Archive of Our Own

Viktor strolled down the slowly awakening street, the sun’s gentle rays just starting to glisten off the storefront windows and the car mirrors as he got his first glimpse of the small Michigan town. Located not far outside of Detroit, with its tree lined streets and classic turn of the century storefronts, it was the type of town that people wrote sitcoms about (he still wished Stars Hollow was a real place).

Autumn was rolling in, bringing with it crisp morning air and an ever latening sunrise to paint the trees in shades of reds and golds. A large freshwater lake created a waterfront that reminded him a bit of St. Petersburg; he liked the way the gulls cried as they soared over the waves in search of their breakfast.

There was a University nearby to keep things lively, and brought with it a swath of well-educated professors with whom Viktor could spend hours in enjoyable conversations. However, he was comfortable distance from campus to avoid some of the antics of the student body – though they could be enjoyable to watch from time to time. There was a steady flow of tourism, but the town itself wasn’t any great tourist destination unless you had a penchant for antiquing.

Yes, all-in-all this seemed like the perfect place to put down roots for a few years, provided, of course, he could locate a decent coffee shop where he could fuel his lifestyle in peace. He preferred they were dog friendly; more times than not he could talk them into accepting Makkachin if he had to, but it was nice if they were already accepting of furry friends. Bonus points if the barista was cute; he wasn’t dead, just not exactly living.

A small squeak from behind his ear brought him to his senses.

“Ah right, sorry Makka!” he said as he snapped his fingers, transforming his bat familiar into her frankly adorable poodle form. She gave a pleased woof in response. At night it was easy for Makka to curl up at the base of his neck, hidden within his shoulder-length hair; but during the day it was best that she took on a more palatable form for modern society. She was cute to him either way, but most people seemed to think bats were vermin. Ignorant morals.

He supposed it wasn’t surprising considering most humans thought he should be hiding in a coffin somewhere, rather than walking down main street in search of his morning coffee. Their ideas of Vampires were really quite laughable. Mirrors, sunlight, stakes to the heart; none of these would phase him one bit. Sure, he was a bit faster than the average human and didn’t age, but he wasn’t some freak.

Ok, so he drank blood, but he didn’t kill! And he could still enjoy normal food without having to hack it up later like some cat with a hairball. He was normal. N-o-r-m-a-l.

And undead. Definitely undead.

Oh well.

He passed by a Starbucks and crinkled his nose. He greatly hoped this town had better offerings than paper cups from a worldwide chain. It would do in a pinch, but he longed for that secret, small cafe blend, where individual attention was spared to every roast.

And again, if the barista was cute that would be a nice bonus.

He needed to get laid.

Makka woofed at him in a mocking tone reminding him to keep his eye on the prize. Hot, fresh, delicious coffee; cute baristas be damned.

People were starting to take to the streets now. Some, like himself, on the look-out for their morning fix, while others were opening their shops or making their way to work. Several people greeted him, most likely assuming he was a tourist. He’d only just rented the small house just a few blocks from the main drag of town, so the residents hadn’t gotten the chance to know him yet. He spotted what looked to be a very promising bookstore across the street and made a mental note to inspect it later, when his above average nose caught a whiff of what he craved.

Coffee. Delicious, slow roasted grounds, being brewed at just the right temperature only a block away. He could even smell what must have been some farm fresh milk, locally sourced, based on the age.

Ok yes, he was a bit strange, but an outstanding sense of smell was hardly the thing of legend (though garlic was a bit overpowering).

He spotted the storefront and had to forcefully restrain himself to keep from skipping down the sidewalk, lest Makka have enough of his antics and leave without him to go charm the barista into a dog biscuit. Viktor was absolutely certain this coffee shop would welcome his familiar with open arms because anyone who made coffee that good had to be a wonderful, kind person; and kind people liked adorable dogs — it was just a fact.

He pulled open the door and Makka walked into the seemingly deserted coffee shop. A bell rang overhead, and he heard a voice from the counter call a greeting as a single hand waved out from under the counter. Makka, who had just as little chill as Viktor did, poked around the edge of the counter and peeked down at the barista, who gave a startled yelp upon seeing the dog standing inches from his face, though the scream instantly became a giggle as Makka greeted her new best friend.

Traitor.

A slightly messy head of shiny black hair popped out from under the counter, smiling down happily at Makka.

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? And so pretty! I bet you’d like a treat.”

Makka woofed in agreement, returning to Viktor’s side to politely wait for her prize. She was a rather well-behaved bat. Or dog. Whatever.

Viktor watched as the man slowly turned towards him, biscuit in hand, and the moment the young man’s face came into view Viktor thanked all the heavens (and hells) that he was alive for this moment. Well, not technically alive, but close enough.

The important fact was he was here, and the barista was far more than cute. Under his mop of hair were large brown eyes, adorably framed by thick blue glasses, a button nose and entirely kissable lips. His was decently fit, but he had thick thighs, and a bit of pudge around his middle that Viktor wanted to squeeze affectionately. And his ass. Viktor might be nearly 200 years old but he was aware enough of the times to know what prayer hands emojis were, and if ever there was something worthy of such an emoji, it was this man’s ass.

Praise be.

RIP Viktor Nikiforov.

Thoughts and prayers.

“Oh sorry!” The man said with a bit of a start (and an adorable blush) as he handed Makka what looked to be a handmade dog biscuit. “My dog Vicchan sometimes makes a mess of things and pulls the wires on the register. He managed to knock out the WiFi this morning. It would have been a problem if I couldn’t accept credit cards.”

“Oh, no problem! I don’t mind waiting while someone showers my Makkachin with affection. I always carry a bit of cash too, so I would have been all set.

“You carry cash? A bit old fashioned for someone your age.” The barista said with a tilt of his head.

“You underestimate my caffeine addiction,” Viktor said with a wink.

The barista chuckled. “Fair enough. How about I get you your fix then?”

“Please!” Viktor agreed as he rattled off his order - a house blend with a milk and one sugar. He’d try the other options later, but for today he’d stick with the classics.

“Where are you visiting from...I never got you name, did I?”

“It’s Viktor, and I actually just moved here.”

“Oh! Are you a grad student or something at the university?”

Viktor shook his head. “Actually, I’m an author. Just needed a change of scenery. A quiet place to write and this place seems to have that in spades. Though I didn’t catch your name?”

The man blushed crimson. “Sorry, that was rude of me. My mother would be horrified if she knew.”

Viktor winked. “My lips are sealed. I just ask for one thing in exchange?”

“What’s that?”

“Your name.”

They were both silent for a long breath before both of them burst into laughter.

“Oh, I really am terrible,” the barista giggled cutely. “I’m Yuuri.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri,” Viktor said in a soft whisper, letting his tongue curl around that name, and enjoying the way Yuuri’s heartbeat sped up ever so slightly (ok, he could see now why people would think he was weird).

“You said you’re an author; have you written anything I would know?”

Viktor grimaced slightly. “Ah well, possibly.”

Yuuri tipped his head. “Why the face?”

“I publish under a pseudonym. Have you ever read anything by Christophe Giacometti?”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide and he hissed in a whisper (despite the shop being empty), “The erotica author?”

Viktor felt himself blush, which was a tricky thing to do since he didn’t exactly have much blood in his veins. “Would you believe me if I said I’ve been feeling a bit lonely?

Yuuri snorted. “So your hand isn’t cutting it anymore?”

“Yuuri!” Viktor whined, though he was laughing at himself now. “I usually write deeper works, but I needed a break, and I just so happened to get lucky. I’m hoping to write something more me now, however.”

“Under your own name this time?” Yuuri asked. He had finished Viktor’s drink by now and motioned to one of the tables where they sat down. Viktor took a sip of his coffee and nearly died all over again it was so good.

“Maybe. I’m a fairly private person.”

Yuuri’s lip twitched. “I somehow picture you as the type to post to Instagram twenty times a day.”

Viktor probably would be if he wasn’t worried about exposing himself...and about any of his ex-lovers finding him.

“You will find I am frightfully dull in that regard. Though I do have an account for Makkachin!”

And soon they were off, comparing pictures of their dogs (Yuuri’s was upstairs and he promised to introduce Viktor someday when the dog wasn’t in time-out for nearly upending an entire display of scones in addition to the Wi-fi) and swapping stories of their pets’ antics. Viktor was scrolling through his album of Makka when a photo of her in her bat form flashed across the screen.

Shit.

“Aw, what a cute bat! Is this a friend of yours?” Yuuri teased a bit.

“Ah,” Viktor thought quickly, trying to ignore the way his long dead heart was stirring. “That little girl lived above our last place. She’d usually hang-out by the window and tease Makka. They were good friends.”

Makka had the decency to play along and not do something unfortunate, like retake her natural form.

