Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The flame inside Yang sputtered and burned a little dimmer. 

Fuel, it whispered. Fuel for the fire.

Looking out the clinic window, Yang imagined the sputtering was just a protest for the young breeze stirring the orange and yellow leaves in the trees lining the street. A chilled breeze, singing its requiem about endings and the change of seasons. But fire would be a fan of change, so she dismissed the idea with a downward curve of her mouth.

For a moment, all Yang wanted to do was vault the windowsill right through the glass and burn brightly in the cold. But she’d need more kindling to do that.

That, and she was at work - surrounded by bright lights and colorful yoga mats up on their pegs. Not that she minded. Being bright and bubbly, crossed with confident and professional, was excellent practice for keeping the lights on when the flame burned too low.

"Yep, just like that."

Yang watched the mild skepticism pass from her client's face as the seemingly simple act of pushing off the wall started to stress his atrophied arms. As a form of rescue strength training, wall-pushups never ceased to surprise.

"Just you," he grunted, "watch."

Mr. Harbor’s devotion to self-improvement had impressed Yang from the moment he’d practically crawled in a few weeks back. Through conversation during exercises, she’d learned that as a dangerously unhealthy and atrophied 50-something, he’d found fulfillment and new life as something of a supportive patriarch in the local drag scene. 

"I'm watching your breathing, hot stuff. You should, too."

"Yeah, yeah." Another grunt. "I'll be lifting you up and taking you to a show by next week."

Yang snorted, watching the muscles in his wrists for strain. Said like a person who had decided resolutely that they would not like to die just yet, thank you very much. Something in Yang resonated with his drive, his force of vitality. 

"How much do you - hng - weigh again?" 

"Oh, Mr. Harbor? Asking a lady her weight? Banishment, my dude," Yang said.

Mr. Harbor paused at the top of a push-up, standing almost straight, and pretended to think hard while he caught his breath. "I'd say… fifty pounds." Yang snorted laughter as he nodded sagely. "Muscle's the lightest body tissue. That's why I'm so heavy-" he started another rep with a little strain, "and you're so light."

"You got it. Maybe wait to sweep me off my feet until we've inclined your pushups a few times, yeah?” With a small smile and a shake of her head, Yang thumbed the button on the stopwatch around her neck. “And just one more set for today." 

She watched him find an admirable reserve and count down his reps, a sheen of sweat all over. Next week he'd be able to move from the wall to the incline board and start adding minute degrees to his pushups and building strength. 

For the briefest moment, Yang could feel the pressure of his aura as he approached the end of his set. Her own whispered back, feeling the texture of it like handholds, showing her how easy it would be to just reach out and grip it, pull it from its home and consume it. Add its warmth to her own. Quick , the whisper said. Before you get cold.  

“Don’t go swooning already, sweetheart.” 

“Hm? Yeah,” Yang said, resisting the urge to shake her head. Harbor had finished the exercise and was watching her with mostly hidden concern that he wiped away the moment she snapped back to focus. She donned her best smile and took in his breathing and stature. She wasn’t one to lose focus, and sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. 

And yet, she could still detect that hint of concern. Bless the man. She made a gesture and rolled her eyes. 

“My bad. Started thinking about dinner. Good job, anyway.” She handed him a fresh towel and reached for his clipboard. “How’s that feel afterward? I can tell it was right around the level of exertion we’re looking for, but I want to make sure you don’t have any pain or sharp sensations.” 

“Fit as a fiddle, my girl,” Harbor said through the towel currently wiping up the sweat on his forehead. “Winded, yes. When can I sit, again?” Yang hummed, made some marks on his chart.

“You stay on your feet until your heart rate returns mostly to normal,” she said. “It’s your wind-down, remember. And - do you know what I’m gonna say?” she asked, handing him his clipboard while his free hand waved off her oncoming words like an unwanted messenger. 

“Yes, yes,” he fussed. “Do this once a day this week or when I come back ‘ it’ll be like doing it for the first time again .’ “ 

Yang gasped, placing a hand on her chest in mock outrage. “I am not a broken record,” she said “That just so happens to be the truth, young man.” 

“Always with the flattery,” he said with a snort, turning his heavy frame to amble back to the front desk. “I’ll be sure to let young Emerald know you’ve reminded me of my homework. You take care, now, and have something good for dinner for me.” 

Yang watched his pace and breathing as he went and, satisfied with what she saw, offered an unseen two-finger salute. “Toodles, chief.” 

Before she could let her mind slip again, she turned on her heel and strode to her computer to fill in client data for the session, only to catch sight of her phone’s idle screen on her desk: 3 Unread Messages. Her lock screen security settings prevented idle eyes from seeing the sender.

Yang pushed down the hackles that rose at the sight of the notification. They were just texts, probably from Ruby being excited about something. It was fine. 

She slid the phone off her desk and thumbed the passcode.

Ruby: OMG some dude got hit by the new Schnee train!! 

Ruby: And it’s like a bullet train or whatever they’re calling it so it was going SUPER FAST

Ruby: So fast they COULDN’T FIND A BODY soooo guess what I bet he’s a VAMPIRE

Yang rolled her eyes with a small smile. She was inclined to believe her little sister had actually seen something like that in the news, but her running gag of explaining away phenomena as vampire this, vampire that - it could be a little exhausting. Especially this time of year, as Halloween - and her birthday - crept ever closer. 

Yang didn’t make a habit of indulging in myths, especially to make light of them; but unfortunately for her, Tai back home had no such qualms with the indulgence.

If their father was to be believed, vampires were real, and they were monsters: cold-blooded, lightning fast and heartless with long fangs - dangerous to humans, but worse for those like Ruby and Yang. Yang hoped that if they were real, they never encountered one. 

She shook her head and pocketed her phone, returning to her work computer and tackling the spreadsheet. Harbor was recovering from years of neglected health; Yang had to start him slow, coordinating with a nutritionist to help him add years to his new journey of rejuvenation and self-discovery. Apparently, being in one’s fifties, overweight, and atrophied wasn’t enough to stop some people from turning things around and living a new dream. He was an eccentric, but he had a good heart. 

She could feel it in his aura. 

Yang felt the whisper billow up again, like a restless bedsheet on a puff of air , as she finished typing in metrics on the fitness spreadsheet. Her indignant huff - a snort of a humorless laugh - felt hot like dehydrated breath. Not his, she thought. Never his. She’d find one that wasn’t being used. The whisper was impatient, but it was hers. It could wait. 

Yang turned and smiled at her last client of the day, taking her clipboard and making pleasantries as she eyed the chart. 

—

Fifty minutes later, Yang was walking to reception, loose jacket over her workout gear and backpack slung over one shoulder, and catching the tail end of one of Emerald’s infamous customer service exchanges. 

“I shouldn’t have to pay anything. Call my insurance,” came a heated tone from a client - thankfully, not one of Yang’s. Massage, by the looks of it; a woman with an intense, predatory glare aimed at the customer service specialist at the front of the office, who was leaned forward slightly in her chair with a sweet smile that didn’t reach her red-brown eyes. It looked like an angry mouse squaring up with a cobra. 

“A copay,” Emerald said in a low voice that suggested she’d been progressively simplifying her response, “is a small fee required by some health policies. Like yours-” 

“-I didn’t ask for-” 

“-which you kindly provided.” Emerald gently, rhythmically tapped her computer screen. 

The woman pursed her lips, her face contorted as though her pores were holding back incredible pressure. 

“Call my insurance,” she said again. “Right now. They’ll tell you how paying for a service actually works.” 

“They. Are. Closed.” Emerald tilted her head to regard the clock. “You can call them tomorrow morning at eight for a more accurate definition of a copay.” 

“Clearly with that tone you are not giving me customer service.” 

“Here we go,” Emerald said, straightening and letting her smile become a smirk.

“Exc use me?” The client could have been slapped, Yang thought, hanging back. Just to see, she pushed out to feel the aura at play. “I will not - I need to speak to your manager.” 

Yang watched as her aura nudged, probed.

“Hi, yes,” Emerald said, rolling her eyes and drumming three fingers on the nameplate on her desk. The woman sputtered a series of cut-off sounds. “Tell you what. I’ve got a quick form I can attach to your paperwork that’ll just add the copay to your next monthly insurance bill.” 

