Darkest Before the Dawn (male/male)
The Panic is Real

Felix

I was being ridiculous.

It was 11 PM, and I was lying prostrate on my couch, allowing my oversized sweater to entomb me, all because of that video call an hour before. Once again, I acted so crassly to Bartholomew, overcompensating for things I was trying to conceal.

But God, he was so cute. Whenever I saw him, I either wanted to be mean to him or curl up in those strong arms of his. Being cruel was easier for me, which gave him more of a reason to hate my guts.

Even worse, I had to call my ex.

During times like these, I wish I was still able to drink.

“Hades.” My voice was muffled from being pressed into the fabric of the couch. “I require your love.” The room remained silent, the cat opting to stay on his perch in his cat tree. “Be that way.” Sitting up, I reached for my phone, silently hoping there would be a text from Marigold about how she and her partner were doing. She loved keeping me updated about him without realizing that all it did was add fuel to the fire, so to speak.

I shouldn’t have felt disappointed when there were no new notifications. It also meant I couldn’t avoid my job anymore.

Contacting Madeline Castor.

Our time together was nothing but passion and lust, both for each other and our beliefs. Unfortunately, passion begins to flicker, and lust fades if there’s no emotional ties with it. There was no foundation of love in our relationship, leading to an unstable few years together, eventually crumbling under a roof made of contempt and distrust.

Over the decades, we had met up from time to time, just to check in on each other since it’s like some horrible fate of the universe that we felt the need to stay updated. Maybe it helped us feel less alone.

It had been almost ten years since I last talked to her. That still didn’t allow for enough time between us. I almost wished that her number was no longer in service.

Instead of calling her, I thought about emailing her. Then I thought better of it since most professionals didn’t email suspects of a murder case.

I was thankful I couldn’t breathe or else she would have heard me gasp when she answered on the fifth ring. “Felix. I knew I’d be hearing from you at some point.”

“Am I that obvious?” Keeping my composure around her had never been easy. She was a whirlwind of fire and electricity, filling my nerves with a buzzing static and sapping me of my morals.

“I’ve been waiting, qīn ài de.” She had that soft grittiness in her voice, that sensual one that had lured me to her to begin with. A faint Cantonese accent was still there, a careful reminder of who and what she had been before she was turned. “You found me quicker than I thought you would.”

“My team is determined to find you.” I cleared my throat, mind already drifting back to how things were whenever we met up. She had that effect on me, leaving me to hate myself. “You say you've been waiting.”

She hummed some, a habit I had picked up from her. “I kept insisting they take pictures of us as a big, fun girl group. You know how modern humans can be. They need to document everything. I wanted to be part of it for your sake.” Not surprising me any.

“Why was that so important for me to find you?”

“There’s so much to tell you, Fee. It’s not the safest for me to tell you right now.” She paused for a few beats. “Can you meet me tomorrow night? I’ll tell you everything and turn myself in. But you have to offer me protection.”

My eyebrows pulled together, a scowl on my face. Almost like Hades knew that I was suddenly more stressed, he finally trotted over to me, settling in my lap. “Protection from what? What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’ll feed your curiosity tomorrow, baby.” Her laugh would have given me goosebumps if I had been capable of it. After all these decades, she still had an intense power over me. “Meet me tomorrow at ten at the W Atlanta Midtown lobby.”

“If you’re in danger, shouldn’t I bring someone with me?” Madeline could make me forget my own name sometimes, but it didn’t mean that I would jeopardize my own safety for a pretty voice.

“Bring those detectives you’re fond of then, if you don’t trust the situation.” Her laugh this time was more girlish. “Always so skeptical, baby. You never grew out of that.”

My bottom lip was shoved in between my teeth to prevent making comments that I would regret. I wish I was capable of doing that whenever I talked to Bartholomew. “It’s second nature to be careful, you know that.” What didn’t she know about me? “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Call me if anything changes.”

“Always, Felix.” She somehow managed to always purr my name, as if the letters were like wine, the only thing she said she missed about being human.

