Jason

Jason was very drunk.

He stumbled out of the taxi, steadying himself on the door before pushing it closed. Overhead, the sky was still pitch black, but birds were singing somewhere, which made him think it was getting close to morning. He tried to look at his watch, but the numbers were a fuzzy blur. Everything was a bit of a fuzzy blur.

His plastic crown slipped down his head and he shoved it back up, accidentally scraping off some of the glitter from the words 21 TODAY etched onto a panel at the front. His actual birthday had been two days earlier, but that had been spent with his family, his vampire friends, and his fiancé. Tonight had been about celebrating with his human friends.

He fumbled in his pocket for his key, before remembering that he hadn't taken it with him. Having a front-door key to the most famous vampire House in the UK was a huge privilege, and it hadn't seemed the wisest move to take that key with him on a night when he planned on getting absolutely smashed.

The iron-wrought gate leading into the grounds of Belle Morte loomed over him, and Jason stumbled forward, almost falling against the cold metal.

"Seamus," he called, flapping a hand through the gate. "Lemme in."

Seamus Kennedy, acting Head of Security, walked over to him, not even trying to hide his grin. The winter air was bitingly cold, and Seamus was bundled up in a thick coat, with a woollen hat pulled over his thatch of tawny hair.

"You were supposed to text me when you were on your way back," he said.

"I did," Jason argued, holding onto the gate as if that would make the world stop spinning.

Seamus pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapped the screen, then held it up so Jason could see it. "An hour ago, you texted me a smiley face and a love heart."

Jason squinted at the screen.

"Was this even meant for me?" Seamus asked.

"No idea," Jason replied honestly.

Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Seamus unlocked the gate. Over the last few months there had been talk of ditching physical keys and installing coded keypads, but so far it hadn't happened, and Jason had no idea why. There were several secret keypads hidden inside Belle Morte, so what difference did it make having them outside as well?

"Vampires are weird," he mumbled.

"Nice crown," said Seamus as he locked the gate again.

"Thanks." Jason beamed.

"By the way," Seamus said, as Jason started up the stone-flagged path that led to the mansion's front door. "Try not to be too noisy going in. It's 4 a.m. – most people are asleep."

"Okay," Jason said, giving him a wobbly thumbs up.

"Quieter than that," Seamus advised, following Jason up the path so he could unlock the front door.

"We should just get keypads already," Jason mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself.

He'd started out with a coat, hadn't he? He couldn't remember, but he definitely didn't have one now, and the chilly air was biting at his skin.

"I would love to see you trying to put in the right code in your state," Seamus told him.

"I could do it," Jason insisted, and then almost tripped over his own foot.

"Sure you could. But maybe just focus on walking in a straight line for now."

Seamus pushed open the door and ushered Jason inside, then closed and locked the door again, leaving Jason alone. He stood for a moment in the vestibule, breathing in the smell from the flower-filled bowls on marble plinths on either side of him.

Home.

When he'd come here as a blood donor, two years ago, he hadn't expected it to last for long, because no one stayed in Belle Morte forever. But the vampire mansion had become his home. The people who lived here had become his family.

He started forward, then paused. Seamus had said people were sleeping, so maybe he should take his shoes off. It would be quieter to creep upstairs in his socks.

Bending over, he reached for his left shoe, and overbalanced, almost face-planting the parquet floor. Only the frantic windmilling of his arms kept him upright. His shoes stared back at him, mocking him, and he glared down at them.

"You're not coming upstairs," he informed them.

His shoes, unsurprisingly, remained silent.

He tried again, and this time managed to get one shoe off, placing it carefully by the front door. The other shoe wasn't as cooperative. The laces had got knotted somehow, and his fingers fumbled uselessly over them while he hopped around on one foot. It didn't occur to him that crouching or kneeling would have been far more effective.

"Yes," he hissed in triumph as he finally pulled off the stubborn shoe – a little too vigorously. He started to stumble backwards again, tried to get his balance and overcorrected, ending up in a heap on the floor.

Actually, now that he was down here, the floor was quite comfy . . . maybe he should just sleep here tonight . . .

Footsteps whispered across the floor, and Jason cracked open one eye.

Ysanne Moreau, Lady of the House stood over him, her arms crossed, her face a marble mask. She hadn't been asleep, judging by the form-fitting cream dress she was wearing.

"Hi," Jason said, waggling his fingers at her.

What was she doing up at this time anyway?

Ysanne raised one eyebrow. "What are you doing on the floor?"

Jason held up his shoe. "I was trying not to wake everyone up."

Ysanne didn't point that out falling over in the vestibule was noisier than going upstairs with his shoes on. She just stared at him, her face as blank as only a vampire's could be.

"Help me up?" Jason said, tossing his shoe to one side.

He'd never have asked her that sober, but his head was a soggy mess, and getting up from the floor seemed too big a feat for him to manage alone.

Ysanne stared at him a moment longer, then she silently held out one hand and pulled Jason to his feet. He almost overbalanced again, saved only by Ysanne's strong grip.

He blinked at her. Her face was as icily beautiful and impossible to read as ever, her diamond pendant glittered in the hollow of her throat like usual, her hair was a pale sheet of gold down her back.

But something was . . . different.

Suddenly he realised what it was.

"You're a lot shorter without your heels," he blurted out.