“Poor Makka, having to leave behind such a cute friend,” Yuuri cooed and Viktor’s heart melted. Cute, good coffee, and liked bats (and dogs)? Yuuri was perfect.

“Are you a college student?” Viktor asked

Yuuri shook his head. “I finished a couple of years ago. I own this place now.”

“Wow! A small business owner so soon? That’s impressive.”

Yuuri shrugged. “My parents had a college fund set-up for me, only I managed a full ride, so I didn’t need the money. They gave it to me after graduation and I bought this place with it. I live in the apartment upstairs. Not having to pay rent has really helped, and now this place is thriving, not that you’d know it by how quiet it is around here right now.” Yuuri said with a small blush.

“I’m guessing your crowd tends to be more leisurely than the Starbucks down the road?”

Yuuri nodded. “Commuters go there, but anyone with a few extra minutes in their morning stops by here. It’s a good balance and both of our shops do well because of it.”

Viktor smiled, bringing his cup to his lips. “Well I for one will be getting my fix here. I much prefer a more personal touch to my coffee that those chains can never quite replicate.”

Yuuri smiled brightly at him, his whole face lighting up with pride. “Well, if you’re going to be a regular, then let me show you the best part of this place.”

Yuuri stood and Viktor followed him, his curiosity prickling as Yuuri pushed on a wooden door that Viktor thought led to a back room of sorts. Which it did, though it certainly wasn’t what he expected.

Inside was a large room positively stuffed with books. Every surface of the walls was lined with shelves, and each shelf was practically overflowing with books. In the slightly cramped spaces between the shelves sat plump, squishy arm chairs and a few small tables with lamps.

“Wow,” Viktor whispered in a rather reverent tone. He had quite the collection himself, but this was even better. “How did you manage to get so many books?”

Yuuri grinned happily, a look of pride on his face. “Some I inherited, especially all those in Japanese over there,” he pointed at a corner that had quite a few older volumes. “Sometimes my regulars leave behind their books when they’re done with them, and still others I picked up at library or yard sales along the way.

“I think you’ll like what I have over here,” he said with an excited tilt to his voice as he led Viktor towards one of the nooks. Viktor didn’t even need to get that close to understand why. All of the books were covered in Cyrillic text.

“Russian novels?” Viktor asked with a bit of wonder in his voice. Some of these were old, from the time of Viktor’s childhood. He hadn’t seen them in years. He couldn’t help but reach out and reverently touch them. “Do you speak Russian then?”

Yuuri shook his head. “That’s why I asked if you were from the University. For some reason it has a really strong Russian department. I’ve liked Russian novels for a long time, but few are readily available in translations I can read. The University has a good library of translated works though.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Viktor was well-read, to say the least, so he was sure he could engage in a lively conversation about any Russian novel. He wouldn’t deny he hoped it could lead to some sort of date with the adorable barista.

“Hmm, well, I can’t really say what my favorite is.” Viktor was about to ask why when Yuuri cut him off. “You see, my first introduction was through the works of Mila Babicheva, and when I looked them up online it said she was inspired by Georgi Popovich’s works, and that her own works seem to be the inspiration for Yuri Plisetsky. There’s actually a really interesting chain of Russian authors who all seem to be connected in some way, even though there is virtually no information on their lives.

“Before Georgi there was Lilia Baranovskaya, and before her there was Yakov Feltsman – they say the two were married at one point, but went their separate ways. Anyways, I read all of their works with the help of the school’s library until I got to Feltsman. Most, if not all of his works weren’t translated.

“I can get a little obsessive when I’m interested in something, so I asked the Russian professor and it turned out he was working on translating Feltsman’s final book. When he finished it, I stayed up all night reading it. By the next morning I was outside his office, coffee in hand, asking him to translate the others.”

Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at the image and Yuuri nodded, seeming to understand his feelings.

He took some pity on me. He has a senior level class, and their semester project is to translate a book. He’s been having his classes work on Feltsman’s books. They finished the last one over the summer.”

Yuuri paused and pulled out a book Viktor hadn’t seen in a long time.

“According to everything I’ve read, Feltsman is the last link in the chain. But when the class translated his first book they used my copy. I got mine from an antique book seller a few years ago; it’s a first edition. It turns out there was one minor change.”

“What’s that?” Viktor said softly, curiosity ripping at his very core.

“A dedication page. Feltsman apparently dedicated his first book, and only his first book, to his nephew, another author named Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor thought he might just drop dead…or just fall over since he was already dead.

He’d had no idea.

“Are you serious?”

Yuuri nodded and held out the book. There, clear as day in front of him was Yakov’s book. The only one Yakov had ever written. The one he’d written for Viktor…

At the age of twenty-seven Viktor had achieved what most authors of that time only dreamed about: a steady income.

“Yakov!” He hollered as he entered the home of the man whom he called uncle, but was really more of an adoptive father. Little Yuri Plisetsky was sitting at the table and practically hissed at him as he strolled past. Viktor ignored the boy and went to Yakov’s office. The older man was sitting quietly at his desk, writing in his journal. Yakov did this every day, telling the stories of the people he met. Viktor always thought Yakov should write a book himself considering it was his not-father who had inspired him to take up the profession.

“What is it Vitya?” Yakov asked, setting aside his pen.

“I was wondering if you still have contacts at the docks. I was thinking my next story would take place there, perhaps a mystery or a thriller?”

“Didn’t you do romance last time?”

Viktor flopped down on the lounger in the corner. “Yes, but I feel so uninspired! I want to write about love, but I’ve never been in love. I was thinking maybe writing something different would break me out of this slump.”

Yakov hummed. “Well, I personally would recommend going out and finding a girl,” Viktor made a face, “or a man to spend the night with, but yes, I do still have some contacts down there. I take it you want to visit at night?”

Viktor nodded, “Please. Even if I don’t end up using it, it’ll be a new experience. I know you’ve sheltered me from that sort of life, but I think I’m old enough now that I’d at least like to learn about it.”

Yakov was a rather rich merchant who ran a whole slew of businesses throughout St. Petersburg. His wife, Lilia, had been a ballerina earlier in life. When she had retired she had decided to open her own dance studio. One day she had seen Viktor - a poor, starving orphan at the time - looking through the window in awe of the dancing. She brought him in, fed him, clothed him, gave him a place to sleep, and taught him to dance.

Yakov could have kicked him out, but instead the man had educated him and given him access to all the books he could read. When Viktor wrote his first book at 16, Yakov had helped him publish and sell it in his stores. Viktor still loved dance to this day (he even went to the ballet with Lilia whenever Yakov was too busy to accompany her), but the written word had captured his heart from the first moment he’d been able to read the words. He still remembered the look of pride on his adoptive father’s face when he first managed to read one of Yakov’s favorite novels in its entirety.

It had become a thing for Yakov and Lilia then, taking in orphans they found looking on in curiosity at Lilia’s dancing or Yakov’s store shelves full of books or whatever items he had in stock at one shop or another.

Yuri Plisetsky was the newest stray to come in their doors – he was a gifted dancer; one Lilia thought would go far someday. Mila and Georgi were away at school at present, Georgi studying business to help Yakov, and Mila…well he wasn’t sure what Mila was doing, but she would find her way eventually. Yakov didn’t seem worried about her.

“I’ll send word to a few of my people to expect you to be hanging around for a few days. But you’re just observing. Don’t get in their way,” Yakov instructed sternly. “It’s dangerous down there; if you get too close you could easily get hurt. And stay with my people, there’s plenty of unsavory types and you don’t want to be caught alone in the dark.”

“Right, right,” Viktor said a bit absentmindedly as he wandered off, Yakov yelling at him as he went. Something about listening to him and not being an idiot. The usual.

That night he found himself sat on top of a small stack of crates, quietly observing the dock workers. He had thought observing would be fascinating, but in reality, it was quite boring. He needed to see and experience more.

The next night he came in a simple pair of work clothes much like those the other men wore, though his were considerably cleaner. Yakov’s men didn’t like Viktor helping, but they allowed it. It was free help, even if Viktor was a bit slow. They just stuck him to simple tasks to keep him happy and out of the way.

After a month Viktor was practically part of the crew and he finally felt like he was starting to understand the lives of the dock workers. He could already imagine his main character, a man working at the docks, lonely and longing for love. He just wasn’t sure where he would go next. Would he fall in love and work to earn his love’s affection? Would he uncover a plot to harm her? Or perhaps he’d stumble upon a smuggling ring.

He was on his way home, ruminating on these thoughts when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He looked up, startled, as a man dashed past him. His hair was black as night, but it was the way he moved which drew Viktor in, and before he knew it he was following the man, curious to where he was running; hopelessly drawn to follow the ethereal being.