Tossing my phone to the other side of the sectional, I let my eyes fall close and leaned my head back against the cushions. Hades readjusted himself in my lap, stretching out with his belly exposed for me to pet. He had been a faithful anxiety-reliever for the past three years. I needed him more than I thought I would with this new job. It wasn’t challenging — I lived for detective work and forensics and everything it entailed.

Bartholomew Palmer, however, was what eluded me and made it more difficult for me to function. I couldn’t fathom how I would operate the following night when I was with him, who made me want to break him, and Madeline, who had broken me. Maybe there would be equilibrium and I could perform my duties as expected.

Leaving Hades alone was always the worst part of my job. He always chose the worst times to try to get me to stay by winding between my legs and chirping at me, his feline way of asking me to stay home. He never failed to break my heart.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” I promised, kneeling to get behind his ears. “You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.” It was self-assurance, I know, but it helped calm down my racing thoughts.

Stepping outside, I made sure my door was locked before raising my arms above my head in a lingering stretch. In novels and movies about vampires, they were always able to run quickly and elegantly, like a mysterious blur in the night.

This did not apply to me.

I could run, absolutely, but it wasn’t very pretty. I stumbled often. I had overshot my target dozens of times. Worst of all, I always felt disoriented because I was still unable to wrap my brain around how fast I was going. It made all the fluid in my ears spiral. Being a vampire was a safety hazard.

Unfortunately, being a vampire also had its limitations. I couldn’t go outside until about seven at night, which prevented me from taking my car on the five-hour journey to Atlanta. It forced me to have to use my running.

“You know how to get to Atlanta. This is fine,” I whispered to myself, the sound of the lake waves lapping against the shore doing no part in easing my nerves. I had to go for it. Everything around me became a hazy blend of black and gray, like paint strokes on a canvas.

I stuck to the forest as best as I could, which had become harder as time moved on due to industrialization and housing developments.

I passed through Macon, knowing that I was near since highways were beginning to connect here. A sign welcomed me into Forsyth, a water tower told me I was in McDonough, and then I spotted all of the headlights heading into and away from the state capital.

Proudly, I slowed to an actual stop instead of taking a tumble, although I did have to catch myself some. Checking my watch, I found it to be half past nine. The anxiety from the night before was slowly dripping into my veins again, reminding me that I was about to step into the lion’s den with Bartholomew and Madeline.

I texted Marigold to calm myself down. She had that sort of influence on people, something I found myself enjoying about her. I’m almost there was all that I sent to her, receiving an immediate response of, can’t wait to see you! I felt that she was being genuine, which almost gave me a warm feeling since finding a friend like her was difficult. She would be my saving grace for the evening since I knew I would need some sort of relief.

My hands would have been sweating if they were capable of it. The tall black W on the hotel’s overhang wasn’t welcoming to me since I knew I’d be having to confront emotions that I wasn’t wanting to.

Soft jazz music and yellow lights greeted me inside. It was spacious and modern with the check-in counter to my left and a bar to my right, gold and black pillars lining the walkway up to a platform. At the bar, I found Marigold and Bartholomew, both with drinks in hand.

As a child and for some of my adult life, I was Catholic, and very much so. I had been taught that demons were there to tempt us into Hell and not to trust them or be charmed by them. Seeing Bartholomew, especially disguised in his more human-like form, I had never been more thankful that I exited the religion.

He was tantalizing with his beautiful bronze skin and stark white hair. His eyes were the color of dark rum, with a precious, straight aquiline nose that ran down to lips that were full on the bottom and naturally down-turned.

My mouth was much dryer now than when I had first come inside.

“Marigold,” I choked out, both of their eyes turning to me, hers bright and alert. “Thank you, guys, for coming and hanging out. I’m so sorry it’s late.”

“It’s whatever,” Bartholomew responded, taking a sip of his drink. It smelled of whiskey, blending with his natural scent of coffee and vanilla. How could someone smell so delightful when they already looked so superb? “Goldie dragged me around the city today. We made the best of it.” He finished off his whiskey and held up a finger to order another one. I wondered if he was drinking so much because of me.