“That’s not-” 

“I can take care of the rest,” Emerald said, her tone dropping sweetly and dripping venom. “Have a wonderful rest of your night.” 

The woman sputtered, finally noticed Yang leaning against the corner entrance to the hallway, and maybe Yang’s stature, her expressionless gaze framed as it was by her long, wild blonde hair, was what finally did it. With a speedy and halfhearted “I never,” the woman grabbed her bag and sped out the door. 

The whisper said she’d do. Yang disagreed, as usual, curbing the appetite. The woman was ignorant, but her soul rippled with use and history and life. Silently Yang wondered what kind of woman she was to people she loved, protected. 

“I know you’re in love with me or whatever, but you don’t gotta jump a bitch in an alley.” 

Filing away the need to stop letting hunger make her zone out, Yang plastered on a smirk and shoved her shoulder off the wall. 

“Nah, I was just thinking about what she’s like when she’s with her family and stuff.” 

“Too deep, Xiao Long. She’s just a heartless monster and you know it.” Emerald had already begun a blurring set of movements that included flitting papers into folders and those folders into labeled alcoves with what Yang thought of as unnecessary but impressive flair. It’s how you could tell someone had worked in clerical and customer service for a long time and hadn’t let it consume them. The movements matched the golden evening light pouring through the clinic windows; their jobs done, the world outside beckoned, hastening hands and feet and promising life. 

She punctuated her closing-up with a flurry of keyboard inputs before putting the computer to sleep and slinging on her own jacket and satchel. 

“I know it’s your job to care and stuff,” she drawled, coming around the counter to meet Yang on their way to the front door. “But some people are just crusty old hags.” 

“You know, you’re right, Em -” Yang bumped her hip into the glass door as Emerald whipped the keys out of her bag and whirled them with unnecessary finesse, fixing Yang with an expectant glare, “but think of that old crustiness as the top layer of an old 7-layer dip left in the back of the fridge-”

“Please stop.” 

“-and beneath that old, dehydrated, transformed upper layer of cheese and… stuff, there’s a whole new world below just churning with life-” 

“You’re not allowed to use the word ‘churning’ anymore,” Emerald said, giving up and pushing the door open into the cool twilight, the sunset purple and orange, leaves skittering by their feet on the breeze.

“-so beneath the surface of every Karen lies ancient sour cream, guac’, and tomatoes that have the potential for SO MUCH MORE,” Yang projected, letting her feigned enthusiasm boil over from tasteful prodding to absurdity. It was the least she owed Emerald for putting up with entitled clients. 

“I hate you,” Yang’s biggest fan said as she turned the lock. 

“She was so full of life. Evolving in the fridge.” 

“She was full of something, all right,” she said with a smirk. She jingled her car keys, tilting her head toward her destination. “I’m on the street today. Wanna get some food?”

Yang tilted her head, touched her chin. “Like fresh food, or…” 

“Asshole.” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Yang said, sucking in air through her teeth. Emerald was a decent friend, and asked frequently after work but never pressed. It felt bad to decline as often as Yang did, but the excuses were usually legitimate. “Take-out and movie night with the sis.” 

“Yeah,” Emerald said with a small smirk and a nod, “you and that sister time. Gotta stick to the schedule. Thought I’d ask-” 

“Just in case.” 

“-just in case, yeah. Aight, catch you later, Xiao Long.” She flourished her keys again and set off down the street without a second glance.

“Yeah yeah, see you tomorrow,” Yang said, indicating an upper level of the attached parking garage. “Thanks again for your noble daily sacrifice.” 

Yang fished out her phone and slipped on an earbud, making her way to the stairs in the closest corner of the parking garage. 

She resumed her music app at the mix from earlier in the day and pulled up maps. It was indeed their night to eat out, and the seedier parts of Argus had plenty of take-out places with food neither her nor Ruby would ever say no to. It was a common fallback, good for food and for finding souls that were, as Yang put it, just lying around unused. 

Striding from the stairwell landing on the level with her bike, Yang offered a silent prayer of thanks to the homeless - many of them discarded Faunus laborers - that made up the encampments that lured Yang and Ruby’s other vital food source out of their shiny precincts. 

She found a restaurant within reasonable distance of a good site and texted a picture of it to Ruby with a simple message. 

Yang: Food?

By the time she’d stowed her bag and kicked her bike into ignition, Ruby had texted back with a smile and a thumbs-up. Yang returned the thumbs-up, clipped her phone to the sturdy mount above the ignition, and rumbled down and out of the parking garage. 

—

Ruby was leaning against her car in the old, cracked parking lot, her inquisitive features framed by dark hair that reflected a hint of red in the buzzing streetlights of the wharf district. She wrinkled her nose at Yang’s unchanged workout gear as Yang swung her leg over her bike, having arrived like any hungry dinner customer just as the sun was setting. 

“You’re gonna -” Ruby made a subtle-enough glance around them, “-hunt in that ?” 

Yang filed away pride for her younger sister’s careful mind as she strode over.

“Please, Rubes, it’s barely ‘hunting.’ And, even if I - or you - or he - make a mess, we live in the future. We have a washing machine.” Yang flicked her in the shoulder before swooping in for a hug. “Sup.” 

Ruby groaned even as she returned it. “Yaaang. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Hi.” 

“Meh,” Yang said, starting toward the trunk of Ruby’s car. Ruby made a desperate expression even as she thumbed the fob in her hoodie pocket and the trunk popped open, Yang flinging it up and reaching in. 

“People recognize clothes, Yang.” She caught the cloak Yang threw with an outstretched hand and peaked around it. “The police even use them to find people when they put out an APB or whatever.”

“They use them to look for people.” She swung her own cloak around her shoulders. “Big difference. Plus, we have these,” she said as she flung her cowl up, splaying her fingers at the end of the motion like she was popping her collar. “We’re like, incognito.” 

“Until you have to move fast, and then someone sees your black leggings with yellow stripes around the calf and thigh and then someone comes in the night or when you’re at work and take you away and do experiments on you and-” 

“Ruby.” 

“-I never see you again until you come back as a brainwashed spy or something, and we’ll only know because you’ll have this dead look in your eyes..” 

“Ruby? It’s fine. I’m not changing into my jeans in a parking lot for this.” 

“But you’re the one who taught me how careful we’re supposed to be!” Ruby hissed, clearly resisting the urge to check once more for listeners.

Yang put her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “I know just how careful to be. Besides, I have you looking out for me!” 

Ruby crooked an eyebrow. “Does this mean I can wear what I want, too?” 

“Nope.” 

"Don't just say it's because you're older."

"It's because you're younger."

"YANG-"

"Shh, Ruby!" Yang hushed, stifling a grin. "You'll blow our cover.” 

A beat, and Ruby finally relented. Her long, exaggerated eye roll landed on the walk-up window of the restaurant. “What cover? We’re real patrons! As soon as, um.” She tucked her hands behind her back with a little hop and set off behind Yang, who had shook her head with an affectionate smile and headed for the sidewalk. “These guys have the best fried rice. As soon as we’re back.” 

“As soon as we’re back,” Yang said, eyes forward. 

“Ooh, did you get my text earlier?” They fell into stride side-by-side, buildings on either side of them becoming more dilapidated as they walked. 

“About that dude who got hit by the new train? I bet Schnee PR is having a blast. Also, what the fuck?” 

“What they’re saying is APPARENTLY he attacked the Schnee heiress or something and then, um….” Ruby trailed off, biting her cheek in thought. 

“You’ve got me riveted here, sis.” said Yang - and hell, she wasn’t even joking. Was Ruby getting this from Schnee-funded news, or somewhere else? 

“Well, the words they use are that he,” and she cocked an eyebrow, raised two palms up, “ challenged the train?” 

“Ok, this has GOT to be satire. Like, challenged it to a fight?” 

“I guess!” 

“Squared up, on the tracks, with what they’re literally dubbing a ‘bullet train.’” Yang wanted to gesticulate with her hands for emphasis, but kept her gaze forward, stride steady. The increasingly peeled paint, boarded windows, and abandoned storefronts on either side of them held little humor. She felt her cloak billow behind her a bit in the fall breeze, though, and figured the wind was just as amused as she was. 