They ducked in and out of the rows of shipping crates, and alleys crafted out of piles of shipments stacked high in preparation for the morning’s ships. It was all Viktor could do to keep up and still stay out of sight.

Suddenly the man ducked into a dark corner, finally stopping. Viktor threw himself behind a stack of wood, peering between the planks. The man was looking around, ensuring he was alone. Viktor was tempted to call out to him, to ask his name, but he just couldn’t do it. The man’s face was hidden in the shadows, but Viktor didn’t need to see it in full to know the man was beautiful. His eyes were all Viktor could see, and their brown depths held wonders Viktor had only ever imagined, even in the darkness of night.

The man sighed deeply, seemingly convinced he was alone, relaxing for the first time and stretching his body with a gracefulness that even Lilia would admire. He was almost dancing in place; it was an odd action, yet undeniably beautiful. Viktor’s mouth had fallen open as he watched and he didn’t even care.

But then suddenly something grew. It was darkness, forming out of the man’s back, slowly engulfing as he moved. No, not engulfing, surrounding. And it wasn’t darkness but…feathers? Giant wings seemed to be sprouting from the man’s back, while feathers crept along his skin, as black as his hair. His shirt dissolved as feathers bloomed up his chest, never completely covering his skin. They crawled up his neck and along the sides of his face until they encircled his eyes like a mask. And when they touched in the middle something settled, and the man’s eyes glowed gold.

He stretched his wings, his golden eyes scanning around him once more, before leaping into the air, his dark form quickly dissolving into the dark night’s sky.

Viktor wasn’t sure how he got home that night; he honestly remembered none of the journey. Yakov found him in the morning, frantically writing page after page, his story finally coming forth of the dock worker who spotted and searched at night for the man (or bird?) who had captured his heart.

The way the man had drawn him in, even in his human form. He had a sensuality about him that no man could deny, least of all Viktor. He was beauty, he was grace.

He was Eros.

Viktor barely slept for weeks. By day he wrote with an air of a starving man; and at night he’d help at the docks once more, questioning the other men about the things they had seen there, things they couldn’t explain. It took a while, but eventually several of the other admitted to seeing strange things. Men who became wolves in the moonlight, and women with long, pointed fangs. Viktor had to search a long time before he found anyone who had seen his Eros.

“The Raven!” The man shivered in terror. “I’ve seen him. It was late and my friend and I were working a shipment of…well, you know, the kind that gets lost and never delivered if you know what I mean.”

Viktor did know, and he knew Yakov wouldn’t be happy if he ever found out about the occasional missing crate that went towards lining the dock worker’s pockets.

“All of a sudden he sees this guy. We think we’ve been caught, and I wanted to run, but he says he’s going to go after the fellow. Only it wasn’t like, following someone you wanted not to talk, it was like he was sucked in.”

Eros.

“I don’t think either of them knew I was there, I was a ways back, but I see my friend turn down this dead end, and there’s nothing there. He looked all curious for a second and then…”

The man paused looking terrified. “The Raven dove on him. He’d been up on some boxes and he just swooped down and snaps his neck like it was nothing.”

Viktor stared wide eyes. “What happened then?”

“Well I ran for it, of course! I wasn’t going to stick around and get caught. I didn’t want to end up dead!”

The Raven. Eros. Who was this man, or creature?

Viktor found himself all the more driven, and soon he was searching those dark corners of the docks Yakov never wanted him to go to. The places where criminals were often found.

It had been a mistake to go so deep, all alone, but he had been obsessed. It was like his very blood called for the man. He just couldn’t stop.

And it had led to his death.

He’d been stabbed, robbed of his pocketbook which hadn’t had much more than his notes in it; he didn’t really carry any money with him given that Yakov’s name was enough for him to get by. He lay there in a dark alley staring up at the night sky, heart full of regret. What would Yakov think? Or Lilia? Or the other orphans? Would Yakov blame the men at the docks? Viktor hoped not, it wasn’t their fault in the end.

Eros.

He wished he had found him, just once more. Seen those feathers one more time.

“You seek the Tengu?” A soft, feminine voice rang out.

Viktor hadn’t realized he’d been speaking out loud. “The Tengu? What’s that? Is that the man who becomes a bird with black feathers and golden eyes?”

She smiled, two pointed fangs peeking out from her lips. “So you know nothing?”

Viktor winced, he didn’t have long left, but he needed answers. “I’ve asked around and heard some rumors, but I haven’t found out much. Please, if you can, tell me what you know. I know I’m going to die, but I have to know what he is, I have to find him!”

She tipped her head curiously. “I’ve heard of this. The Tengu can draw people in, but when he chooses to do it, no one escape him. Yet you are alive, for the moment, and still looking for him.”

“Why does he kill?” Viktor asked, unable to help himself.

“They say he’s looking for his soulmate. He draws people in, and when he discovers they aren’t who he’s looking for, he kills them. I don’t know if he feeds on them after that; he’s dangerous even to me, so I stay away.”

“But I’m drawn to him. Does that mean…?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you don’t have much time left unless you let me help you.”

Viktor stared. “You can help me? But aren’t you. –“

“A Vampire, yes. My help comes at a price of course. You’ll become like me. Your life will be over. But it will give you time to find your Tengu.”

“Why would you help me?” Viktor couldn’t help but be curious. He didn’t imagine Vampires to be the helpful sort.

She looked at him for a long moment before sighing. “Call it my weakness. Look, do you want my help or not?”

Viktor nodded; he really had no choice. He was dead either way, at least this way he had some hope. He worried if he truly died now his soul would spend eternity looking for the Tengu. “Please, help me.”

She leaned down and tipped his neck. He’d heard rumors of vampires, and couldn’t help but wonder why she was bothering with his neck when he had a gaping wound pouring blood onto the street. Surely, she could just drink from there.

She struck, her teeth biting into his neck, and the world went white.

He woke several days later, at least it felt like several days later.

“Where am I?” he whispered. His throat was hoarse and seemingly on fire.

“You’re alive,” a tired voice spoke. “Which is more than what I can say for me.”

He looked up and saw the woman. She looked terrible. Gone were her beautiful features and flawless complexion. She looked haggard and gaunt now.

“What happened to you?” Viktor said in shock.

She laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “It seems whatever bond you have to that Tengu is more than just a feeling. It’s in your blood. Tengus are deadly to my kind, and you’re filled with whatever magic it is that swims in his veins.”

Viktor was horrified. “You mean you’ll die? Because you saved me?”

She nodded. “No good deed goes unpunished, right?”

She had lived another three days, slowly wasting away in agony as she told Viktor everything she knew about the underworld and the creatures that lived there. Finally, the hunger and need to feed grew too strong and Viktor was forced to leave her side to hunt.

It had been easier to do than he’d thought, which was a frightening thought.

By the time he returned to her she was gone, already dissolved into a pile of ash to be blown away by the wind.

Alone, Viktor set out, searching once more for his Tengu. He was a creature of the night now, so more avenues were open to him. Plus, with his magical connection to the mythical bird man running through his blood, he seemed to have a layer of protection around him that kept him safe from harm. More than one of the creatures he spoke to tried to take a bite out of him (they were rather rude), but each who did soon found themselves hissing back in pain, running from him.

Soon everyone knew to avoid him – the vampire with cursed blood.

After several months the loneliness grew too great. As far as he could tell the Tengu was gone, having left Russia already. Viktor didn’t know where to go, so he went the only place he could.

Home.

This was of course a terrible choice, he was dead after all, and his family was living. He fed on the living, which made for rather poor company. But he didn’t find his family there, they were gone. All but Yakov.

“Vitya?” The man stared at him, eyes wide with shock, and Viktor found himself being pulled inside quickly. “What happened to you?”

And Viktor told him the whole story. He was sure Yakov wouldn’t believe him, but to his surprise, Yakov seemed eager to accept Viktor’s words.

“I read your manuscript, the one you were writing before you disappeared. It makes much more sense now.”

Viktor nodded. “I’m sorry Yakov. I should have listened to you.”

Yakov shook his head and hugged him. Viktor could smell the blood, but he held back, his will to protect his family stronger than his hunger. “It sounds like you didn’t have much choice.”

“Yakov, where are the others? Where’s Lilia and Yuri?”

Yakov’s face sank at that and he looked down. “She left, and took Yuri with her. Officially it’s to take the boy to join the Moscow ballet, but really…”

“She left you.”

Yakov nodded. “She blames me for what happened to you. There was nothing but a bloodstain on the pavement, and a man found with your pocketbook and a bloody knife. We assumed the worst.” Yakov paused and looked at him. “Maybe our imaginations weren’t strong enough.”

Viktor laughed bitterly, even his imagination hadn’t been enough to foresee this eventuality.