Ysanne stalked the hallways of Belle Morte in skyscraper heels, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her without them. He wasn't sure he ever had. He'd certainly never seen her barefoot. Still, being smaller without them did nothing to diminish the sense of power she wore like an elegantly tailored cape.

Ysanne shot him a hard look, and Jason stared innocently back.

"I won't tell anyone," he said.

He wobbled, clinging to Ysanne's arm, and tried to focus on the staircase. Easier said than done when the whole vestibule was spinning.

"Do you need assistance getting to your room?" Ysanne said, faintly exasperated.

"Um . . ." Jason squinted at the staircase again. Was it always that far away?

Ysanne didn't sigh, but Jason got the impression she wanted to. "Come on," she said, and started guiding him across the floor.

He should have kept his shoes on after all. His socked feet slid on the polished floor, and if Ysanne hadn't held him up, he'd probably have abandoned walking and crawled instead.

"Am I to assume from the smell of alcohol that you've enjoyed your birthday?" Ysanne as they started up the stairs.

"I . . . I think so." Jason scrunched up his forehead, trying to remember what had actually happened. His head was full of snapshots of memory – people laughing, a clack of balls knocking into each other on a pool table, shots lined up on a sticky bar-top. "There were shots," he mumbled. "Lots of shots."

He swayed, putting a hand on the banister. Maybe too many shots.

"If you're going to throw up, I expect a warning. This dress is Versace," Ysanne crisply told him.

Jason flapped a hand at her and almost fell down the stairs. "I'm fine, I'm fine." He glanced at her, where she waited patiently for him to start moving again. "What would you do if I did puke on you?"

The look she gave him was pure ice. "I would drop you in your own mess, and send you the bill for a replacement dress."

Jason gasped and clutched his chest. "You mean you wouldn't lovingly tuck me into bed and tell me everything will be okay? Cold, Ysanne. Cold."

She didn't reply, but he was sure her lips twitched in an almost-smile.

They started up the stairs again, Jason leaning heavily on Ysanne, and the vampire Lady paused, looking up. A soft smile broke out on Jason's face.

Gideon Hartwright, love of his life and the man he was going to marry in just a few short months, stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at them with an amused look on his face.

"I believe this belongs to you," Ysanne said, supporting Jason as he wobbled again.

Gideon's smile widened as he came down the stairs and took Jason's weight from Ysanne.

"Shh, we have to be quiet or we'll wake everyone up," Jason loudly whispered, pressing his finger to Gideon's lips.

Gideon glanced at Ysanne. She was definitely smiling this time, and it happened so rarely that Jason wondered if he should take a photo while it lasted. He reached for his phone and promptly dropped it. Ysanne retrieved it and gave to Gideon, even as Jason made grabby hands for it.

"Perhaps getting him to bed would be wise," she said.

Gideon looped Jason's arm around his shoulders. Jason swung around to wave at Ysanne, who had started to descend the stairs.

"Bye," he called, too loud.

"Goodnight, Jason," she said, not looking back at him.

Jason sagged against Gideon, resting his head on the vampire's shoulder.

"Did you have a good time?" Gideon asked as they made their way up the stairs, Jason leaning more on him with each step. His legs were growing uncooperative, and his head was foggy and heavy, hanging like a dead weight on his neck.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"You smell like you drank half the city dry," Gideon told him, pressing a kiss to Jason's temple.

"Think I did," Jason mumbled.

He didn't remember getting to their room. One minute they were nearing the top of the stairs, the next he was sitting on their edge of their bed, blinking blearily at the room around him.

Gideon was kneeling in front of him, pulling off Jason's socks.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked, his words slurring.

"Getting you ready for bed."

"I can do it myself," Jason took a half-hearted swipe at his socks.

"I think you're too drunk to do much of anything."

"I'm not drunk. I'm an adorable little marshmallow," Jason declared.

"Yes, you are," Gideon agreed. "An adorable, drunk marshmallow."

He reached for the top button on Jason's jeans, and Jason lay back on his elbows.

"While you're down there," he said, grinning.

Gideon half-rose, planting his hands on either side of Jason's hips. "Jason, normally I would be happy to oblige, but, considering the state you're in right now, it would be a minor miracle if you could even get it up."

Jason seriously pondered that, staring down at his own lap for the longest moment. "You may be right," he sadly conceded. "Does this mean I don't get birthday sex?"

"We already had birthday sex, remember? On your actual birthday."

"This still counts as my birthday," Jason argued. "Look, see, I have a birthday crown." He pointed at his head.

Gideon pulled off Jason's jeans and folded them next to the bed. "It's a very nice crown, but you need sleep," he said.

Jason started to say something, but the words slipped out of his head, and all he could manage was a sigh. The room was still spinning, and his eyelids felt like they were pulled down with tiny anvils. He started to slump forward, and Gideon caught him. He took the crown from Jason's head and placed it on the nightstand, then he pulled back the covers and gently guided Jason down until his head was on the pillow. The world was growing dark and fuzzy at the edges, and Jason just managed to focus on the man leaning over him, blond and beautiful.

"Love you, Gid," he mumbled.

He thought he heard Gideon say something, then he was falling down into deep, dark sleep.

It's been a long time coming, but I'm really excited to finally share this story collection with my amazing Vladdicts. Updates will be Tuesdays and Fridays as usual :)