“And got smashed to dust,” Ruby concluded. 

“You said there was ‘no body,’ right?” Ruby confirmed with an mm . Yang took the bait. “He wasn’t a vampire, Ruby, it was probably just a publicity stunt or something.” 

Ruby barely managed to keep outward composure, squealing in protest. “But vampires are so cool ! They could totally do something like that. Like, poof! Oooh, aaah.” 

“Ruby.” Yang didn’t stop, but slowed their walk, looked over, and took Ruby’s hand. “There’s a reason Dad had to give you ‘the talk’ before we left. If they’re real, or still alive or whatever, we do not want their attention, and we do not want to forget that they’re no joke.” 

Ruby swung her hands under Yang’s cloak. “I didn’t say they were funny . Just cool.” 

“Rubes.” 

“Ok, yeah, if they’re real I’ll take the concept of vampires more seriously.” 

“Sweet,” Yang said with a grin, releasing their hands. “Now shh, we’re getting close.” It was only another block before their gaits started to change, becoming more focused and driven.. In this part of town, few would look twice at two people wearing cloaks. The more observant might spare a second gaze for their squared shoulders, their driven gazes (partially hidden as they were), and their purposeful stride. They appeared almost predatory.

They were hungry. 

—

It was never hard.

That was the one thing that always made Yang think about what they were doing. If feeding was really a challenge, she wouldn’t have time to think about the lives they took. She’d feel more like the predator she was built to be; instead, Yang was once again confronted with the image of herself from Ruby’s eyes, letting a golden wisp of hair come loose from her cowl, adjusting her stance like she was timid and lost. 

Never be afraid to be yourself, Yang has always told Ruby. Always be you. Nothing less. Unless, of course, you’re luring a couple cops down an alley to rip their souls out of their bodies with your teeth. 

These two had been easy to case. They always were. In a wide, aging parking lot nestled in a disused industrial park was one nexus of combined efforts to feed the hungry. Food in the form of cans, fruits and vegetables, boxes of junk food, and others - mostly donated, some bought, a little less scavenged and stolen, found its home in a makeshift outdoor kitchen where hot meals were cooked and set out to feed a line of people both desperate and discarded, faunus and human alike. Yang and Ruby had followed a small cadre of armored police as they arrived to inform the kitchen workers, themselves likely without homes, that the following morning, the camp would be disbanded - swept by force if necessary - and forced to move elsewhere. 

Two of the officers, both tall and clad in blue, their faces obscured by riot masks and their palms resting comfortably near their service weapons, had responded to the fear and confusion with jeering threats, knocking over a table of food and eating some from another without any sign of remorse. Fearing for their lives, homeless onlookers backpedaled against Yang’s stalking advance as the officers postured.

Yang didn’t have to get terribly close. With Ruby watching to stay ahead, Yang kept her cloak clutched tight and her head low, and drifted in the angry, confused crowd just near enough to push her aura in their direction. 

Contact. 

She probed, feeling the texture of these men’s auras. She shuddered, and repressed a snort of derision. Surrounding their foundation was what felt to be a thin layer, rigid and stale. It was the quintessence of a life that would need to be torn down to the frame in order to learn to be properly used. They’d need to suffer a substantial crisis in order to learn, to grow. 

That was just the thing, Yang reminded herself as she steeled and finally let her hunger out of its cage: anybody could learn. But some people would harm countless others as they were dragged kicking, screaming, and killing toward salvation. 

These people were their prey.

These two in particular shortly thereafter saw something irresistibly out of place: a young, blonde woman in a thin cloak looking about herself, nervous and scared, before making eye contact with them and widening her eyes in alarm. She waited for one of them to shout a command at her, barely caring what it was, before darting down a nearby alley. She knew they’d follow.

So alluring was the sight that, when it repeated to their eyes twice more, once at the corner and again at the entrance to the alley of the next street, the men still followed. To their credit, Yang thought at the last baiting, their hands had slowly drifted to their sidearms and were now palming their grips as the jogged across the street. 

Also, whatever mental drive compelled them to follow was certainly not compelling them to call out any longer. They wanted to be silent. 

But they’d already lost track of how many sound-deadening corners they’d passed.

—

Now they’d entered the next alley to find their quarry missing. Not that they were empty-handed; just confused. Before them stood a different young girl in a similar cloak, hood down with short dark hair and a blank smile, her head cocked to the side as though curiously surprised. She was eyeing them with an emotion they couldn’t quite place. Can’t take any chances, right? 

One of the officers pointed his sidearm, the other with his head on a swivel, and her smile somewhat faded. “Hands where I can see them.” Why was he sweating? 

Her head slowly un-tilted, and her hands left her long cloak, slowly rose into the air on either side of her head. Her unplaceable smile had grown back into place. Both men’s eyes drifted to her hands alight in the air, to her fingers. Her too-long fingers. Suddenly, these walls seemed too close, the air too thick. 

The girl’s fingers were all easily a centimeter too long and tapered to sickening points, as though her fingernails were in charge of the whole hand and decided the whole length of the fingers to be claws, instead. The light played off them strangely, not the luster of skin but of keratin, softly reflective. 

“What the fuck?” one of them said, a quiver in his voice. Then her smile turned to a grin filled with too many sharp teeth, and as one they opened fire. 

—

Yang watched from above, grimacing over an old fire escape at the sharp pops of gunfire.

Her hunger sharpened her vision: the officers’ muscles were tensed and their hands were shaking increasingly, shot after shot kicking back with no reward. The continuous report of their weapons was followed not by the soft sound of lead hitting flesh but the sharp clacks and clangs of concrete and steel as the projectiles missed their mark. 

It was one of the more interesting things about their prey’s psychology: when their ears told them their bullets were missing, that their power was failing to produce control, they started to panic. If even just once a bullet made a dull, soft sound instead of a sharp one, it would have brought them comfort.

Yang couldn’t contain her growl, and her hunger grew. She hopped up on the railing and looked down on the men, one still shooting and the other reaching for a backup magazine.

Ruby, having zigzagged away faster than the officers could track, was in place at the end of the alley, leering. They weren’t sure whether to pursue, or run. Too bad it was the last choice they wouldn’t be able to make. 

—

A fluttering of cloth, a scratch on the pavement behind them, their spinal reflex in overdrive, the officers’ bodies coiled in reaction - or would have, but suddenly there was a tight, biting sensation in their backs and they were looking up at the rooftops, their limbs flailing weakly, sidearms clattering to the ground. They could only wheeze as the pain registered, premature shock already setting in. 

—

With her fingers dug into the muscles in their backs, all Yang had to do was squeeze , and the spines would snap in her palms, and the suffering they’d caused, the trauma and fear - it’d come the closest it could to making sense. But then they wouldn’t be able to feed. Ruby would go hungry and worse, and Yang wasn’t exactly sure of what she wouldn’t do to keep that from happening. 

With a forceful growl she drew on her heat, empowering her arms and core, and threw the men into the walls at either side. They crumpled to the ground in bleeding heaps among the garbage and scraps. 

Yang spit on the ground and flicked her hands, drawing a line of blood on the dirty pavement.  Ruby was back at her side, eyeing Yang’s fingers with a furrowed brow. 

“Just knock them out, Yang.” 

Yang forced a smirk.

“But that can like, confuse the soul on its way out.” Yang could tell her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Ruby’s pointed expression was enough. Yang suppressed a grimace. “Yeah, I know.” 

“You can talk to me about stuff, you know,” Ruby said, giving a soft punch to the shoulder. “And not just because I’m probably the only one that can listen.” 

Yang looked at her hands, felt her expression darken - and then almost, almost looked up at Ruby. “I know, Ruby, just… let’s just get this done.” 

Ruby held her gaze on Yang for a moment before nodding and then, before either of them could really process it, there was an arm around Yang’s neck. 

Yang was yanked down a few inches by her neck while Ruby’s silver eyes flew wide, shock processing before worry and anger, and damn this arm felt like it could pop her head clean off. She heated up and hardened at about the same time as Ruby, but knew by the strength of her assailant (definitely not one of the men, unless she’d been super blind) - and by the point digging into her side - that struggling wouldn’t do much good.