He had stayed with Yakov for the rest of the man’s life. He became a bit of a vigilante for a time, prowling the streets and feeding on the lowest forms of humanity that didn’t deserve to walk the earth. He stayed hidden from the rest of his family, watching from the shadows as Georgi took over the business from Yakov, with Mila at his side helping him. Watching as little Yuri grew into a masterful ballet dancer, traveling the world and awing audiences for years.

Viktor continued with his book, eventually completing his love story to Eros, longing to publish it in the hopes that the Tengu might someday read it and seek him out. He became so despondent and intolerable that Yakov took pity on him, publishing it posthumously on his behalf and earning rave reviews for such an inventive, if not morally questionable, story. Articles were written about a genius taken too soon.

Yakov had laughed mercilessly at that, saying idiots deserved what they got.

Viktor didn’t argue.

Yakov eventually wrote his own story, and Viktor encouraged him, adoring the way his guardian saw the world. It was harsh and cynical, yet with a touch of wonder that was no doubt formed from a lifetime spent caring for needy children off the streets…and one vampire. Yeah, the whole vampire son thing had probably skewed his worldview just a bit.

Eventually Yakov passed. Viktor had remained at his side until the very end, mourning the loss of his father keenly, more so than even his own death. It was just the first of such painful losses. While he was separated from them, Viktor never stopped watching over his adoptive family, observing them from the shadows until they each grew old and eventually faded away.

Yakov’s home was left to him (under an assumed name), though all his fortune had gone to the family. Viktor didn’t really need money, but his need to write never faded. He began writing under Yakov’s name, selling the books as his estate’s representative, claiming they were his final works discovered after his death. No one questioned it too hard, not even Lilia when she was still alive.

He had no further contact with them all until one day, nearly sixty years later, when little Yuri, now an old, dying man, lay in his bed waiting for death to find him. Viktor crept into the hospital late at night under the cover of darkness, intent to simply observe his younger brother one last time, before mourning the true passing of his once held life. Only things didn’t go as planned.

“Is that you, geezer?”

Of course, even when Yuri was decidedly older looking than him he’d call Viktor that.

“Yes, it’s me.”

His brother nodded. “I always knew you didn’t die. Yakov was completely distraught after you died, and then suddenly it was like you were there again. He was living and writing again, just as cranky as he’d always been…though he did hug us all more.

“That and I could have sworn I saw you at some of my performances.”

“I went to every single production you were ever in,” Viktor admitted softly. “You were a truly stunning dancer.”

“Damn right I was.” He paused, looking away. “You should have come to me sooner. I don’t care what happened to you, though I guess it’s obvious that last story Yakov published for you wasn’t so much a fairytale, was it?”

“No…it was not.”

Yuri nodded. “You’re an idiot, but I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” Viktor whispered.

Yuri lived another week after that and Viktor never left his side. Yuri told the nurses Viktor was his nephew and they accepted that explanation readily enough. Yuri didn’t have any other family, though a stoic man visited at one point and Viktor had a feeling there was a lifetime of unspoken feelings brewing under the surface between the two.

Viktor left Russia the day after Yuri died. There was no more reason for him to be there, and the truth was it was just far too painful to return to the home where so many memories lay, knowing that all those he’d loved in life were gone.

It was time to pick up his quest once more.

He traveled the world, learning all he could about Tengus, but finding little in the way of evidence of Eros for many years. He had some luck in Asia when he ran across a Lamia who happened to recognize his description. He wouldn’t give Viktor many hints, but he did confirm much of what Viktor knew:

There was a Tengu nest in Hatsestu, Japan, though it was impossible to find unless they wanted you to. Tengus were beautiful, but deadly to all but each other and their soulmates. Each of them spent their whole lives searching until they found their fated one. There were six confirmed Tengu’s living in that nest, all mated. And, most importantly, there was a seventh Tengu still roaming the world, searching for his one, determined to bring him back someday.

This is what people (of the mythical variety) knew about the Tengus of Japan, and of Eros. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“You know,” The Lamia, named Phichit said to him with a sly smile. “That Tengu did say he was heading west towards America.”

Viktor’s mouth fell open, shocked to be receiving his first real piece of information about his Tengu.

“You’ve spoken to him?”

The Lamia winked. “Just because everyone’s afraid of him doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He does have some friends you know.” He looked Viktor up and down for a moment before continuing. “I wouldn’t normally say anything, but I can smell his magic in you. I don’t know how you managed that without him knowing, but I’m not going to stand in your way.”

Viktor still exchanged letters from the Lamia who confirmed Eros was still somewhere in America, but refused to say more than that (“Figure it out yourself, vampire.”), and so here Viktor stayed, moving from town to town, letting his heart and gut dictate to him where to go. He was beginning to grow weary of his search, and more than a little hopeless and lost.

His phone pinged deep in the night hours with a message from the Lamia in question once more and Viktor sighed at the reminder of his true purpose here.

               I know I said I wasn’t going to help you but you’re just getting pathetic now.

Phichit wasn’t wrong and Viktor typed back a string of sad face emojis while allowing his guilt to sink in. It was late in the evening and while he should be seeking out a meal, instead he was writing like a madman, unable to resist the call of the written word, his thoughts full of Yuuri.

He felt like he was being unfaithful to Eros, or perhaps unfair to Yuuri. He would have to leave the human one day, and his heart and soul was bound to the Tengu, so there was no future there.

And yet he longed for it.

His phone pinged again, and he nearly fell out of his chair as he read the message.

               He’s in Michigan, near Detroit.

Eros was close! But where? He texted furiously but Phichit refused to give him anything more, telling him to follow his nose. Or his dick. Whatever worked.

Viktor wasn’t sure because his nose had led him to Yuuri that morning and his dick was definitely pointing decidedly towards the barista, even now, knowing that Eros was close by. It certainly was a predicament. Maybe he just needed to get his fill of the barista and move on to continue his search.

There was a part of him that knew finding Eros might mean the end of his existence; everything he knew about the Tengu meant that once his allure grabbed hold of you, it wouldn’t let go till he’d claimed you or killed you. A part of him paled (even more the usual that is) at the thought of just disappearing on Yuuri one day, never able to tell the sweet man what had happened to him.

He wasn’t sure anyone deserved that.

Stupid. He thought. He’d met the man once and he was mooning over him, lamenting leaving him for a Tengu that he may or may not find. But still, there was something about Yuuri.

He looked over to where Makka was hanging, upside down, from a small groove in the ceiling. She seemed to sense his distress and fluttered down to him, landing on his shoulder and nuzzling against his cheek.

“I’d ask you to go to him if anything happened, but if I’m no longer here…” He didn’t want to think about it. His own life ending for the chance at finally settling this centuries old ache was no great sacrifice, but to lose Makka too…

Maybe he could ask the Tengu to help him preserve Makka’s existence as a last request. The Tengu might be a proficient killer, but Viktor was sure he’d picked up a few tricks along the way – enough at least to keep him alive long enough to ask.

He stared down at his book. He had pulled it out of the box where it had been carefully stored away after he’d arrived home that afternoon. Yuuri had told him that it was nearly impossible to find. How surprised might Yuuri be if Viktor showed it to him?

He sighed. Did he want Yuuri to see it? His love, his obsession with a creature of the night? Of course, Yuuri couldn’t read it so maybe he’d be saved; surely Yuuri would understand his hesitance to loan out such a rare, and valuable book.

He bit his lip. He didn’t know who he was kidding, all it would take is one look from Yuuri and he’d happily translate it for him. One sweet pout and he’d tell Yuuri his firsthand account of the events of so long ago. For the chance at one kiss to a man he’d known for only a few hours, he’d gladly consider giving up his decades long quest, and that was a frightening thought.

He needed clarity.

“Hang on, Makka,” he said softly, waiting for the bat to crawl under his hair and secure herself to his collar, before jumping swiftly from his window and making for the rooftops.

He could see the college in the distance, and what was unmistakably some sort of party going on. He moved swiftly, leaping from treetop to window ledge to chimney, feet never touching the ground until he arrived just a block away, appearing out of the shadows to walk among the humans.

He didn’t want to try seducing some coed to get them to wander into a dark corner with him tonight, but he did need to eat. He wouldn’t kill them, obviously, just take a bite, clean the wound and leave them with a bit of a hangover style blackout. Nothing serious.

He still didn’t want to do it. The only person he wanted to chat with was Yuuri. He really wanted to tell him the story of his last penname, about the Swiss man he’d known 70 years ago who’d always made him laugh, and had been one of the better friends he’d ever known. He knew he could turn a human, and he’d seriously considered turning Chris, but his friend had fallen in love, and Viktor would never step between such a thing.

It’d had been about twenty years now since Chris had died and Viktor wasn’t too proud to say he still missed him. Good friends were hard to find.

