THE STAIRWELL ECHOES. He makes it to the creaking wood landing that leads to his hotel room's corridor.

He's glad the stretch of hallway is empty, with a blind-drawn window at the far end and a faded grey runner covering the length.

He'd stepped outside to call Gabriel privately. The man said little when Kiernan described the blood bank and the horror that lingered in that basement. He's known Gabriel for a century. He knows when the man is unsettled. In truth, he'd thought this was another coven trying to entice a war, or perhaps the mages wanted to cause infighting. Now, he's not sure what he's hunting.

Gabriel was adamant that Kiernan keep Alexander Cross close by for now. The police that know of their kind are untrusting, and the chief of police here in the city has been dealing with the fallout of these attacks. Mostly localized fights when a coven comes into contact, and once, a shoot-out, that Kiernan assumes is where the last sergeant met their demise.

It's understandable that Gabriel wants to keep the human police in his pocket and out of anyone else's, and that means playing nice.

That doesn't mean Kiernan is any less bitter about having to host this man.

He makes it to the door of his hotel room. Shiny oak wood directly in the middle of the hallway. 

He lingers with a hand on the knob.

He can hear a calm heartbeat inside, but there are no sounds of conversation. Alexander must be finished with the phone call to his boss he claimed he'd take in Kiernan's absence.

They could have separate rooms. It was Alexander's original idea to book another and convene tonight to talk about everything they know so far.

But Kiernan insisted they share a room. Even though the mere thought makes him seriously contemplate taking the four-story plunge to the sidewalk below.

After seeing that basement, the shiver of danger and the sensation of eyes on his back haven't abated. Out of both of them, Alexander is human and, thus, more vulnerable. There's a good chance the killer has caught wind that they're investigating.

Kiernan opens the door with a soft creak. He exhales softly and refuses to acknowledge the immense relief that settles over him when he sees Alexander sitting on the edge of a couch cushion, hunched over a laptop with a focused expression.

They have to stay together. Having an officer die under his care won't do Gabriel's shaky alliance with the police any good. That's all this is.

The shake in his fingers is loathing from being forced to remain near this man. Not from the foolish pang in his heart when Alexander raises his gaze at Kiernan's slow approach and smiles amicably.

Alexander left his jacket draped over the back of the couch. He's in a black long-sleeve shirt and dark jeans. He's naturally big in his stature, and he's, well, big. He either frequents the gym or gains muscle by beating up perpetrators.

"So, let's go over what we know." Alexander turns the laptop so Kiernan can see the screen as he lowers himself into the armchair. It's a map with red circles marking locations. "This is the police database. Every attack that's occurred in the last few months that matches the killer's modus operandi."

Kiernan leans closer. He counts five locations. They're all in the same area of the city, with a pair extending to a nearby industrial area on the outskirts of the Night District. "Three are my coven. The blood bank, and then Darren Sinclair's drug den."

Alexander nods. "Do you notice anything?"

This time, Kiernan does see what the man is referring to. He'd have to be blind not to. "They're in the same area."

"Right." Alexander shuts the laptop. He sits back, and Kiernan mirrors the motion. "We believe that the killer, or killers, are working in close proximity to this area. They either live close by or frequent the area often."

"Wouldn't they want to minimize their chance of being caught and stay far away?"

"Usually, that's true." Alexander looks at his hand, flexing his fingers. His knuckles are newly split. "Passion killers that do this kind of shit. Take their time. Most of them won't stray far. They get a thrill and feel powerful knowing they've gotten away with it. The labs said none of the victims showed signs of sexual trauma. So we're not after some fucked-up serial rapist."

Kiernan shutters his expression with a mask of practiced apathy. His heart beats wildly and only gets worse when Alexander stares at him in silence for a few tense moments, searchingly.

The walls of the room seem to shift and breathe with the shallow rises of his chest. His ears take on a slight ringing. And Alexander keeps staring. Right now, if this man reveals he's a devil come to ruin him, Kiernan will believe him wholeheartedly.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, Alexander continues, "That doesn't mean the killer doesn't get off on the act, or afterwards, by reading articles or watching the news." He shrugs. "Or they could be on a plane right now. This is all theory. No crime is the same."