Yang’s senses were on fire, highlighting three things: the assailant was shorter than her but likely, somehow, physically stronger; Ruby’s expression was terrified; and the arm around her neck, skin a muted bronze in tone, was cold and smelled like fresh night air and evergreen. 

Yang’s return grip on the arm did little to dissuade its hold on her neck, didn’t even scratch the skin, for Brothers’ sake - and Ruby was bristling, her teeth bared, body coiled. 

Oh. The temperature, Ruby’s instinctual reaction, the strength , the apparent speed at which the assailant had advanced - 

Vampire. 

Probably. What were the chances?

“Let her go,” Ruby growled. It was a little unnerving, to be honest. 

“Calecalanth,” growled the attacker. A woman, and she sounded… tired. “Savages.” 

“Nice to -hng- meet you, too,” Yang managed. The arm tensed, almost too little to notice.

“I need you both to leave,” the voice growled, “now.” 

“What, are you rescuing these dipshits? It’s a little late for…” damn, it was a strong arm, “...for that, sorry.” Air was proving difficult, and Ruby knew it. Getting into a scrap with a fucking vampire (probably), her little sister doing the scrapping, wasn’t what she had planned for the evening. This had to stop. 

Yang froze as she felt the head behind her turn - some long, cool hair brushed her ear - and spit on the ground. “Fuck no,” came the response.

Ruby’s eyes suddenly softened almost imperceptibly, and she straightened just a little, gaze still on the attacker. “She’s… thirsty,” she said, somewhere among wonder, anger, and incredible aggression. 

“Oh,” Yang blurted. If she stopped to just feel , she could sense the slightest tremors in the arm. The vampire was strong, but she was straining. Shit. 

She made a snap judgment. 

“Look,” Yang said, fighting her instincts and letting her arms fall away, “if you’re… struggling, you can take one of these assholes.” 

“I - what?” the vampire said. 

“Yang?” said Ruby - in it Yang heard equal parts trust and caution. 

For a brief moment the point left Yang’s side and the arm loosened its grip - Yang didn’t want to damage the tiny headway they were making, so she stayed put. The moment passed and the arm resumed its hold, but the point didn’t return. 

“What do you care?” she spat - Yang could practically feel the fatigue, now, radiating from her voice and the way she shifted their weight. 

“I care about my sister recharging tonight,” Yang said as she absently realized she’d started to help hold her own weight in her backwards lean. Hell of a core workout. “I think you need the other one more than me and we’re not looking for a fight. I’ll manage.” 

“Yang, are you sure?” 

“That doesn’t make any sense!” said the vampire, frustration bordering on a sob. “You’re supposed to fight back. Wildly defend and devour your prey. What are you?” 

Yang managed a shrug against the underside of the vampire arm despite her posture. “I’m nothing if not astonishing.” 

For a moment, there was just the sound of an autumn wind, smelling faintly of fallen leaves and  kicking up alley debris, and the occasional groan or gasp from the prey. Yang watched Ruby’s cloak flutter in the breeze and thought of night walks and cool, fresh air. 

Then the vampire thrust Yang away and took a few steps back. Getting her balance, Yang stretched her arms upward, tugging muscles in her back. Then she turned to see a woman both terrifyingly beautiful and heartbreakingly harrowed. 

The hood of a worn jacket framed a face with striking features crowned by nearly hidden faunus cat ears. Piercing but tired gold-amber eyes flitted back and forth beneath a few loose strands of her long, midnight black hair. There were bags under those eyes, her face was somewhat gaunt, and Yang imagined that even for a vampire, her bronze skin was more pale and muted than it should be. Her eyes were all over the place, both wild and careful, keeping both the environment and the two anomalies in stock. Her amber gaze held Yang’s a breadth longer than Ruby’s before she swallowed heavily and spoke. 

“What are you?” she repeated, brandishing the ornate dagger she’d had at Yang’s side a moment before. “Are you a Calecalanth or not?” 

“Yeah,” Yang said, crossing her arms. “Not what you were expecting?” For her part, Ruby cocked a hip, then sighed and looked to the dying men. 

“Well… no, not really.” The vampire didn’t sheathe the dagger, which Yang noticed seemed to have a silver edge - just who was she carrying it for? -  but relaxed enough for her hand to fall to her side. Her unused arm, now freed of its captive, hugged her abdomen instead, as though cold. “Do you not roam, endlessly hungry, killing and eating whoever you cross?” 

Ruby made a sound of protest, but Yang let out a bark of laughter, delighted to see the the faintest sparkle of life in the vampire’s eyes. Not everybody could appreciate dry deadpan. But Yang could, and she could tell the vampire was the kind of person to only speak more freely as tension diminished. 

“Only on my bad days,” Yang said. Her voice softened. “Most of us aren’t like that.” Yang watched the question nearly escape the vampire’s throat, get pushed down. 

“So you don’t… eat people?” she asked instead. 

“I really prefer cookies and fried rice,” Ruby beamed, washing away some of the shadow on the vampire’s face like a torch. Yang felt a surge of pride. 

“What we need from these… dipshits isn’t their flesh or blood,” Yang said. The vampire raised an eyebrow. They had her attention.

“Then what do you need? ” The woman’s eyes, sunken as they appeared, flitted back and forth. Her veiled humor receded, replaced by guarded skepticism. Yang could see the gears turning beneath the amber. 

Yang rubbed her selion and sighed; the woman’s eyes watched the movement of her hand, brow knit. “It’s… it’d be easier to show you.” 

“I…” the vampire started, visibly deflating, “I guess… Calecalanth are a myth. To us.” 

“So are vampires,” Yang said. 

“To us,” Ruby added helpfully. 

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you calling me a vampire?” 

“I mean, to be fair,” Yang said, smile crooked, "we didn’t.” 

Did the vampire just pout?  

“And,” Yang continued, “bedtime stories and, like, a really strong feeling.” 

The vampire exhaled strongly through her nose, contemplative. The way she growled Calecalanth , the way Ruby bristled and it hit Yang like a ton of bricks. There was something there, and the vampire was clearly thinking something similar. 

“Ok,” she said, then lowered her chin, the gaze catching Yang off-guard. “Do it. Show me what it is you take.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Yang managed, and cleared her throat. “Yeah, ok. We’re about out of time, anyway. Ruby?” 

“Are you sure you don’t need it?” Worry battled with urgency on her face.

“I’ll last a night if I need to.” 

“If you’re sure…” At Yang’s nod, the vampire watching critically, Ruby turned to the nearer dipshit, lunging down to grasp him around the neck and - in a show of strength that Yang watched the amber eyes file away for reference - shortly had his spasming form held up to the wall with a single hand. 

Then she bared her teeth, sharpened canines both top and bottom, and sunk them deeply into the meat of his shoulder. 

“I thought you-” the vampire started, tensing at the apparent lie, and paused at Yang’s raised finger and solemn expression. Wait. She waited. 

In seconds, the body had ceased its struggling, and the vampire’s eyes narrowed: while blood had escaped the bite, Ruby was clearly not drinking, nor were her teeth grinding or gnashing. The Calecalanth and her prey were perfectly still, save for a shifting that Yang knew to be the man’s quintessence being absorbed by Ruby’s own. 

The vampire’s eyes slowly widened and became fixed on Ruby, her arm falling from her abdomen, and she slowly stood a little straighter. Yang thought watching a Calecalanth feed in their way was a lot like watching a bonfire. Clearly, it was similar experience for the vampire. But seeing it for the first time was something else entirely, and Yang found her eyes fixed on the vampire’s experience in watching Ruby feed.

Almost - almost - unexplainable was the intense shifting of pressure, of presence. Even as Ruby let the body fall, it was as though he was no longer there, while Ruby’s presence filled the vision of the watcher. The deed done, she stood tall and breathed deep with her eyes closed and her chin in the air. 

Then, it was as though she flexed something, and the air around her swirled red for a brief moment. She turned to them, and her eyes were so full of life . Yang watched as the vampire drew a sharp breath, and knew that she’d probably just realized that, if they really wanted to hurt her, to keep the remaining body for themselves, she wouldn’t stand a shadow’s chance against this fully-charged being in front of her. 

For a moment there was only awe and silence. Then, Ruby grimaced and reached for a distant scrap of her cloak. “Blegh,” she said, wiping her face and neck as clean as she could on the fabric. 