He sensed movement and looked up, a small grin sweeping over his features as a young man with a loud voice was drunkenly dropping off a girl at her dormitory. He kept yelling something about ‘JJ Style’ which confused Viktor, but despite the boy’s rowdiness, he didn’t seem to be drawing any real attention as he began to make his way, presumably, towards home, stumbling a bit as he went.

“Keep a look out for me, Makka?” he whispered.

Makka made an affirmative chirp, and with a beat of her wings flew off.

Viktor sped along, ducking in and out of alleys until he was right along the boy’s path. His fangs ached as he smelled the blood (with a blood alcohol content far above the legal limit). The boy was so drunk he didn’t even notice Viktor standing there, too busy fishing keys out of his pocket. Viktor realized his luck. This young man’s home must be one of these buildings. At least then he wouldn’t need to be worried about him getting home safety after Viktor had his snack.

The boy stumbled, and Viktor took a fast step, catching him in his arms.

“Whoa there,” he said with a smile. “Careful. Seems like you had a bit too much to drink.”

The boy looked at him but just smiled in a glassy sort of way. “That’s JJ Style for you!”

His breath made Viktor think JJ Style must be some sort of new slang for Jägerbombs. “No problem. Why don’t I help you home? Which one is yours?” He asked kindly.

The boy pointed to the house with a large Canadian flag and Viktor smiled. “Alright then, off we go.”

The boy nodded and leaned heavily against him, obviously just minutes away from passing out. He walked a few steps forward, taking them deeper into the shadows before he stuck. The boy didn’t even have the ability to scream Viktor was so quick; his fangs pressed into his vein as he drew out several warm mouthfuls of blood, feeling its life force surging through him.

Ah youth. Delicious.

Once he was satisfied, and long before he was in danger of killing the young man, he pulled away, cleaning the wound with his tongue, and then looked him in the eye, which was tough since he was definitely passed out. He managed it though, and soon he was certain no memory of him existed. He propped him up and all but carried him the last few steps to his door, knocking on it with his foot, making sure to pretend he was struggling with the boy’s weight.

A roommate of some sort came to the door and immediately called to some other boys who helped put the young man to bed. They thanked Viktor for his help and asked if there was anything they could do to thank him (beers were offered), but Viktor waved them off with a kind smile and went on his way, belly full once more.

Makka fluttered down to his shoulder the moment he was back on the roof tops and he happily launched them across town, landing near his home on the top of a church tower (heh). The town was lovely at night and Viktor couldn’t help but marvel at it all for a moment.

He was glad the town’s lights were kept low, leaving the view of the stars largely intact. The way they lit up the sky, accenting the smooth waters of the lake had him feeling a bit homesick. Of course it wasn’t like he could ever go home; the St. Petersburg of his youth didn’t exist anymore. Even Yakov’s old house was gone now, paved over for something new.

He sighed, lamenting the passage of time. He found it easy to be jealous of the Tengu and their hidden home – they always had a familiar place to go. Viktor just hoped someday he would have a home of his own like that.

His eye caught sight of the coffee shop and he couldn’t help but notice the light on in the upstairs window. If he squinted, he was sure he’d be able to make out the room beyond the glass, but he shook his head, willing himself away and back home. As drawn as he was to Yuuri, he was no peeping Tom, nor was he some creepy Vampire with glittery skin.

No, if he saw Yuuri at home in his room, it would be because Yuuri invited him there.

He jumped into his window and settled back at his desk, gently scratching the top of Makka’s head. He’d been writing all afternoon, inspired by his encounter with Yuuri; now though, he felt drawn to his old book, drawn to that old story, to Eros. He always felt called to his beautiful bird of prey when the evening hour grew long, but today he felt it acutely. Just as sharply as he longed for Yuuri.

He would need to take Yuuri on a date. Granted he hadn’t been on a date in at least fifty years, but he was sure he could manage. Dinner was a classic date that never went out of style.

He flipped the pages on his old book, thinking about the smile that was sure to come to Yuuri’s face when he saw it, and how much brighter it would be when he read it. It was still Viktor’s favorite, even after so many years.

He didn’t know that he made a conscious decision about it; one minute he was staring at the first page, eyes roaming over the familiar words, the next he had the tome propped up next to his computer screen, fingers flying over the keys as he translated each line with loving care that only the author could ever fully create.

By the time he stopped (three chapters later), the sun was already rising, which caught Viktor just a bit off guard. Had he really been at this all night? It wasn’t like he needed sleep, but still, it was odd to find himself so engrossed in something.

He stood up and stretched, popping his shoulders as he leaned over the computer and printed out the pages he’d finished. He knew they were accurate without needing to double check, his typing was perfect after decades of practice during the era before a backspace key.

After a quick shower, shave and change of clothes, he and Makka were out the door, Viktor with a messenger bag containing the book and first three translated chapters, and Makka in her poodle form, happily wagging her tail in the morning light.

“Are you excited to see Yuuri?” Viktor asked, earning him a happy bark from Makka. He laughed and led them towards the alluring scent of fresh coffee, only to find themselves greeted by the face of a small toy poodle on the other side of the glass door as they approached.

Makka was instantly excited and Viktor took great care as he opened the door, letting the two dogs (well, one dog and one bat) greet each other. After an introductory sniff they both bounced happily and the dog, who must be Vicchan, scampered over towards a small dog bed in the corner, looking over his shoulder, clearly inviting Makka to join him. Viktor unclipped her leash (more for appearances than any sort of control) and Makka happily pranced over to curl up with her new friend.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his eye as Yuuri came out of an opening in the back wall, smile lighting up on his face as he spotted Makka and Viktor.

“I see you’ve met Vicchan. I hope he didn’t cause you any trouble.”

Viktor shook his head. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

Yuuri snorted but smiled. “Well I’m glad. I’m guessing your blood-caffeine level has dipped dangerously low?”

“You guess correct,” Viktor said with a smile, leaning against the counter.

“Same as yesterday? Or would you like to try something new?”

“You can pick,” he was far too busy looking at Yuuri to bother with a menu. “Anything warm and loaded will be good. I’m trust your tastes.”

Yuuri blushed a bit but nodded and got to work while Viktor swiped his card on his own, adding in a generous tip. Yuuri’s eyes widened a little when he saw it.

“You know, as the proprietor, you don’t need to tip me.”

Viktor shrugged. “I know, but I wanted to.”

Yuuri gave him a knowing smile. “Let me guess, Gilmore Girls?”

Viktor winked. “Of course.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes before handing him his coffee. “Next thing I know you’ll be telling me you’re an Autumn.”

“Well I don’t know about that, but I do have a coffee addiction to rival Lorelei’s.”

Yuuri giggled, a happy, cheerful thing that made Viktor’s whole soul feel cleansed.

“I actually have a surprise for you, if you have a few minutes,” Viktor offered with a smile as he moved towards one of the tables. He longed to go to the book room, but he couldn’t talk to Yuuri from there, and as long as the store was empty, he was going to take full advantage.

Yuuri looked curious but came out from around the counter and sat down next to him at the table. Viktor took a deep breath and pulled the old book from his bag with delicate care, it was almost as old as he was, after all.

He slid the tome towards Yuuri who took it gently in his hands, fingers ghosting over the cover. “Wow, this looks really old, what book is it?”

Viktor smirked. “I thought you might know at least enough Russian to identify it.” Yuuri blushed prettily but shook his head. “I’ll give you a clue,” Viktor said as he pulled out a pen and a notepad he always carried with him, jotting down a single word and showing it to Yuuri. “That’s my first name.”

Yuuri’s brow furrowed as he looked at the slip his eyes drifting to the book before they suddenly went wide. “Viktor! You can’t mean…is this a Viktor Nikiforov?” Viktor nodded making Yuuri’s face light up with excitement.

Oh, this was worth a painful death. Just seeing the way Yuuri’s hands fluttered over the pages as he flipped through the pages. “Oh my god. I need to…I don’t know, take photos of every page so I can have it translated. This is amazing! How do you have this?”

Viktor smiled. “I inherited a lot of books when my father passed away.”

Translation, I wrote it and that was my own personal copy Yakov gave me.

“This is his last novel. It was published after his death. Most people don’t know this, but Feltsman was actually his guardian and publisher.”

Yuuri’s mouth popped open. “Really? But in his book, he called Nikiforov his nephew?”

“It was probably done to hide the fact that Nikiforov was an orphan,” Viktor said with a shrug. “Nikiforov died quite young in a robbery gone wrong at the docks in St. Petersburg; I always got the impression that Feltsman’s first published book was his way of dealing with his feelings over the loss of his adopted son.”

“Wow,” Yuuri breathed. “So much about Feltsman’s book seems clearer just knowing that.” His fingers stroked lovingly over the cover of Viktor’s book.

