Gideon didn't get far before pain overwhelmed him, and he slumped into what had been the loading bay of another empty shop, the entrances now sealed off behind roll-down metal doors. He braced his palms on one wall, and though he didn't need to breathe, he found himself gulping in air anyway, as if that would help him deal with the pain.

His knees buckled and he slid to the ground. His vision flickered, the world sliding in and out of view.

"Gideon?"

Jerry knelt beside him, sweaty, sooty, and exhausted, and put a hand on Gideon's face.

"Go . . . go away," Gideon rasped.

"I'm not leaving you. You need a hospital."

"They can't help."

"Gideon, I don't think you realise how bad this is. Your clothes are partially fused to your skin – you need proper help."

Steeling himself, Gideon reached up to the ruins of his shirt and started pulling it away from his charred back. He tore off strips of skin in the process, and it was so excruciating that tears swam in his eyes and he sank his fangs into his lips until blood flowed down his chin.

"Gideon, stop, you're making it worse," Jerry cried, trying to hold Gideon's hands still.

He was so close to Gideon, his heart like a drumbeat in Gideon's ears, the warmth of his skin, the promise of his blood calling to Gideon's fangs and making his eyes turn red. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away.

Footsteps scuffed behind them, and Jerry started to say something, then there was the crack of a fist on flesh and the sound of someone falling to the ground.

Gideon opened his eyes.

Jerry lay beside him, one hand pressed to his jaw. Another man stood over him, rubbing his knuckles and sneering. Gideon recognised him – he'd been standing outside the squat when Gideon first arrived, watching as it burned.

"Fucking queers," the man said, and spat on Jerry.

Gideon could smell something on the man, and it was a strong, familiar smell, but his brain was so fogged with agony that he couldn't immediately make the connection.

Then he did.

Petrol.

The man smelled of smoke and petrol.

Understanding clicked in Gideon's head.

Whoever this man was, he hadn't just been rubbernecking a tragedy, he'd been watching the results of his handiwork. Maybe he'd been acting alone, or maybe he'd been part of a group, but he had helped start that fire. He had tried to kill Jerry and the others.

The man bent over Gideon, and Jerry tried to scramble to his feet. "Don't you touch him," he said, ready to protect Gideon with everything he had.

Rage burned like fire, overwhelming the agony, and Gideon hauled on every last scrap of vampire strength. He surged to his feet with a snarl, grabbed the man by the throat, hard enough to stop him from screaming, and slammed him against the nearest wall.

He hadn't intended to bite him, but when he felt the throb of a pulse beneath his palm, pure vampire instinct took over. Gideon buried his face in the man's neck, biting deep and pulling warm blood into his mouth. It flowed down his throat, more and more and more of it, until the pain of his injuries faded, and fresh strength flooded through him.

That was when he realised the man had stopped fighting against him.

Gideon pulled back, smearing blood across his mouth, and stared into the man's sightless eyes. The man hung limp in his grip, and when Gideon released him, he crumpled into a boneless heap on the ground, lying at Jerry's feet.

Dead.

Gideon had killed him.

For the longest moment neither Gideon or Jerry moved.

"Is he dead?" Jerry asked.

Gideon nodded. "I didn't . . . I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't." He swiped a shaky hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood. "I'm sorry."

"For what? Defending yourself? Protecting me?"

"I didn't have to –"

"Gideon, look," Jerry said, pointing. A wickedly sharp knife lay on the ground, not far from the body. "You didn't know, did you? Before you grabbed him, he was about to stab you."

Gideon stared down at the knife. "But . . . that doesn't change anything. I didn't have to kill him."

Jerry's face was hard, his jaw clenched. "I'm guessing he's one of the bastards who started the fire in the first place. He burned down our home and tried to kill us. Just now he tried to kill you again, so you'll forgive me if I don't shed any tears over him."

Gideon bent and picked up the knife. If he'd been that little bit weaker, that little bit slower to react, then that man really might have killed him. Even a vampire would die if they were stabbed in the heart, which had never made sense to Gideon because vampires' hearts didn't actually beat.

Jerry sucked in a breath. "Your back . . . you're healing . . ."

Gideon forced himself to turn and look at his lover. Jerry sat on the ground, his eyes wide and flickering with fear, but he was calm too.

"How?" Jerry asked.

"I'm not human, Jerry. I haven't been human for a very long time."

Jerry's breath quickened, but he didn't scream in horror or try to run. "That fire could still have killed you, couldn't it?"

"Yes."

Jerry nodded, fresh tears brimming in his eyes. "You were still willing to risk your life to save us."

"Of course I was."

"What are you?"

"It doesn't matter." Gideon bent over the man he'd killed. "I'll hide the body and make sure it doesn't get traced back to the squat. No one will ever be able to blame you or the others for his death." He hoisted the body over his shoulder, his mind already working, thinking of places he could temporarily stash it. When night fell properly, he could take it to the Thames and dump it there.

"And then?" Jerry asked.

Gideon looked at him, uncomprehending.

"What happens to you?" Jerry said.

"I disappear. My kind never can stay too long in one place anyway; I would have had to move on sooner or later. This time it just happened to be sooner."

He turned to leave, and though the limp body was no great weight for a vampire, in that moment it felt like a slab of lead.

"Don't go," Jerry said quietly, and Gideon turned back to him.

Jerry was still sitting on the ground, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion and the trauma of what had happened, but his expression was resolute. There was no fear or horror there, just something soft and shining and warm, something that reached out to Gideon's tired heart.

"Please don't go," Jerry said.

"I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I can't have a human life. Your world is not for me."

Too many people had seen Gideon jump out of that window. Too many people had seen his injuries, now almost fully healed, and he could never explain that away without telling everyone in the squat what he really was. That was too big a risk.

"Then I'll come with you," Jerry said, scrambling to his feet.

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because my world isn't for you either. Besides, you're the glue that holds that squat together. They need you."

"But what if I need you?" said Jerry, his voice trembling.

Gideon didn't know what to say to that.

"Will I ever see you again?" Jerry asked, but he sounded like he already knew the answer.

"I don't think so, so do me one thing, Jerry."

"Anything," Jerry said, the tears in his eyes starting to spill over.

"Live a good life. Be happy. And never stop fighting for the rights that we all deserve."

Jerry pressed his lips together and nodded. There was something else he wanted to say, Gideon could see it in his eyes, but whatever it was, Jerry held it back. Gideon looked at him one last time, remembering all the times they'd had together, the warmth that Jerry had so briefly brought into his life, and then he walked away.

Jerry would recover from today. He would rally his beloved group of queens and they would find somewhere new to live, and they would continue going to their clubs, and they would continue trying to help other boys and men who had nowhere to go, and maybe sometimes they would talk about Gideon, the strange man who'd come into their lives and saved them all before disappearing like a ghost.

Gideon would never see them again.

But they were alive because of him, and that knowledge unfurled inside him like a flower opening itself up to the sun.

A small smile touched his lips as he quietly slipped away into the narrow backstreets of London, and the setting sun turned the sky to fire.

5/5

A/N: Just a quick note to let my lovely readers know that I now have an author instagram page, which you can find under the handle authorbellahiggin. If you're on instagram, drop by to say hi, and maybe give me a little follow :)