"Any ideas on what our next move should be?"

"Wait for another attack."

"That's it?" Kiernan can't deny that the thought of this killer walking freely with the means to kill his kind so horrendously makes him wary of sitting idle. "I'm assuming you've questioned people that may be connected thoroughly."

"We questioned everyone. You can look at the interview transcripts and listen to the recordings." Alexander lays an arm over the back of the couch and taps his fingers against the wood edging. "Suffice to say, no one knows shit."

"My people don't know shit either," Kiernan admits.

"Then we wait for the shit to come to us."

There's a stretch of awkward silence in which Kiernan can physically feel the tension as a weight on his chest. Not that Alexander looks uncomfortable in the slightest. He's staring again. At this point, Kiernan would pay thousands to know the thoughts inside the man's head.

"Do you need to stop at your home?" Kiernan asks to break the silence. "For your things?"

"I keep clothing in my car for late nights at the precinct. I'll run down later and grab some food, too."

Kiernan nods, and he nods. He's nervous and has no idea why. He fought off Dallas last night, reluctantly fought off Gia when she tried to spend the night like she always does, and walked away from the carnage at the blood bank with the taste of vomit in his mouth, but otherwise fine.

He's close to panicking.

"Do you..." Kiernan can't look the man in the eye any longer and finds solace in the cabinetry above the kitchenette's deep sink. There's no human food, but there are two bottles of scotch. He wanted to be drunk this morning and overstocked. Three turned out to be enough.

Kiernan looks back at Alexander, and the man is watching him closely. "Do you drink?"

"Sometimes."

"If I'm going to sleep tonight, I'll need to be drunk." Kiernan looks at the brown drapery on the window. He's aware of Alexander's gaze, watching him intensely. "Join me if you want."

Alexander laughs softly. "Sure, partner, I'll join you."

"How do you know about the existence of vampires?"

Kiernan is impressed by his own willpower to keep his voice steady. His vision is blurring at the edges, and he's at the point of drunkenness that he doesn't care for maintaining propriety. He's found a comfortable position in the armchair by shifting slightly sideways and drawing his legs up. His palms cradle the glass of scotch in his lap.

"How about..." Alexander has taken to slouching against the couch's arm with a foot flat on the floor and his other leg sprawled, resting on the cushions. He has a glass of scotch that he's barely touched on the glossy wood of the coffee table. "I'll answer you, then you answer me."

"How do I know you won't lie?"

"You have my word."

"I should trust your word?"

Alexander gives him a curious smile. It's one the man has taken to wearing whenever Kiernan says something that piques a deep thought to flit behind his unreadable brown gaze. "Have I done something for you to not trust me, partner?"

Kiernan would ordinarily scoff and leave it at that, but he's been drinking, and his nerves are being constantly frazzled by this man in ways that make him wholly uncomfortable. "I don't know anything about you."

"All the more reason to not find me distrustful."

"It doesn't work that way."

"What?"

"The world."

Alexander's lips lift into that smile again. "I'll trust that you won't lie, and you'll just have to trust that I won't." He leans an elbow against the arm of the couch and rests his head on his palm, fingers slipping through his damp hair.

They'd taken turns in the small bathroom earlier, after Alexander had stepped out to get food and his change of clothing from his car.

Alexander finishes, "Anyway. It doesn't matter all that much. Who cares if we lie?"

Kiernan cares and loathes that he does. He needs to unravel why he's able to hold Alexander's gaze without feeling sick to his stomach and why he doesn't find lingering in this man's presence draining. Quite the opposite.

"Fine," Kiernan concedes, scoffing. "How do you know about vampires?" He takes a sip of scotch from his glass, waiting with his gaze never wavering from the man's face, watching for signs of a lie.

Alexander doesn't hesitate. "Through my sister, Jane." He smiles curiously at Kiernan's blank stare, which must give away that he wants more.