“Would you like to read it?” Viktor asked in a whisper.

Yuuri looked up, seemingly lost in thought. “You mean this one? But I can’t read Russian.”

Viktor swallowed and slowly pulled out the packet of pages from his bag, handing them to Yuuri who’s mouth was held slightly open as he took them in.

“Viktor…you…how?”

“It’s not complete,” he said softly. “After we talked yesterday I couldn’t help but search for the book. It took a bit to find it in all my things.” Actually, it took no time at all since he always carried it on his person when he moved. That book was his most important link to Eros – it was worth more than his life to him. “My curiosity got the better of me, so I started reading it, and I found I wanted to share it with you, so I translated the first few chapters.”

Yuuri just stared at him. “Viktor…this is amazing. Oh my god, I kind of hate you now.”

“Why?” Viktor looked up in shock to find Yuuri giggling.

“Because now I’m going to have to wait all day to read it! Today is going to go by so slowly!”

Viktor felt the air leave his lungs with relief as he put a smile on his face, hoping Yuuri wouldn’t notice he was just a big, nervous, dork (on top of being a vampire). “I look forward to discussing it with you.”

Yuuri nodded, looking at the pages eagerly, only to have his focus torn away by the sound of the door opening to another customer. Yuuri scurried behind the counter to help them. Viktor hoped they would have a moment to chat after they left, but it seemed the morning rush had begun.

Viktor was wondering what he should do (as he was still sitting with the translated pages) when a young boy, who was probably a college student, came in, chucking his things into the alcove by the stairway before pulling on an apron frantically. “Sorry I’m late, Yuuri!”

Yuuri chuckled, handing a woman some change. “It’s alright Guang Hong. Do you think you can handle the counter for just a minute?”

The boy nodded, taking the next person’s order as Yuuri came out from around the counter and approached Viktor, picking up the pages and leaning over close to Viktor’s ear. “Would you like to discuss these with me over dinner?”

Viktor forgot how to form words as he mutely nodded. Yuuri smirked, as if he knew exactly what he had done to poor Viktor’s heart. Yuuri pushed Viktor’s notepad with his name scrawled on it in Cyrillic. “Write down your number. I’ll text you when I’m done.”

Viktor had never written his number so quickly. He didn’t even use one of his burners; it was the number he only shared with his acquaintances with similarly long lifespans in comparison to him.

Yuuri winked at him (RIP Viktor Nikiforov, if the knife hadn’t killed him, this man surely would) and took the pages back to the staircase, before getting back to work.

Viktor sat there looking a little stupid for a few minutes before Makka came over and nosed his hand. She either needed to pee or had taken pity on him. He gathered his things and gave Yuuri a wave, earning him a blush in return, before heading out the door.

“Makkachin, Papa might just die happy.”

Makka let out a huff of amusement and led them back to the house because Viktor sure wasn’t in any right state to do so himself.

Viktor spent the day glued to his chair, switching back and forth between translating his old novel and writing what he was fairly certain would be the best thing he’d written since it. It was strange the way his emotions swirled around the two men, Eros in one corner of his mind, forever calling him, and Yuuri in the other, with his own pull on Viktor’s heart and mind.

He thought the two should clash; that Eros’ magic would quash any sway Yuuri had over him as had happened so many times in the past. And yet that wasn’t the case, the two attractions seeming to coexist peacefully, curling around each other, twisting and pulling him, filling him with a dual sense of longing and happiness.

He knew Eros was close, he could practically feel that magic within him humming; but it wasn’t telling him to move, only to stay where he was. The feeling of restlessness he’d lived with for the majority of his existence seemed appeased for once; happy to let Viktor remain where he was and experience his life for the first time in peace.

It was as if Eros was waiting for him, sitting just out of sight, watching his every move. As if Eros already had Viktor in his claws, and he was just waiting to clamp down on him and take him to whatever future was waiting for him.

It was oddly peaceful knowing he was near the end, because he knew he was; he was onto something, and Yuuri was somehow the key. Perhaps Eros’ magic would release him once he found his own soulmate? If Eros was searching for love, maybe his magic didn’t begrudge others their happiness? Or maybe Eros had found his soulmate already and Viktor was finally free.

He didn’t like or dislike that prospect. He wanted Yuuri, but he also wanted Eros. He was a fickle creature indeed.

His phone buzzed, and he immediately smiled, seeing the text from Yuuri. He printed out the two additional chapters he’d managed to translate that day and packed them up.

“Makka, Papa’s going out. Do you want to come?”

Makka chirped happily and fluttered into his collar, choosing to curl up against his skin, making him chuckle. “That tickles, Makka.” She squeaked happily, only snuggling closer, making him smile. “Alright, you can stay there till we get to Yuuri’s, but you’ll have to walk on your own after that.”

Makka let out a chattering noise that no one but Viktor could understand. “I know Yuuri likes you like this, but we have to play at being human, or in your case, dog, until we’re ready to tell him the truth.” Viktor sighed, “I have a feeling it won’t be long, Makka. I don’t think I can deny him anything; or hide anything.”

Makka nuzzled against him. She understood him when no one else did.

“I know Makka. I don’t know what to do either.”

He headed down the stairs, thoughts turning sad as he wondered how long he had left with Makka, with Yuuri…in life.

Shaking the sad thoughts from his mind, he headed to Yuuri’s, determined to live in the moment. He snapped his fingers as he turned onto Yuuri’s street and Makka took her Poodle form, tongue lolling out of her mouth as they approached the front of Yuuri’s shop and peaked in.

Yuuri was cleaning, and Viktor’s mouth watered as the adorable barista was bent over, ass facing the window as he mopped the floor.

Makka growled warningly and Viktor shook himself from his reverent stare, and took a deep breath. His fangs had started to descend, and he quickly pulled them back. The funny thing was that was the first time Viktor had had even the slightest temptation in that way around Yuuri. Normally he had to keep himself in check around any fresh blood source, but Yuuri seemed to appeal to him on a much deeper level. He longed to sink his fangs into Yuuri, but not out of hunger.

And that was a first for him.

Makka scratched at the door and Yuuri turned, a bright smile stretching over his face. “Hi!” he called as he unlocked the door letting them in. “If you want, you can go around that way and head upstairs. I’ll be done in just a minute.” He pointed to the section of the floor that was still dry. Viktor nodded and he and Makka made their way around and climbed the stairs, entering the apartment above.

Viktor scanned his gaze across the room as he stepped inside, taking in the cozy apartment. It had a comfortable, lived in feel, while still remaining neat. There were several more book shelves here, and Viktor couldn’t help but smile to himself as he looked over the covers. Most were more recent novels including a few by Christophe Giacometti that looked well-worn as if they’d been read dozens of times.

The furniture was an interesting mix of comfort with traditional Japanese accents pieces, including a kotatsu sitting in front of the couch so that it’s warm covers could be pulled up onto the sofa. The floors were wooden, but several pillows and pads sat on its surface, creating soft nests in various corners of the room in which to relax.

The kitchen was a typical American setup, but there were Asian touches here too, such as a steamer basket, wok, and a rice cooker on the counter.

He heard a clacking of nails on the floor and looked up to find Vicchan approaching them from what looked like a bedroom down the hall. The door was mostly closed, but he could just make out some draping and bedding, making him wonder if Yuuri’s bed had a canopy. He rather hoped it did as he’d always found them to be rather intimate.

Makka pranced over to her new friend and greeted the smaller dog politely before the two of them bounded off to one of the piles of pillows, making themselves quite at home together. Viktor himself sat on the couch, peeking under the kotatsu, smiling as he saw it was already on.

“It’s been cold at night,” Yuuri said from the doorway, “and I know I should be used to the weather after living here this long, but I never have.”

“So, Japan is your home then?”

Yuuri nodded. “I’m glad I settled down here, but I do miss it. I keep meaning to visit, but I just never can seem to find the time.” He sighed in a longing sort of way, before shaking himself and smiling at Viktor. “Have you eaten?”

“I haven’t,” It was technically true. “I tend to be a light eater though, so don’t feel you need to go out of your way for me if you already have. I am here for your company more than anything.”

Yuuri blushed but nodded. “I’m just going to whip something up then, you’re welcome to as much as you’d like.”

“Would you like my help? I confess I’m not a great chef, but I can hold my own in a kitchen. We can talk while we work?”

Yuuri’s face seemed to glow with unspoken happiness as he nodded, leading them both into the kitchen where they began to work together, chopping vegetables and cooking a few cuts of marinated meat.

“Have you ever had Katsudon?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor had heard of the dish when he was in Japan on his travels (hoping idly of finding a Tengu to lead him to Eros), but as he had no need to pretend when he traveled alone, he had never sampled it. “I haven’t.”