“I wish you could have come with us.” Marigold reached out to hug me. She smelled of honey and wine blended with the heat of the summertime.

“Damn this vampirism." We pulled out of the hug, and I thought for a moment of sitting by her before I realized that sitting by Bartholomew would have made him far more uncomfortable. His sudden rigidness confirmed that as I slid onto the stool beside him. “Madeline should be here soon. She said she wanted to meet here because it wasn’t safe for her on the phone yesterday.”

“So she may be in danger?” Marigold asked, leaning forward to talk around her partner.

“Possibly. She wanted me to offer her protection, which did make me a little nervous. It’s why I had you two meet me here.”

Bartholomew smirked at me, an action I don’t think he knew he did frequently. It always made him look devious, an appearance on him that I enjoyed. “You brought us here to save your ass in case something went wrong then.”

Maybe I flinched because his eyebrow raised, all the more curious. “Nice to see you’re thinking of my ass,” I responded automatically, glad my lack of blood drinking prevented a blush.

“You’re being a pain in mine right now.” He closed his eyes and finished his second drink. “What’s your ex like anyway? Is she someone we need to be worried about?”

For some reason, my jaw clenched when he used the term “ex”. He was correct, but there was something about my new interest referring to my old flame in such a way. I wanted it to be out of jealousy but knew it wouldn’t be. “Not necessarily. I’ve never known her to be outwardly violent.” Even when she would be infuriated at me during our time together, she never physically lashed out at me.

I didn’t want to divulge anything else about Madeline, like how she made my brain turn into a miniature tornado or how it was difficult to form words when she was around. They would both see that soon enough.

“You’ve never mentioned a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything before,” Marigold piped up, peering at Bartholomew, who sent her a sharp look, as if silently telling her to shut up.

Squeezing my hands into fists on my lap, I leaned back into the seat of the chair, wishing I could disappear. “I’ve dated on and off over the years,” I admitted, finding a way to turn this back towards the original conversation. My eyes lingered on Bartholomew for a moment. “But Madeline and I connected in such an intense way, so even after we broke up, we still talked. I’m never dating her again because that was. . .miserable, but we meet with each other every now and again.” Because I needed them to believe that we were still on good terms to avoid any questions.

“Huh,” was all Bartholomew said, elbow on the bar and pointed chin in his hand.

Marigold took the last sip of her wine. “Picturing you being someone’s boyfriend is so strange.”

I waited for Bartholomew to make a snide comment since it was the perfect timing for him to make a remark. When he kept his mouth shut, I think I was more upset than if he had said something. “Yes, well, it’s a thing. I’ve been. . .” I paused, finding it unwise to continue.

That got Bartholomew’s attention. “You’ve been what?” he asked slowly, a vague expression of interest showing, as if he was trying to hide any form of intrigue.

“That’s for me to know, and you to forget.”

“But you’re finally a little interesting.” Was he whining?

“Is that why you dislike me so much? You find me uninteresting?” It wouldn’t change anything, certainly, but it would shed some light on why he loathed me so much.

“No, I don’t like y—ow, fuck! I thought you were done hurting me, dammit!” He was turned back towards Marigold, rubbing his side where she must have elbowed him like the night before while we were on Skype. “Fuck, you have some sharp elbows. What the hell.”

Marigold batted her long eyelashes and gave him a closed-lip smile, looking more like a warning than a friendly gesture. “Remember our discussions,” she murmured.

“Discussions?” I asked cautiously, leaning towards the demon some, hoping even more that they talked about me in some depth. Perhaps Marigold had tried convincing Bartholomew that I was better than what he assumed.

“They’re… nothing,” Bartholomew began slowly, catching the sudden change in my demeanor before I realized how alert I had become.

The fragrance of jasmine and oolong tea wafted through the hallway, tendrils of familiarity drifting up my nostrils as the clacking of high heels on tile echoed vibrantly in my ears. Almond eyes met mine, daring me to look away.

I couldn’t.