Kiernan's glad he's only on his third glass because, drunker, he'd be inclined to get his answers from this man by any means. He cannot explain why knowing menial things about Alexander Cross holds special interest to him, but he'll blame it on the scotch.

Alexander's smile falters. "Jane was into bad stuff. Petty crime mostly."

"You had to arrest her?"

"No." Alexander laughs. "I wasn't a cop back then. I was twenty-two. She was twenty-five." He takes in a deep breath, as if making his next words are physically taxing. "I'll skip right to the end. She started dating a vampire and went from being a young girl dabbling into an accessory for murder and major crimes. She was into hard drugs at some point. I couldn't recognize her. She was beautiful and near the end..." He looks away and says softer, "I'll just say she was in a bad state."

Kiernan's fingers tighten around his glass. Alexander is talking about his sister in the past tense. He can put together where this story is heading, and a part of him regrets asking. The louder part is waiting with bated breath to hear more.

"She succumbed?"

Alexander nods. "Yeah. But not how you're thinking. She didn't overdose. She was getting clean, wanting to turn her life around." His smile falls, and his gaze is dark enough to have Kiernan shift in his chair, and his feet fall flat to the carpet. "That boyfriend of hers, the vampire—I didn't know at that time what he was. He killed her. She knew too much. About their drug operations. Made it look like she was clubbing and had been stabbed in an alley a few blocks down."

"The Sinclairs?"

"Maybe. I didn't ask."

Kiernan can feel the violence Alexander is exuding, tingling over his skin. There's a burn of pain in his knuckles as if they're split, just like the ones Alexander flexes and pulls red, raw skin taut.

Kiernan's voice is rough to his ears as he asks, "What did you do?"

"I became a cop."

"To help others, like Jane?"

Alexander laughs, and the sound is the kind a man hears before his face is caved in by an angry fist. "I don't give a shit about my job. The thing about being a cop is that in this city, you're untouchable."

The lopsided smile Alexander gives him causes a cold shiver to ascend Kiernan's spine.

Kiernan says, a bit breathless, "Tell me."

"I spent eight years working my ass off and became sergeant a few months ago." Alexander holds his gaze, and something is sparking in the air between them. The moment is heavy.

Kiernan nearly says, don't, because he knows that whatever is revealed will connect them deeper than he's ready for.

But his mouth stays firmly shut, his heart beating wildly as Alexander says gravely, "A month ago. Drug bust gone wrong. No survivors."

That's not all. "And the vampire that killed Jane?"

Alexander holds Kiernan's gaze hostage. "It's a real shame. They never found him. Not that anyone's searching. I'd have liked to acquaint myself with the guy for days. He wouldn't die fast, like Jane." He grins. "I'd make it slow."

It's what he thought, but still, Kiernan lets out a shaky breath he doesn't know he's been holding. He looks away and drinks the rest of his scotch smoothly. 

Then he leans forward and places the glass on the table, feeling Alexander's intense gaze.

He should feel more than unsettled that he's in a room with a man who just admitted he's killed vampires and used his authority as an officer to do so. It's not that he has not killed. He has. Many times. He admits he's quite violent when the mood arises. He doesn't feel unnerved by Alexander's confession. He feels warmth in his heart and a flutter in his stomach of what might be happiness.

The fact Alexander trusted him enough to tell him something so damning makes him feel foolishly giddy.

Kiernan rasps, "Ask your question."

Alexander doesn't need to contemplate. "I knew something was up with Jane. There are tells. You can't miss them if you're looking." He pauses, and Kiernan feels his breath burn under the man's intense scrutiny. "Someone's hurting you?"

There aren't many things that make him lose his composure. He hunches forward and laughs harder than he has in years.

Once he regains his breath and looks up while wiping at his watering eyes, Alexander is watching him with a deep frown.

"Hurting me? What am I, a boy?" Kiernan sits back. He implores the gaze he's perfected when he wants someone to cower, chin tipped, eyes half-lidded, and a dark, crooked smile. "No, Alexander. No one is hurting me. And if someone tried, I would put them in their place." Just like he did with Dallas.