“Washing machines, am I right, Rubes?” Yang said, sparing a wink for the viewer. 

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Thank the Brothers for washing machines.” 

“His soul ,” the vampire breathed. 

“He wasn’t using it,” Yang said, rolling her eyes. Then she smiled, bowed. “But yes. From myth to reality. Now you know.” 

“Ok, Yang, now I want real food,” Ruby said, bouncing slightly on her heels. “Let’s hurry up and find you another unused one.” 

“Soul…” the vampire muttered. “Unused.” 

“Seriously, Rubes, it’s fine. I’ll snag someone tomorrow after work.” 

“...work,” said the vampire with re-narrowed eyes. 

“Well, yeah,” Yang said. “We’re not gonna just steal groceries. We’re not monsters.” She paused, considering, and added “We’re Ruby and Yang. Um, I’m Yang. And this,” she kicked the other officer, pleased to hear a small grunt, “is for you.” 

She made a face. “He’s lost a lot of blood.” 

“You’re not a chupacabra. ” At this, the vampire actually laughed , a tiny but deep, tired musical sound that escaped as she finally sheathed her dagger. 

Ruby bounded forward, practically vibrating. “So you’re actually a vampire?” 

“Ruby…” 

“No, it’s ok.” She managed a small smile. “I am. I guess we’re pretty good at recognizing the other.” 

At this, Ruby actually squealed. “Oh my gods! You’re real! And you’re not draining us of blood! How strong are you? Do you need to eat? How OLD are you?” 

“Something something as the legends say, yeah,” Yang said, placing a hand over Ruby’s mouth, reducing her questions to unfazed mumbles. “Well, um…” Suddenly she was very aware of an unseen time limit, a man to be drained of his remaining blood and a vampire that probably didn’t want it to be a performance. 

The vampire exhaled heavily as she tucked her black hair into her hood and behind one ear.

“I… my name is Blake,” she said. “I’m not quite sure how to thank you.” 

Even as it continued to dwindle, the flame inside Yang flared - a brief blast of oxygen exciting the crackling embers. Blake. Such a simple sound, but charming and distantly familiar. Like an old house just visible from the road. It was a beautiful name.

“Blake.” Yang, removing her hand from her sister’s mystified face, grinned as as bright as she could despite the slowly dimming light inside her. “Well, maybe next time don’t say hello by putting my head in a vice.”

“And scaring me.” 

“And scaring Ruby.” 

Blake chuckled weakly, and Yang’s heart ached. “Will do.” 

“Ok, well. We’ll leave you to it.” Taking Ruby’s nervously waving hand ( A real vampire, Yang!) , Yang gave one more crooked smile and a two-finger salute and followed another autumn breeze out of the alley, relieved to find it still empty. 

Blake the vampire. Yang could swear she saw her mouth the words next time as she had been turning to regard the remaining prey. 

Yang couldn’t place why she should feel so much concern for a stranger; a stranger that attacked her, a stranger that’s a vampire for gods’ sake. Despite everything, and nothing, Yang could see the despair beneath those amber eyes.

Fatigue. Grief. She wasn’t sure what Blake was grieving, what she had gone through, but for a being as powerful as her, there had to be a good reason for her to have to nab someone else’s kill. 

Then it hit her, thinking about Blake’s cautious and inquisitive demeanor - maybe it was for the same reason Yang and Ruby’s hunting patterns were so restricted. It wouldn’t be hard for a vampire to find food; she just wouldn’t feed on any average person, just like them. 

That, and maybe she was even weaker from not feeding then Yang had originally surmised.

Still, Yang thought as they rounded onto a more populated street - Ruby chattering her excitement about vampires in hushed tones, Yang nodding and humming along - she was going to feel this delay in feeding. Over the course of four days she had gone from a bonfire to a late campfire, and by morning she’d feel like a flickering lantern. She’d only done as late as day five a few times before, and it sucked . 

“I can go and grab another of them, Yang.” 

Yang started, having not realized just how on autopilot she’d been. Flickering flames. “No, Rubes. Thanks, but it’s late, we need actual food, and kicking a nest twice usually doesn’t work out.” 

“Fine,” she said, not quite letting it go. “Fried rice to wash out the taste of blood in my mouth.” 

“And the taste of you know, like, literal garbage.” Yang felt like she earned the light punch to the shoulder, and smiled a real smile. Tonight there was takeout, a movie with her sister, and shifting thoughts of vampires with golden eyes. 

Tomorrow, work. Then fire.  

Chapter Text

Yang called out from work at 4 in the morning.

In an apologetic text to Emerald and the M.D. chiropractor who co-owned the clinic, she said she was sick, but she couldn’t muster the creativity for specifics. She hoped it was authentic enough, but then hope was a bother, too. 

Whatever. It was Friday.

In the dark of her bedroom, Yang had struggled to sleep, the repercussions of giving away her prey setting in. Sending the text was almost more than she could manage–her mind was increasingly foggy, fuzzy as the hours passed. Fuggzy. 

And maybe her stomach did feel a little upset. She hadn’t actually eaten last night, losing her appetite at the last minute. And while Ruby had tried several times to get her to eat, Yang had responded with a forced smile and promises to have her fried rice for lunch the next day. 

Then there were Yang’s muscles at large. They weren’t exactly… sore. They were just hard to move. It was fine. She could move if she wanted to–it was just so much work. Dedication. But if she thought about reasons for calling out of work, it was as good as being sore.

So yeah, sick. Right?

A quiet voice somewhere in the corner of her mind, speaking on behalf of the flickering flame, told Yang it would be better if she went and fed. 

Hey. 

She guessed it wasn’t wrong. 

But feeding was a nighttime thing. In a twang of clarity, Yang felt resolute that feeding in broad daylight could only lead to disaster.

So she dozed. In and out, she was vaguely aware of the dark slowly giving way to gray, then the beckoning rays of midmorning spilling through her window.

Ruby may have popped in to check on her–or that may have been a dream. She’d have expected the lethargy, being common for a calecalanth getting through day five. Yang knew, regardless, that Ruby would be planning on going out with her this evening to help her get caught up with feeding. 

The sound of the front door shutting, signifying Ruby leaving for university, roused Yang and focused her attention on the glowing digital clock in the corner of her room. 

9:00. 

With a shake of her head, she realized she’d been staring at the clock for some time, and Ruby shutting the door had been minutes ago, maybe more. Something about the numbers, the red roundness of them, had kept Yang’s glassy eyes fixed there. She wasn’t sure what the time had read when she first looked.

Whatever. 

Nine in the morning was the true start of the day, Yang thought. People have shaken the sleep from their eyes. The world’s turning. Things are being done and conversations are being had. The sun’s fully up and the night chill has been baked from the air–whether or not she was out there, she thought. The world keeps turning. 

Slowly, Yang turned her head to her bedroom door. Outside. 

She wanted to be outside. 

Laboriously conducting the movement of each limb, turning her torso like a monolith in cold earth, Yang rotated and slowly lowered her feet to the floor, her fingers splayed out on the bedsheets. She stared at her toes for a moment, transfixed. She wiggled them. That’s right, she thought. You just have to put your feet on the floor. 

She wasn’t sure how long it took her to reach their apartment’s veranda. Two or three minutes would be a reasonable guess. Maybe that was pushing it? On the way, she’d stopped to register Ruby’s cereal bowl in the kitchen sink from a few hours ago. 

Yang bonked her head up against the glass sliding door that led outside to the rooftop deck. Her hands took their sweet time in rising to steady her against the glass, but then failed to achieve purchase when she attempted to slide open the big door. It was probably just because she wasn’t pushing hard enough, but that didn’t stop her from muttering about her hands being traitors today. 

She resigned to use the handle like a normal person and found the latch locked. 

Ah. 

She clumsily unlatched it and yanked, stumbling through the open door, which slid all the way down its rail and bounced off the far frame, staying open behind her.

Cold. It was cold at the top of the highrise, and breezy. Maybe just breezy? 

Seeing what she wanted, Yang ambled out and around their pool, out of the building’s shadow and toward the part of the veranda drenched in morning sun. Once out of the shadow cast by the building, she didn’t bother pulling over a chair or recliner, opting instead to crumple on the rough-textured concrete deck. There, sprawled out on her back on the patio, her eyes closed, Yang felt the rays of the sun slowly start to fill her with some kind of warmth. 