“Madeline.” I was already recognizing her affects on me with the way I slunk out of my seat to approach her. It was like Bartholomew hadn’t ever existed. Only Madeline, timeless and always.

“Felix.” My name was confident on her tongue, like she also remembered the control over me. It never once left her mind—this I was sure of.

A firm hand shocked me back to reality. Marigold stood beside me now, stepping ahead and subtly pushing me back, closer now to Bartholomew. “I’m Detective Marigold, and this is Detective Palmer. Do you mind if we ask you some questions pertaining to murders of—”

“You don’t have to be so formal,” Madeline laughed, waving Marigold off. “Come, let’s get you all checked in. I got a suite for you, detectives. We can talk freely upstairs.”

She left us to walk over to the check-in counter, and if Bartholomew hadn’t been behind me, I probably would have fallen backwards. “Are you okay?” Marigold asked, touching my arm, her yellow eyebrows drawn up into concern. “I’ve never seen you look like that before.”

I nodded because I couldn’t trust my voice. “She scares me,” I whispered, admitting something to them that I hadn’t meant to. It was a secret to myself, a confession kept locked tightly away in the deepest folds of my mind because I never wanted it to come to light. But she did terrify me, wholly and completely. It had never been love that I felt for her because love shouldn’t come with such an outright horror of someone.

“Don’t be a baby,” Bartholomew scolded, which I took as his way of telling me that things would be fine. “If she tries anything, I’ll knock her fuckin’ fangs out.”

“Barty,” Marigold snapped. She let some of the tension go when she saw me laugh.

“Oh, I feel so much safer with you around.” It was said in a light, joking manner. He had no idea that it was the truth.

Madeline returned a moment later, handing a keycard off to Bartholomew, which required her to reach past Marigold. The nymph tilted her head a little, confused, then tucked her hair behind her ears, an action I knew she did when she got anxious. “Shall we go up?” Madeline asked, looking between myself and Bartholomew. It was like she wanted to snub Marigold.

Silently, we followed her towards the elevators. “I got you a room so you could get some rest because Felix insisted upon bringing you." Madeline stood so closely to me that I didn’t need enhanced senses to hear the shift of the silk blouse she wore. She made sure that I caught her pointed look in my direction. “Nymph and demon?”

“Yes,” Marigold responded, leaning into Bartholomew.

Madeline nodded slowly in understanding. “Clever, Felix. Put the demon on this case. You never fail to surprise me, xīn gān.”

“Please don’t call me that,” I demanded, voice weak. She knew she could call me anything she wanted without me throwing too much of a fit.

She giggled and stepped past me when the doors finally opened, ignoring how tightly I squeezed my eyes shut. I was thankful when Marigold’s hand went to the middle of my back, her warmth spreading through my torso, giving me a mild confidence boost to deal with Madeline.

The suite she had booked for the night was spacious, with its own living room that overlooked downtown Atlanta and a separate bedroom and en suite. It was modern in here, an unusual taste for Madeline. “I hope it’s to your liking,” she said, claiming a spot on the sectional. “Felix, sit by me.”

“I’ll stand,” I automatically said, grateful when Marigold settled herself near Madeline and cutting out any space for me. Bartholomew remained standing, halfway between me and the couch.

My ex didn’t seem pleased having Marigold by her, although nothing was said about it. “Here’s the deal,” she started, adjusting her faux leather skirt so that it was a suitable length. “There’s a lot happening in the vampire underground. There’s been a cult formation in the past three decades, operated by a vampire named Herbert. Several years ago, Herbert stepped down and has been replaced by another vampire named Richard.”

Bartholomew snorted, then waved away our attention. “Sorry, that’s a fucking stupid name for a vampire. Is he a soccer dad or some shit?”

Madeline’s face morphed from something placid into one of contained cruelty, the same expression she would often give me when she found out that I had been trying to escape from her. “He was born during Richard the Lionheart's reign. He's almost one thousand years old. He could easily destroy you. ”

Shrugging and nodding, Bartholomew conceded to that. “When did this guy take over? And how big is this cult?”

