitrary value to their temporary lives. Vampires, especially purebloods, treated themselves like gods and thought their existences as valuable as their infinite duration. But Alexei knew better. They were all meat. Every single one of them: humans, vampires, and things far worse. And all meat rotted and died.

  The song ended, and the room erupted into a cacophonous round of applause. Alexei mimed along with them. Little sound echoed from his hands. Madame Lycelia's performance was spectacular, but one more set of crashing palms, even his own, risked tipping the scales on what Alexei could tolerate.

  The auditory onslaught lulled for a scant few seconds before conversation took its place. Alexei took a deep breath, but it did little to quell the noise gunking up his senses like tar. How Damon sat there, his shoulders sinking into the soft leather, his gaze listless as his eyes cracked open, and with a drunken smile on his lips like he hadn't a worry, Alexei didn't know.

  'Close your eyes,' said Damon.

  Alexei leaned his forearms on his thighs, blocking Damon's lounging form from his periphery. Entertaining Damon was the smart thing to do, but Alexei's gut, heart, and mind were all pulling him in opposite directions, and they couldn't decide if being smart was more important than being safe. His gut wanted to leave. There were too many people for Alexei to keep an eye on all of them. His back was exposed no matter where he turned, and that knowledge ran across his skin like a cheese grater. His mind told him he was ruining his shot at enticing Damon, and his disloyal heart longed for the cool touch of Damon's skin. Alexei paid its incessant whining no heed.

  'Oh, come on. Just one song.' Damon's voice was teasing, and his smile remained steadfast, tugging at him like he couldn't help it. 'It'll be worth it. Promise.'

  In the end, Alexei's brain won the battle for dominance. He leaned back, preserving a canyon of space between them. It wasn't enough. The scent of the sea at dawn was thick in the air. Alexei crossed his arms and closed his eyes, but his spine was stuck straight like a compass honed on true north.

  The leather beside Alexei squeaked, and the scent grew stronger as a new melody tickled Alexei's ears. With his vision offline, the music pulsed through Alexei like a second, steadier heartbeat. His own native rhythm slowly synced with the foreign one.

  But the offbeat clink of a server setting down a drink, the tapping of a tone-deaf patron's attempt to join the music, and the shuffle of the Dragons' feet near the door lit Alexei's nerves on fire. The muscles in Alexei's jaw clenched harder with every note. He didn't make it halfway through the song before his eyes flicked open to find Damon with one arm hanging lazily on the leather behind Alexei's back, studying Alexei like he was memorising every brushstroke of a Van Gogh. His smile only grew when Alexei caught him.

  The impulse to look away tugged at Alexei's mind, but the air was thick like jelly with the music's burgeoning climax. Alexei could hardly breathe through it. His lungs abandoned their attempts, and his heart stuttered in his chest. No one had ever looked at Alexei like that before. He kept waiting for it to wear off, but Damon's sultry smirk never faltered. His carmine eyes never even flinched.

  'I meant it, you know.' Damon's voice wrapped around Alexei's neck like a velvet noose. It was far too quiet for a human to hear above the music. 'You really are perfect.'

  Fighting against the gravity of Damon's cold touch, his soft voice, and his reverent gaze was like trying to swallow the ocean. Alexei's already unreliable heartbeat became so erratic that it would have given a cardiologist a heart attack. No amount of scars or calluses could have shielded Alexei from the feeling of that pounding in his chest. He was free-falling, and he wanted nothing more than to crash into Damon.

  Damon's thumb found the valley of an old scar peeking out from underneath Alexei's surgical mask. No one, not even Volchek, touched Alexei there unless they were trying to tear him open. Damon's featherlight touch on Alexei's exposed cheekbone kindled a blaze in those long-dead nerves.

  'Every single part of you,' whispered Damon.

  Under Damon's touch, the music was little more than a hum in the distance. Alexei's eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, it was as though he was someone else entirely: someone inside those golden slivers of light spilling into the alley.