“It’s my favorite. It’s a bit much for right now, but I’ll have to make it for you sometime. Mines not as good as my mother’s, but I can promise you it’s the best you’ll find in Michigan.” He looked very proud and Viktor couldn’t help but agree, eager to sample Yuuri’s favorite dish. He was glad he’d retained a sense of taste. He would hate to have to fake enjoyment if it really was as heavenly as Yuuri described it.

They talked as they ate about all manner of things, a certain calm settling over them. Eventually the food was gone (Viktor was surprised by how much he ate given that it did nothing to satisfy him) and they made their way back to the couch, Yuuri slipping himself under the kotatsu’s warmth immediately. Viktor didn’t need to be under it, but he couldn’t resist the thought of being closer to Yuuri, so he happily pulled the blanket up over his own lap, letting the warmth heat his body that was always a bit on the cold side.

“This is rather cozy, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nodded, looking utterly relaxed.

Viktor smiled and opened his bag. “I know we haven’t even talked about the three chapters I gave you earlier, but I had time to translate two more.”

“Viktor! This is too much! I must be keeping you from your work.”

Viktor shrugged. “I must admit, I’ve been surprised how much I’ve enjoyed doing it. Reading this old story has inspired me, so don’t think anything of it. I’d likely be staring at my ceiling hoping for inspiration without this.

Yuuri chewed his lip for a moment, before slowly and deliberately setting the papers aside. “I’ll read them later,” he whispered, slowly leaning forward towards Viktor, who couldn’t help but lean closer as well. Yuuri was blushing, his face so much closer to Viktor’s now, and a heat far greater than anything produced by the kotatsu seemed to grow between them.

“I know I said I wanted to talk about the book, but...” Yuuri said in a whisper, slowly leaning into Viktor’s space, his intent clear. Viktor didn’t hesitate, closing the gap between them and pressing their lips together.

He hadn’t intended to kiss Yuuri tonight, but sometimes plans were meant to be broken, and the soft gasp that slipped from Yuuri’s lips as their lips met was worth destroying a lifetime of plans. It was like Viktor was breathing air for the first time, a clarity settled on him, and for the first time in his immortal existence he knew without a doubt he could walk away from Eros.

Oh, he still longed for his beautiful bird of prey, but Eros felt like a fantasy. Yuuri was real. Yuuri was here, in his arms, his fingers curled into Viktor’s hair as the kiss deepened into something hungry and sweet.

When Yuuri nipped his bottom lip it was everything Viktor could do to keep his fangs in his gums where they belonged. He hungered for Yuuri in an indescribable way, and as Yuuri pressed against him, deepening the kiss, their tongues gliding against one another, Viktor felt all reason fly away.

He pulled back harshly, sucking in deep breaths as he tried to calm himself, his fangs aching in his gums. He wanted to love Yuuri, but also bite him, claim him, devoured every inch of him. “We should stop,” he panted.

He looked up at Yuuri, cheeks pink, hair far more disheveled that Viktor thought he’d made it (he must have been even more gone than he thought). The man was gazing at him with a deep longing that had Viktor second guessing his choice. He could see the questions circling in Yuuri’s eyes, and he continued his train of thought before letting the other spiral too far out of reach.

“I just worry this is too soon? Believe me, I’d like nothing more than continue, but I feel like we should get to know each other more.” Yuuri was staring at him opened mouthed, unbelieving.

Viktor hastily barreled forward, not wanting to let any misunderstandings come between them. He wanted Yuuri, oh he desperately wanted him; but he needed just a bit more time to grow accustomed to the way Yuuri made him feel. He had spent over one hundred and fifty years chasing after a phantom after all, to suddenly feel something so strong for another was a bit overwhelming. Not to mention the little detail of his own immortality.

“Yuuri, would it be alright if I took you out on a proper date later this week?”

“How much later?” Yuuri’s voice cracked, barely concealing his want. He looked almost petulant. “All of what you’re saying sounds good, but I don’t really want to wait. I don’t exactly run around kissing people very often unless I know what I want.”

Viktor blinked, swearing Yuuri’s eyes flashed gold for the smallest of seconds, but he dismissed it. It must be Eros’ magic in his blood, playing tricks to remind him to whom he belonged. He wanted Yuuri with all his heart, but that didn’t mean the magic in his veins didn’t know who it’s master was. Viktor could feel it coming alive within him in ways he’d never felt before. He wondered if Eros knew what Viktor felt.

“I don’t doubt that, but I...I tend to have very bad luck with relationships. I’m not asking for a long pause, just a bit more time to get to know you better, if that’s alright?”

Yuuri breathed out a sigh, his body relaxing. “Of course. I’m sorry for sounding impatient, I just really like you. I don’t invite anyone into my home unless they are special, but of course you wouldn’t know that. If you want to get to know each other a bit more first, then okay.”

Viktor smiled, “Well don’t worry, I like you very much as well. I may increase my daily caffeine intake just for an excuse to talk to you more.”

 Yuuri blushed, but nodded. “If you’d like, you could come a bit earlier while I’m setting up? We could talk about the book? It seems I have more chapters to read.”

Viktor smiled. “I’d like that very much, Yuuri.”

They said their goodbyes, Viktor leaning in for a chase kiss on Yuuri’s cheek as he left. He was barely half a block away when his phone chirped with a message from Yuuri.

I can’t wait to see you in the morning.

Viktor grinned and texted back.

Me either, see you soon. Make sure you get some rest so it comes that much sooner!

Makka pulled his hair, yanking his head up and away from his phone just in time to avoid smacking headfirst into a pole. He hadn’t even noticed her retake her bat form. He blushed to himself. Moving carefully down the street until he arrived home.

The rest of the week became a never-ending stream of perfect coffee dates. Viktor would arrive at the shop early, chatting with Yuuri, and helping him open the store. Yuuri would gush over the pages he’d read the night before, and Viktor would refrain from giving him any more until the end of the day so as not to tease him.

He began working in the book room of Yuuri’s shop. It was quiet, and whenever Yuuri had a break he’d come in and they’d talk, or, if they were alone, sneak a few kisses. They were caught more than once by Guang Hong, lips pressed together over the counter when things were particularly slow. Yuuri blushed the loveliest color every time.

By Thursday, neither of them could wait for their date the next day, and Viktor knew he had no reason to hold back any longer. The pull of Eros, while still there, seemed dwarfed by the pull of the charming Japanese barista.

He also felt like he was running out of time. Yuuri read at a furious pace, which only encouraged Viktor to translate ever more chapters. He knew, without a doubt, he’d finish his work by the start of their date. He’d let Yuuri decide if he wanted to read them before or after they went to dinner.

Once Yuuri read the book, he’d either connect the dots and Viktor would have to make him forget he ever knew him, and leave the charming town; or they’d likely carry on, Yuuri accepting the book as nothing more than a fairy tale. Viktor would still have to leave at some point, but not that day. The third option, that Yuuri might realize the truth and still accept him seemed completely impossible.

A poor, lonely vampire, searching the night for the Tengu his blood sang for? Who could believe such a thing was real? Yuuri didn’t even know his last name (neither of them bothering to ask such a seemingly unimportant detail), so how could he know that Viktor shared his name with the author long-since dead? Even if Yuuri did know, Nikiforov wasn’t exactly an uncommon name. Maybe someday he could tell Yuuri the truth; Yuuri seemed open minded, maybe he could turn him...

He shook his head. Turning someone meant they’d have to drink some of his blood, and his was poison. He could never create a companion for himself. He’d either need to call in a very large favor with another vampire, or leave, just as he’d done so many times before.

Only this time was different, because this time it was Yuuri. He just didn’t know if he could simply walk away anymore.

He sighed, staring at the pages and getting back to work, hands flying over the keyboard, a determined set to his jaw. Yuuri had been gushing over the chapters every day; delighting in the simplest of details that Viktor had been certain no one but himself would ever appreciate. But then again, Yuuri was full of surprises.

When Friday dawned, Viktor returned to the coffee shop once more, indulging of his morning fix of Yuuri — a drug far more powerful than any roasted bean.

“I’m going to work from home today,” he said, earning him an adorable pout. He chuckled. “I know, but I want to make sure everything is ready for tonight, zoloste.”

Yuuri sighed, “Fine, fine. I guess I will survive without you.”

Yuuri attempted to look nonchalant about it, but the way his hand was still grasping Viktor’s sweater gave up the game.

“I’ll be here right at close,” Viktor whispered, kissing Yuuri’s ear and earning him a sigh.

“No more waiting?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor nodded. “Whatever you’d like tonight, I am yours.”

Yuuri grinned mischievously. “Oh? Whatever I like? I’m afraid I have quite the imagination, Vitya.”

Viktor happily kissed him until the bell tinkled overhead and Guang Hong made a noise of exasperation as he flipped the sign to open. There were are least half a dozen older ladies outside watching them snuggle against each other.