“It started off with less than fifty members when it started in the nineties. In 2005, we were at about three hundred members, and when Richard became the leader about six years ago, we were at around seven hundred. A lot of people have left or have been… disposed of, so it’s down to less than two hundred members. I'm deciding to leave, myself.”

“That’s why you need protection,” I surmised. “How does this relate to the murders? Are cult members committing them?”

Madeline nodded, her discomfort beginning to show with the way she wrung her hands and played with her fingers. “Let me explain. Richard was a wonderful leader at first. The Blood Rights Foundation was like a group or club when Herbert founded it. Vampires sought each other out for similarities, bonding and friendship.” The look she gave me was a knowing one. “To help ease the loneliness.”

“So you joined to have people to relate to,” Marigold concluded, nodding like she understood. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Of course not,” Madeline agreed, finally seeing Marigold as someone friendly and not like the enemy. “Then Herbert stepped down to travel and enjoy his life. He was an Elizabethan vampire, younger than Richard, but well respected. Everyone trusted his choice when he appointed Richard. And at first, it was fine. Richard upheld the same ideologies and practices: take only small drinks from people, drink from animals if possible, do no harm, leave no trace.

“But after about three years or so, it changed. He started talking about other blood sources besides people and animals. He told us of a time where he was able to lure a demon into a trap by reporting there were vampires with blood lust, rampaging around Georgia. He and a few BRF members were able to sample demon's blood that night.”

Beside me, Bartholomew caught himself on the table, his eyes large and color draining from his face. “Bartholomew?” I cautioned, finding it an opportune time to put my hands on his arm and chest to help steady him. Beneath his clothes, I felt his taught muscles, tightly coiled like he wanted to strike. I had to prevent the thought of ‘god, he’s so hot’ from coming to the forefront of my mind.

“Barty.” Marigold was on his other side in seconds, helping to lower him into the nearest chair. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, concern forming over her face. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

“What’s he look like?” Bartholomew breathed, eyes locked on Madeline.

“Very plain. Brown hair, short. He’s got a scar down his—”

“Down the left side of his throat?” The demon’s voice was fragile, an emotion I’d never associate with him.

Madeline nodded once. “Did you do that?”

“Vampires heal, though,” Marigold commented when her partner confirmed that the injury was from him.

“Not always,” I responded. “Some things have an affect on us, like magic.” Richard had been the one who had injured him when he first joined MMES, then. Colin had told me Bartholomew had been attacked by vampires years before, but gave me almost no details, only that he was touchy around my type.

I was so focused on my subordinate that I hadn’t noticed the shadow that crossed Madeline’s face. “If that was you who he drank from 20 years ago, you certainly left your mark.” Standing, she turned towards me, eyeing me briefly. “I lead that group of vampires to those demons. I will confess to aiding in those murders, but I have no blood on my hands. As of today, I'm revoking the Blood Rights Foundation, but I'm demanding a plea deal and protection.”

“A plea deal of what?” I asked, my anger rising in the back of my throat, both because of her actions and because of Bartholomew being in more trouble than I had first assumed. “You told us everything we needed. What more do we need?”

“I know the names of members, hideouts, meetings, everything. I have been with this Foundation for thirty years, Felix. I have information.”

“Take it." Bartholomew's voice had regained its strength. “I’m going to find Richard and end that fucker. Take the fucking deal.”

Madeline’s dark eyes looked between the two of us, watching how I stared at the detective, sympathy pouring through me at the unknown suffering he had gone through from the hands of a vampire. Everything clicked in place about how wary he was around me, as well as his eagerness to accept this investigation. For a brief moment, I wanted to hold him, thinking better of it before my body could act upon it.

“I’ll let you discuss it,” Madeline offered, taking several steps towards the door. “I’m going to get my things from our current hideout. Felix, I'm staying with you. I'm sure that's alright.” Her voice was like spun sugar: dripping with sweetness, threatening to break, all to put on a good show.

“You can stay on Mazerene.” Bartholomew answered for me, my teeth clacking together when I snapped my mouth shut. He had regained his confidence and firm personality quicker than I expected, eyes narrowed at Madeline. “There’s temporary housing placements for supernatural beings who are displaced. You can stay there.”