Alexander doesn't cower. He sits forward, feet flat on the floor, elbows resting on his knees. He narrows his gaze, as if staring intensely into Kiernan's gaze will reveal everything he's hiding. It might. The room is becoming increasingly small. The walls are closing in ever so slowly, and the air is muggy, making breathing difficult, and sweat is collecting on the nape of Kiernan's neck.

"No," Alexander decides softly. He gentles his gaze. "There are signs."

Kiernan scoffs. "Are there?" His eyes must be pools of black. "Tell them to me, partner."

Alexander sits back, frowning. "Drinking."

"Mundane. Everyone drinks."

"Not to get drunk and forget."

Kiernan drawls, "That's all? How interesting. Thank you for this riveting lesson."

Alexander's frown deepens. "Startling when someone comes close."

There's no reply that wouldn't make it sound like he's making an excuse. He does startle, but it's his desire to remain alive that makes him overly careful of others. "Is our game over? Shame. I have more questions."

"I'll guess that you don't sleep well."

He doesn't.

"Flashbacks."

He can't deny it. He often slips when his memories are triggered. It's irritating, however, that Alexander knows, and before he can stop himself, the scotch takes over, and Kiernan snaps angrily, "Do you usually poke at someone that could kill you without any effort, Alexander?"

Alexander cocks an eyebrow with a lazy grin. "And aggression."

Kiernan glares and seriously contemplates the repercussions of killing Alexander Cross. He won't because he needs the man if he has any hope of stopping this killer, but that doesn't mean he doesn't fantasize about it vividly.

"You're wrong," Kiernan says coolly.

"Am I?"

"I've always been like this."

"Like what?"

"Not..." Kiernan nearly says, normal. His mother used to hate the word. Normal is subjective, she would claim. "I simply would rather be alone than around others. That's all."

Alexander nods and looks contemplative, as if he's seriously interested in the useless information. 

Kiernan feels that warmth again and looks at the window that could free him from this insanity wistfully. 

Then, Alexander pulls Kiernan's wayward attention back as the man says, "You have a hard time keeping eye contact, and you space out a lot."

"Do I?"

"Yeah."

"I'm merely lost in thought," Kiernan lies.

He can't explain that he has to look away or retreat into himself. If he didn't, he'd never be able to handle socialization for long periods. The more volatile or overwhelming the person, he's drained that much faster. It's always been like this.

"About?"

"Killing you."

"There's that aggression again." Alexander smiles at the threat and slouches deeper into the couch cushions. "I don't know you, and you don't know me, so I'm not going to begin interrogating you like I do. I just thought you seemed off. I didn't ask Jane when I should have. I've made it a habit to not make the same mistake."

Kiernan stares at his empty glass. "He's dead."

Alexander frowns. "Who?"

"The..." Kiernan's throat closes, and he blinks at Alexander, trying to convey these words he cannot say but need to be spoken. 

He wants to rip out his tongue and have himself choke on it for letting the scotch control his mouth. He's never, ever talked about this to anyone. He's just broken decades of careful repression that he was more than happy to uphold.

"Dead, but not dead." Alexander taps the side of his head with a fingertip. "He's still living up here. Am I right?"

Kiernan nods hastily. He exhales shakily, leans forward, snatches the bottle of scotch, and begins refilling his glass. 

"We're going to..." Kiernan's hand shakes as he takes a generous gulp that burns his throat. "It's not late. Sleep, then we'll wake up in the late evening. We'll go to a vampire club nearby and ask around to see if anyone knows anything. Humans aren't generally trusted by vampires. So, there's a chance someone will be more willing to part with information if I am the one asking."

Alexander smiles gently, and it's obvious he's still thinking about their heavy conversation before the deviation. He doesn't bring it up, which Kiernan is beyond grateful for. "Good plan. I didn't want to wait around, anyway."

"Agreed," Kiernan rasps.

Kiernan slams the empty glass down. 

He rises and snatches the open bottle in passing. He hears Alexander speaking but doesn't register any of the words. Numbness settles to make him feel airy, as if he's floating above himself and watching another person in his body leave the hotel room.

He's going to go down to his car and drink himself into a stupor.