“We’ll be the main story of town gossip for days,” Yuuri said with a sigh, waving at them through the window.

“Ha!” Guang Hong laughed with a bark. “More like until you’re both old and...well Viktor is already grey.”

“It’s silver!”

Guang Hong rolled his eyes and Yuuri laughed. “I guess I better get to work. See you tonight?” Viktor nodded and walked out the door.

Viktor spent the rest of the day in the flurry of a man on a mission. He stopped at the florist and picked up some flowers, dropped by the drug store for supplies that were considered necessary in this day and age when two young men decided to become intimate, and cleaned his house, not sure where they’d end up tonight, but determined to be prepared either way.

The rest of the day was spent at his computer, his fingers a flood of motion until he finished translating the last page more than two hours before he was meant to meet Yuuri.

It was a predicament. He had told Yuuri he’d be gone most of the day, but now with his tasks complete, he had to admit, there was no place he’d rather be. He sighed, printing out the pages and dressing quickly.

“I’ll leave the window open, Makka,” he said softly to his companion. “I don’t know how late I’ll be. If you decide to follow along, just make sure to stay out of sight.”

She chirped happily at him, and he was certain he’d be sensing her presence just outside the window all night long. “If we come here, make sure you’re back inside, in the proper form, alright.”

She fluttered down and booped him on the head, before landing on one of his bookshelves, glaring at him upside down as she hung from the shelf, unhappy that he’d ever think her unreliable enough to not be in the right place in the right form. She was a good bat after all.

Viktor couldn’t help but laugh at her antics all the way to Yuuri’s shop, a wide smile on his face as he entered the shop an hour before close, flowers in hand and messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

Yuuri positively beamed when he saw him, abandoning the counter (and the afternoon employee, a young man named Leo) to come greet Viktor.

“I have a surprise for you,” Viktor whispered, loving the way Yuuri wrapped himself close to him, not caring about who might be watching (or that his employee was rolling his eyes).

Yuuri looked down at the flowers already in his arms. “You mean more than this?”

Viktor nodded and pulled the last chapters out of his bag. “I finished it.”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “Seriously? I thought you had started being nice, not giving me things when I can’t read them!”

Viktor chuckled. “I don’t mind if you read them before we go out. It’s up to you.”

Yuuri bit his lip and whispered, “But now I’m tempted to close the store early.”

Viktor chuckled. “Well, why don’t I help Leo and you can read in the back?”

Yuuri looked up at him, mouth falling open in an adorable little O-shape. “You would do that?” he breathed, before shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that!”

“I don’t mind. I might prefer to drink coffee, but I don’t mind serving some for a little while so you can enjoy that before dinner.”

Yuuri blushed and looked torn for a minute before slowly nodding, clutching his flowers and the final pages of the book to his chest.

There was a quick exchange of aprons and an explanation to Leo before Yuuri nearly sprinted into the book room, earning him more than a few giggles from the patrons who had all grown accustomed to Yuuri’s near obsessive love of books.

Viktor took orders for the rest of the night as Leo prepared the drinks, neither of them trusting Viktor’s skills to make anything more than a simple drip. The night wrapped up quickly since Friday was always one of Yuuri’s slowest nights, a fact Leo was grateful for since he had to open the next morning — it was Yuuri’s one morning off a week so he could indulge in all the late night reading he wanted, or in this case, a date with Viktor.

By the time the door was locked, they already had the store cleaned, and Viktor helped Leo count the till and clean-up the last remnants of the day, getting the college student out in record time. Viktor smiled to himself as he locked the door behind him.

He turned and dropped off his apron at the stairs, methodically checking his clothes for any soiling, before taking a deep breath and slowly walking towards the backroom. Yuuri would be nearly done by now, and Viktor couldn’t help but hold his breath as he pushed the door open.

Yuuri was sitting in one of the corners, eyes wide in surprise, eyes moving over the pages, apparently reading the same sentences over and over by the way he kept flicking one of the last pages back and forth.

At least he wasn’t screaming.

Viktor slowly sat, and he watched as Yuuri finally moved past whatever passage he’d been reading, slowly turning the pages. His breathe hitched, and Viktor knew exactly what sentence he must have arrived at as Yuuri’s mouth fell open.

After another minute Yuuri stared at the pages, unseeing, before slowly closing the packet and looking up at Viktor.

“Vitya,” he breathed, eyes blinking. There was no fear, but plenty of questions, and Viktor was aware of the way his nails were biting into his palms. “What did you say your last name is?” he whispered.

Ah, so it was as bad as he had feared. Of course, Yuuri would note the similarities between the main character and the man sitting in front of him.

“Nikiforov,” he whispered, Yuuri’s eyes growing as large as saucers. “My name is Viktor Nikiforov, and Yakov Feltsman was my adoptive father. I was murdered over one hundred and fifty years ago on the docks of St. Petersburg, and I was turned into a vampire.”

Yuuri stood slowly, stepping towards Viktor. There was no fear in him, only wonder and Viktor rose to meet him, arms instinctively sliding around Yuuri’s waist as the other man leaned against him, eyes staring deep into Viktor’s soul.

“It’s true?” Yuuri whispered. “All of this? Everything?”

Viktor nodded. “Every last word.”

Yuuri breathed, mouth open, blinking for a long moment where Viktor’s whole existence seemed to flash before his eyes. And then, something peculiar (even to a vampire) began to happen.

It was like the lights had dimmed, as some sort of darkness seemed to surround him. Yuuri’s mouth turned up in a sexy, coy smile. Something snapped within Viktor, as his blood suddenly burned with desire and longing, every emotion he’d felt for his lovely Eros coming forward all at once, searing his insides with love and desire, making his gasp as the overwhelming nature of it all.

“Ah, so it was you,” Yuuri whispered and Viktor’s head snapped up, staring as great black wings were slowly sprouting from Yuuri’s back, and delicate black feathers replaced the blue rimmed glasses, slowly coming together over the bridge of his nose. His eyes glowed golden.

“Yuuri!” he breathed, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. “You…you’re…Eros?”

Yuuri smiled with a sensual confidence that made Viktor’s knees weak. “Just Yuuri is fine, but for you, my love, I will be your Eros.”

Viktor was gaping, feeling himself being pulled closer to the sultry Tengu who was growing more devastatingly beautiful by the moment, his hair slicking back from his eyes, feathers crossing his chest in strips, as if his body was covered in a fine mesh, teasing the senses with a tantalizing glimpse.

“Am I about to die?” Viktor whispered, unable to run, unable to even think of leaving or raising a hand to defend himself.

Yuuri smiled, making a small cooing sound. “No, my mate. My Vitya. I would never hurt you. I’ve been searching for you for so long. Now that I’ve found you I would never do anything to harm you.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Yuuri shook his head, his finger trailing along Viktor’s jaw. “Those others weren’t you. I’m afraid I get rather cranky when the one who answers my call isn’t the one I wanted.”

There was a scent in the air, it was like blood, but the most appealing blood Viktor had ever tasted. His fangs came out of their own volition and he stared in awe at Yuuri who coyly tilted his neck.

“I can feel my magic in you now, calling to me, it smells so lovely mixed with your blood. Come my darling; drink from me.”

Viktor couldn’t help himself, that tantalizing vein beating so beautifully against that luscious neck. The neck of Yuuri, of Eros. He sunk his fangs in that pale, milky skin, moaning as the taste of the Tengu’s blood filled his mouth, the magic in his body instantly sizzling, smelting into something solid and real, binding him completely and utterly to him.

“Yes, my love,” Yuuri whispered, golden eyes closing in pleasure, mouth falling open as Viktor drank from his neck. “Let my blood fill you. I shall be a part of you, just as you are of me. You’ll never have to search again, never thirst again. You will be with me forever, my soulmate, my heart, my vampire.”

Viktor released his fangs, eyes fluttering shut as he sank into the Tengu’s embrace, his blood high on the magic of his soulmate. He could feel something like chains, binding him to Yuuri; he was a willing prisoner, his whole body craving the feeling of these binds the Tengu had on his heart and soul.

“I only wish I’d found you sooner,” Yuuri whispered, holding him close as the magic between them reached its climactic burn, before cooling suddenly and a sense of peace washed over him. “I wish I could have been there to ease your pain. I left you alone for so long. It’ll never happen again,” he said in a fervent voice as he gently Viktor into his arms, drawing darkness around them, his wings encircling them both in a loving embrace.

Viktor breathed deep, eyes locked on the Tengu. There was so much he wanted to ask, but at the moment none of that mattered. He’d found his soulmate, his Eros, and with him it was like all the pain and hurt simply disappeared, because, no matter what, he knew he’d never be alone again.