“Felix?” Madeline’s voice was deeper, more threatening, the venom from all those years returning.

“Felix.” And there was Bartholomew’s voice, warm, gritty, tempting me and begging me to listen only to him. “She can stay on Mazerene. I’ll personally call Akiya or Colin to arrange it.”

“The housing there will be more to your liking,” I found myself saying, wanting to shrink in on myself when Madeline’s eyes flickered to a hazy red. “Or, you can stay with me just for tonight.”

Bartholomew grumbled, slipping the word "weak" in there.

"That's what I'd hope for." Madeline started towards the door again, stopping only to look at me. “You’re going drinking with me when I return. Understood?”

“He can make his own decisions.” The demon was still trying to defend me, something I had never thought he would do. I was quite enjoying how protective he was of me, even if I was unsure of his intentions. “You don’t own him. If he wants to go out with you, he can choose to do so. Fuck off.”

"Pok gai,” Madeline spat, sneering at the demon. She glanced once at me, her red lips in a pout, then was gone in a flash, a lingering fragrance of her jasmine perfume remaining behind her.

Marigold cleared her voice, yellow eyebrows raised high into her hairline. “She seems sweet,” she commented, forcing a grin.

“I finally found someone I dislike more than you,” Bartholomew murmured, glowering at the spot Madeline had been occupying. “Why are you letting her push you around like that? You have your own opinions and thoughts, even if they are fucking lame.” It was endearing how he could take a compliment and turn it into such an insult.

Shrugging one shoulder limply, I took the seat next to where he had been sitting. “She’s always had this weird control over me. It’s hard for me to tell her no, even when I should.” I drummed my fingers on my knee for a moment, wording my thank you silently in my head. “I appreciate you standing up for me.” He scowled, to which I smiled because I couldn’t help it when he made that grumpy face. He was cutest when he was angry, which was almost always. “Are you sure you want to continue this, knowing what you’ll be getting yourself into?”

“Of fucking course. It makes me want to work on this more, actually.” He rotated his shoulders and popped his neck, sliding his eyes closed. “We’re going to take her deal, get all of the information out of her, then hunt this fuckhead down.”

“I actually agree with you,” Marigold quipped, nodding. “I would be willing to let her off on a lesser punishment if we can stop an entire cult.”

“Please understand that it would be extremely unethical for me to allow you to kill Richard,” I said to Bartholomew, causing him to make a face. “I know you want your revenge, which is perfectly justifiable, but we still have our rules.” His mouth opened to say something, little fangs replacing the square canines. “I may turn my back if it’s in self-defense, however."

“I'll make sure he hits me first, then.” He sighed, a forlorn, exhausted expression replacing the angry one. “Goldie, I’m going to get our bags. Felix, you can stay or whatever. I don’t really care. I’m gonna shower then sleep when I get back up.” His eyes moved between me and Marigold, almost like he was wondering if there was anything going on between us. I wanted to step away from her just then to show him that I had no interest in her.

When he left and the door closed behind him, I heard a gentle giggle from Marigold, like she was a child hiding something. “Are you always this obvious when you like someone?” she whispered, probably making sure her partner definitely couldn’t hear us.

“Excuse me?” I asked, feigning ignorance or confusion or something, anything, besides embarrassment.

“You can’t quit looking at Barty. And the flirting downstairs, like come on. You never act like that when it’s just us.” She poked my shoulder, wiggling her hips slightly. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not. He’s crass and hurtful and rude.” And so cute and intelligent and hilarious.

Marigold made the “OK” symbol with her fingers, winking at me and wrinkling up her nose. Why did she look so much like Cadence when she did that? “Whatever you say, bossman. If you were interested, he has dated men before, if you were wondering.”

A flare of excitement shot from my feet up through to my head, a vague tingling spiking through my body. “Well good for him, then. I’m happy for him.”

She pumped her eyebrows at me, then wandered back to the sectional, taking her place and reaching for the remote. “Your secret is safe with me."

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