She hadn’t realized how cold she was. 

Thoughts of feeding started to trickle into Yang’s mind around images of Ruby and, strangely, Blake and her tired, gold eyes. But the images were fleeting and unsteady, and willpower and control of her mind’s eye were drowning in the fog. 

Frowning against the sun, Yang grudgingly admitted to herself that she may have made an error. Today was day five, yes, but the soul bleed wasn’t supposed to hit this hard. She and Ruby knew the rules–with the timing of her last feed, she was supposed to stay acute until at least tomorrow morning. Maybe she was just really bad at math? 

But no–you don’t just misplace a day, and Ruby definitely wouldn’t. 

But the truth was that right now, it didn’t matter how her soul had run so low. The only puzzle that mattered was how to recharge it.

In this moment of clarity, Yang again considered the possibility of hunting during the day. The necessity of it. She didn’t want to think about the consequences of going too long, too far. She’d never been this far before, so low, and honestly wasn’t sure how much time the little flame within her had left. 

On the other hand, she couldn’t risk her sister, their home, their people, by being hasty and getting caught feeding in broad daylight. 

That, and Yang hadn’t felt this comfortable in hours. 

As the sun crept higher in the sky, Yang let her mind wander and her body relax. Her mind started to drift through a sensory kaleidoscope.

Ruby tugging on her arm. 

Riding Bumblebee on a suspension bridge cable. 

The taste of blood. 

Children singing for Halloween like a holiday carol. 

Blake, running along the top of a shiny train as it crushed a man to dust. Blake, sliding down off the train as it parked in front of her clinic like a bus, wearing a crooked smile as her fingers left lines in the metal like warm wax. 

“Hot like the moon, Yang,” Blake was suddenly whispering in her ear, except it was deafening, an explosion of sound. 

Yang bolted upright on the deck, gasping. The sky was purple-on-indigo, the sun having left her long ago. Did she really sleep all day? The sound of Blake’s voice echoed through her mind, fading like departing thunder.

Come back .

Her mind grasped for clarity through the fog: she was cold, the air smelled like approaching night, and the sound of traffic in Argus had the rhythm of people returning home. Yang’s eyes settled on the open sliding door across the veranda, the apartment still dark. As her vision focused, she remembered Ruby saying she’d be studying with a friend just for a bit after class.

Maybe they were a little too confident in the stability of feeding cycles.

Her muscles now actually sore, Yang groaned to her feet. She swayed as she fixed a tired glare on the sliding door. 

Going around the pool sounded like a pain. 

Again, as she ambled around and back toward the door, arms limp and feet dragging, a voice in the back of Yang’s mind told her she was in trouble. Only, she couldn’t muster the willpower to care. She could scarcely even care about the chasm of her now 24-hour empty stomach.

Vaguely, she wondered if this was what a calecalanth felt during the last few hours of having a soul. 

Reaching the glass door, she had the desire to rest her head against it the same as she had before she came out that morning. It felt good to have a desire, any desire, so she did. 

Bonk. 

Yang closed her eyes. 

This felt familiar. 

How do you visualize the soul within you? 

That’s a dumb question, dad. 

Maybe. Maybe the way I worded it’s - I don’t know, trite. But answer it anyway. 

I guess… I guess it feels like a fire. 

That makes sense. For most of us, visualizing it involves something like light or warmth. For me, it’s a setting sun. Or a rising one.

How many people have you asked how they visualize their soul, dad? 

Don’t worry about that. The warmth of the fire - does it come across as warmth of the fire itself, or how warm it makes you feel? 

Um. Well, now that you ask, I guess the warmth is mine? But that’s not totally it. 

What do you mean? 

It’s like a campfire, you know? I think it’s specifically that kind of fire. Because it’s not just me it’s keeping warm, it’s anybody gathered around it. 

That’s… good, Yang, but I don’t think that’s how souls work. 

I’m not saying it is. I’m just answering your question. 

Alright. That’s fair, Yang. As long as you know how to visualize it. Now: if the fire was burning low, how would you feel? 

Like if I hadn’t recharged in a while? 

That’s right. 

I mean. Cold? 

How do you warm yourself up if the fire’s running low? If you’re out of wood, fuel. 

I guess… we get closer when a fire runs low. Close enough to feel it.

What else? 

Rub our hands together. And rub our chest and torso. Any movement to keep the blood flowing and use heat from friction. 

That’s right. But stop saying “we,” Yang. This is your fire. Your soul. 

That reminds me! We also huddle up together for warmth. Add that to the list. 

Yang. 

Ugh, fine. I am a strong, independent woman with an impermeable soul that I have to keep lit all by my lonesome. 

I wouldn’t take it that far, but… yeah. Do you understand? If you ever need to huddle around your fire, you’ll only have a short time to find more fuel.

Yeah, I get it. But my plan is to not have to have such a low fire.

Sometimes things just happen, Yang. Just be prepared. For you and your sister. 

I thought my fire was only about me, huh? 

You know what I mean. 

Have you asked Ruby how she visualizes her soul? 

I’m going to. 

Yang growled and flung her palms up to the glass, pushing herself to stand upright. Ruby. What was her soul like? Yang had never asked after that day - she’d filed the conversation with her dad away as typical Taiyang Xiao Long worrying. 

But now she wished she’d asked. 

Yang imagined the flickering flame deep in her chest and cupped her hands around it. Her hands felt numb to the warmth. 

She huddled closer. 

It wasn’t just her hands, now, but her whole being curled around the flame. 

She imagined herself shivering, writhing, rubbing. Generating warmth. And it did. She felt the flame within her burning low, so low. It was only just warm. 

But it was something.

Letting her arms fall, Yang took a deep breath and opened her eyes with renewed clarity. 

Shit. 

She needed to feed, now. 

This time, Yang slammed the sliding door shut behind her as she dashed inside.

She was still in the loose clothes she’d worn to bed, but grabbed a yellow hoodie and crammed her naked feet into some old running shoes before snatching her keys off their hook and dashing out the door. 

She was already in the elevator and punching the code for the garage when she realized she’d forgotten her scroll. Hadn’t even looked at it since morning. But there was no time - her newfound warmth was fading fast. 

For a moment, she resented the elevator being such a fast machine. There was no way she could beat it to the garage using the stairs, but she was stuck doing nothing for the seconds it took to move. 

Yang’s body began to shudder as she closed her eyes to focus on finding warmth while she waited. 

She could not let this happen. She couldn’t let one of their family run dry. She couldn’t let that happen to Ruby. 

Not again. 

Bumblebee roared down a more lively street of the Wharf district near the bay. It was fully night now, the last hints of twilight having been devoured by a late overcast sky. Riding had helped Yang focus for a moment, but her autopilot had quickly gotten her lost in the time, and somewhat in the city.

As Yang slowly rolled to a stop at an intersection populated by well-lit restaurants and pubs, she was vaguely aware of her appearance: her long hair was blown to tangles and dirty, and wearing sweats and worn running shoes, and a plain hoodie hiked up at her midriff from grasping Bumblebee’s handlebars. 

Angry shouts and car horns sounded out before Yang realized she was sitting at a green light. She still stared blankly at the clutch for a second before shaking her head and revving the engine.

Something-something drawing attention is bad. Uh-huh. 

She had to get off the bike. 

Bumblebee jerked as Yang rounded the corner and found an alley behind one of the restaurants. Or was it a pub? As she rolled to a stop next to a big trash receptacle, killed the ignition, and lowered her kickstand, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not even about the gaggle of onlookers that had followed the unkempt woman on the motorcycle to the corner of the building to stare and mutter from the sidewalk.

For a moment after the engine turned off, there was only silence as Yang sat glued to the saddle. 

What was the plan, here? 

A thin line of tired trees in front of her, their roots speckled with trash and other things, separated the back lot of the restaurant-or-pub from the apartment complex next door. In the silence of the cut engine, Yang could hear the world through the dark gaps in the leaves. Parents and children laboring over dinner. Dinner and decompression, because it was Friday. A distant part of her screamed out in desperate longing, but it was buried in the fog.

Reaching further, Yang’s senses registered the cool moisture on the air. The smell of sea. The whoosh of the cold wind and waters between Argus and Atlas, the harbor just a few blocks away.

Slackjawed, Yang stared past her environment and into space, into the ocean.

Their childhood house was floating out there. Tai’s house. Bumblebee’s saddle beneath her was the porch railing, and she was straddled on it; the house dipped and lurched with the waves. Ruby was nearby, swimming in the cold, deep water like a dolphin. 

Be careful, Yang pleaded. 

The railing under her butt was starting to melt. The whole house was going to melt into the sea. Yang looked down into the water, and saw an ocean of aura. Like they were floating in the soul of the world. It looked back up at her. 

Please don’t eat me, it said. 

But I’m so hungry.

“Hey. Blondie.” 

Yang jerked to attention, or as close to attention as going slightly stiff could be. She did not turn her head, but she was pretty sure a group had gathered around her and her bike.

Huh.

“Hey Blondie, you high?” 

Male voice. Nasally. Yang was vaguely aware of a woman - a girl? - attempting to shush him, turn him away. She couldn’t tell if it was visuals at her peripheral or the sound of their voices. Senses. What were they good for? 

She realized her hands were still on the handlebars. Slowly straightened, turned her head towards the nasally voice. He was… a guy. 

“There you are,” he said, drawing out the first word. “Ah, shit. Look at those eyes!” 

There was a wave of laughter for some reason. 

“Hi,” Yang said. She was vaguely aware she hadn’t spoken a word all day and it was little more than a croak. 

Someone said they liked her bike–was it the guy she was staring at? She didn’t think so. It didn’t matter–she was too busy reaching out with her aura to assess for edibility, or at least, trying to. 

It felt like pushing outward against tissue paper. There wasn’t enough of her own aura left to probe. Shit. Shit, shit. 

How was she going to find a worthy target? 

Walk. She needed to walk. 

The people jumped back in surprise–had someone been reaching for her?–as Yang swung her leg over and dismounted, walking back toward the street without pause or acknowledgement. 

Keys. She left the keys in the ignition. 

Whatever. 

A few of the entourage were following her. Probably that guy. A few stayed back to ogle her bike. 

Yang’s arms hung limply at her sides as she reached the sidewalk, slowly looked either way, and took off briskly to the left, away from the bright intersection and down an old, dark, and disheveled residential street. 

Her stalkers were openly catcalling now. 

It occurred to Yang, with the slightest ironic curve to her mouth, that this was the first exercise she’d gotten all day. Even on automatic pilot, her body knew what it was doing. The sidewalk was uneven, but there was no stumbling. Her movements were smooth and calculated, as though operated by an attentive mind. 

And yet, when she could get herself to pay attention, it felt more like watching her body do things on its own. That, or be piloted by something else. 

She realized they’d closed in and had been reaching out and prodding, snatching at her hoodie and sweats. 

Somewhere within her there was outrage. It wanted to turn into hunger, but for some reason Yang stopped it. 

No. 

She wasn’t sure what to do. For so long now, she’d known just what she was consuming–that her preferred prey actually deserved to be prey. Without the ability to probe, she was given pause; in her current state, improvising her morals was a little out of reach. 

A hand approached her that was a little too brave. She swatted it away. 

“Ow, what the fuck?” He was trying to shake the pain out of his hand. Yang couldn’t bring herself to feel satisfied. The anger itself was trickling away. 

Cold. 

Yang turned into some kind of square through a short alley. It could have been a parking lot. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. It was dark, lit only by occasional moonlight. Craggy. Abandoned.

An impact behind her knee brought her down. Another hit the side of her head. She thought there was laughter again. She didn’t care to pay attention. 

Focus. Do something. Be angry. Something. 

Yang made herself stand. The same hit came behind her knee, but it hit harder muscle and deflected at an odd angle. He cried out. 

“What the fuck!” 

Yang looked, tried to feel as the man hopped. He’d twisted his ankle. 

Whatever. 

The rest came at her. She thought there were four. 

The first fractured something in his hand when he slapped her. He backpedaled, cradling his injury, as the next grabbed for her neck. She backhanded him. He got some air and landed in a heap. Then, there was a hand in her hair, wrapping and twisting, pulling her back. 

As she fell painfully on her pelvis, she thought she should be angry at the sensation of a grip knotted in her hair, follicles being uprooted. She was being dragged across the square. 

She could tell there was still something in there, the flame was still alive deep inside, because that voice in the back of her mind was whispering: Maybe they do all deserve to die. I can just eat them all. 

Maybe I really am just like Raven. 

The dragging stopped, and Yang’s head hit the ground. 

Something had changed.

The grip in her hair had gone slack, but the hand remained somehow, even on the ground. Yang was aware of muffled screaming and shuffling feet, followed by silence and a body dropping. Then, for just a moment, it was the most quiet it’d been all night. 

It was kind of nice. 

Yang stared up at the dark, murky sky as noise resumed. Cut-off shouts and curses, a mix of anger and fear. A muffled impact. A crunch of bone. Huh. 

Then, running feet, a man crying. Begging? Mild struggle and the sound of dragging, kicking boots on pavement along with pained whimpering. 

Toward her.

Yang closed her eyes. 

She felt the hand in her hair get disentangled and removed, then an arm snaked under her shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. 

“Yang.” Oh. 

She opened her eyes to see those same gold eyes from the night before. Blake. 

“Oh,” she croaked. “Hey.” 

“Yang,” Blake said again, looking intensely into her eyes. Yang thought it looked a whole lot like concern. This was something close to funny. “Yang, eat.” 

She realized for the first time that Blake was still holding one of her attackers by the neck, his body strewn out to the side and struggling feebly. The neck was at a slightly odd angle beneath Blake’s long fingers. 

“I, um,” Yang attempted. “It’s.” She realized how much of a ragdoll she was being. “Hard.” 

“Eat,” Blake said again, and Yang heard desperation in her voice. This wasn’t as funny. 

Blake used her shoulder to lift Yang’s chin as she brought the man close by his neck. 

Come on, she thought, mirroring Blake’s tone. Do it. Come on. 

With considerable effort, Yang yawned her mouth open and felt her teeth sharpen - first the four main canines, then the shorter teeth flanking each one. And she let her jaw befall the meat of the man’s shoulder. 

Yang clenched her jaw. She didn’t care to pay attention to the taste of blood.

Starting should have been the hard part: now was when she should use the link to push her aura through, make contact with the other soul, and coax it out, assimilating it into her own.

But just like with her inability to probe, there was frustration as she attempted to push her soul through the link. She could tell that if she went the full length, it would disintegrate. And, on some level, she felt as though that would be very rude to Blake. 

The only chance, really, was that beginning to assimilate the man’s soul would affect the rejuvenation of her own on the spot, mid-feed. 

Really, why wouldn’t it work that way? She’d just never had to pay attention before.

“Yang?” More worry had worked its way into Blake’s voice.

She pushed her aura across the threshold, through the link in the shoulder and into the man’s body. 

Just before it could stretch too thin, Yang’s soul found its target.

Then, warmth.

Once contact was made, warmth felt, Yang’s soul became ravenous. There was a cascade as the quintessence was reconfigured into Yang’s own, inundating her with warmth and life as it flowed back. The more of Yang’s there was, the faster the prey’s soul was converted. 

She felt Blake release her and shuffle back as Yang’s hand shot down to support her weight and she curled in to hold the body herself. 

Hot, hot. 

Hot! Holy shit! 

The sensation of her atrophied soul being fully recharged so rapidly was nearly overwhelming. Yang was flooded with the feeling of life and sensation and heat–and just as quickly as the assimilation had started, it was done. The vessel empty, Yang scrambled to her feet, breathing deep and rapid, taking in the smell of the lot–dust, grass, chilled rain on the horizon–and the suddenly sharp edges of every visual feature, cloaked in the blue-gray of overcast, post-twilight moonlight. 

Her senses were on fire, head on a swivel as she digested her environment.

And gods, was she hungry. For actual food. 

Then, of course, somehow, there was Blake. Yang didn’t know where she’d come from, but Blake had saved her, and now she was watching Yang with a relieved, slightly stunned expression, lips barely parted and amber gaze gentle. 

Yang took her in. The muted bronze of her skin was less muted, and she held herself taller. She was wearing the same worn navy-blue hooded jacket as the night before, hood up and partially obscuring her upper ears. She seemed to have washed her hair, having it gathered and pulled mostly over one shoulder, but her jeans and sneakers didn’t look quite like they fit, even if Blake still somehow made them look good. 

Even–you know–among the bodies littering the space. One of them was missing an arm . Oh, the one that had been tangled in her hair! Nice. 

Also, ew.

Yang could only imagine how the vampire before her had moved during the encounter, seeing as how she wasn’t soiled by even a single drop of blood. The thought flustered Yang for some reason, so she shelved it.

Instead, feeling safe in present company, she closed her eyes to feel just a moment longer, relishing in the life and power coursing through her freshly recharged being. She took a deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, and on the exhale powered every muscle in her limbs and torso in sequence. 

“Is that steam ?” 

Yang opened her eyes to find Blake openly staring.

Yang stood, truly stood before Blake in a loose yellow hoodie, baggy gray sweats, and worn running shoes, and she was power– a far cry from the frighteningly limp figure she’d been when Blake first arrived. Even disheveled, the sparse silver moonlight lit the edges of her hair to a golden glow, and her rejuvenated form felt as though it threatened to crumble the buildings around them by sheer presence alone. 

With her eyes closed and arms raised fist-to-palm, Yang breathed deeply of the night air and exhaled through her nose, her issuing breath shown by twin jets of vapor shooting downward. 

Holy shit. 

“Is that… steam ?” Blake managed, relieved when her voice came out steady. Yang opened one eye, then the other as the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards. 

“Yeah,” she said, one hand abashedly going to the back of her head. “I run a little hot for the first few minutes.” And damn her if she didn’t punctuate with a toothy grin that allowed a gentle ribbon of steam to continue rising out past her canines. 

Blake eyed the rising steam, unable to put an exact name to the wistfulness slinking at the edge of her mind. Practically glowing, Yang was terrifying, intimidating, yes–but somehow as Blake took in the sight of her, the warmth and vapor, the only thing she could think about was how long it'd been since she'd had a long, hot shower.

“You don't say,” was what made it past her filter. 

“Ya-huh.” Yang’s next words were muffled as she suddenly started to remove her hoodie, obscuring her face. “Runs in the family. Sort of.” 

Blake cleared her throat, fighting for control of her attention as she noted two things: the sisters both being calecalanth was genetic instead of circumstantial, and Yang's skin–first her muscled stomach as her shirt rose with the hoodie, then her arms and chest as the hoodie came off–was hot enough to steam upon contact with the cool night air. 

Now clad in just a plain tank top, Yang was tying the hoodie around her waist when she once again caught Blake by surprise: her shoulders suddenly slumped and her confident gaze fell away. 

There was a shift in the clouds, casting the lot in a silver glow, making the ambient pools of blood look almost black, defiant tufts of grass violet.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes roaming the moonlit bodies. "And sorry." Her vulnerability came as a shock–but it made it easy to respond.

"Yang.” The lilac eyes snapped back to Blake. “You know I owed you one. I happened to be in the area.”

“Yeah, I know, just.” She shrugged and absently started to work at a knot in her hair, looking away once more. “Still. What you just saw, it’s… not really supposed to happen. I messed up. And… dealing with this.” She gestured at the bodies. “Taking lives for me, it shouldn't be something you have to do.”

Again, Yang was proving to be everything Blake had been taught Calecalanth weren't. Blake's autopilot was searching Yang for signs of facade, ulterior motive–her eyes, her posture–and was finding Yang's concern for life to be genuine. 

How could such a being be so good ?

"It’s… touching that you care.” Blake's brows tightened as she measured the weight of her words. “But I only do things I want to do. And they had it coming." 

Yang's hand moved back to the back of her head. “Well, I can't argue with... any of that, I guess,” she said, donning a lopsided smile that faded almost as fast as it came. “But... I'm sorry you had to see that. But hey! You look, um, better. Things went ok, then?”

Needing to keep her hands and eyes busy, Blake crouched by one of Yang's attackers to start going through pockets. Waste not. She smirked and spared Yang a glance. 

"I drank a man, Yang. So yes, I'm better. Thanks again.” 

Blake wasn't sure why she took such pleasure in teasing the woman, but was nonetheless inwardly delighted when Yang gulped and cleared her throat, appearing to also suddenly wish for something to do with her own hands. 

Blake pocketed some lien and moved to check the next body before looking up. “I think I know what you mean, though,” she said. 

“Oh?” Yang had settled on crouching and watching. Blake wasn’t sure if she should be afraid of the gravity between them–Yang staying, Blake killing time–but talking with her was easy . 

This didn’t mean Blake wouldn’t choose her words carefully, though. This was radically new ground, connecting with this confounding and beautiful fairy-tale being, and she really didn't want to mess it up.

“What you're sorry I had to see. I guess you know a thing or two about vampires, since you saw me last night.” Yang waited, listening and watching as Blake occupied herself checking the next attacker’s coat. “Not feeding, it saps strength. But...” 

Don’t overthink it, Blake. It’s not that complicated. She shook her head, powered on. 

“But I don’t think it’s just strength . It’s something more.” Blake realized she’d been fiddling with the same jacket pocket for much longer than necessary. She looked up at Yang, unable to stifle the fear that Yang would be itching to leave, or watching her with fear or disgust. Instead, she saw only soft understanding, Yang nodding patiently. 

“I could sort of tell,” Yang said. “I think Ruby could, too. It felt like you were nearing the end of your rope.” 

“But calecalanth, you—it's like you were barely there, Yang.”

“Yeah.” Still crouched, Yang looked passively at the ground. Concerned it was a sensitive topic, Blake nearly bailed her out with a subject change when Yang powered on, instead, absently reaching out and toying with small chunk of loose concrete.

“It's similar, I think. What we lose. It's what we need to refill, you know? It sounds like your body somehow gives out. Mine doesn’t; Calecalanth stay strong, but...” Yang punctuated by flicking the piece of concrete away.

“Yang?” Yang looked up as Blake weighed her words. “What would have happened if I didn’t-” 

Yang flinched painfully before looking away and carefully smoothing over her features. 

Shit. How could Blake have been so insensitive? Yang could have had family she'd lost to failing to feed, or it could be a taboo subject among the calecalanth. Having touched this live wire after being so careful, Blake felt guilt well up in her throat. 

“I'm sorry, I-”

”It's fine,“ Yang said, her warmth gone. But just as everything was beginning to feel very much like a mistake, Yang cleared her throat and looked back to Blake, features unmasked, her eyebrows raised, eyes glinting, and hands raising in apology. “I mean, it's not, but it's ok, ok? Just. Not now.” 

Blake released a breath she didn't realize she was holding, relieved to have not been shut out. 

“Okay.” 

Yang stood, and Blake followed suit.

“Another time.” Yang crossed her arms. “Because apparently, I have a vampire stalker . Should I be worried about that, or...?” 

Riding her relief, Blake scoffed and mirrored Yang's posture, crossing her arms. “It's hard not to notice your motorcycle with my hearing.“ 

“Aha!” Yang freed an arm to point. “How'd you know it was my motorcycle?”

“That,” Blake started, and felt her cheeks color. Dammit. Clearly proud of herself, Yang leaned forward, eyes widening ever so slightly.

“And how are you blushing right now, I didn't think vampires-” 

“That,” Blake repeated, grasping for control of the situation, “is confidential vampire biology. As for your bike, I-” 

Blake cut herself off, her mouth frozen in sudden realization as they held each other's gaze. Yang's mouth parted before her eyelids flew wide open. 

“Shit, my bike!”

Yang was fast. 

But just calling her fast was too simple. Blake could see, almost smell the subtle changes in her musculature afforded to her by her curse, heating her blood and strengthening the muscles needed for movement and balance. Power with finesse. 

Her form was practically artful. 

And as they ran one after the other out of the brief alley and down the street back toward the back lot where Yang left her motorcycle, the cool wind–whipping Blake’s hoodie in the air behind her and rushing through her hair, cooling her cheeks–didn’t feel like the unforgiving chill of an indifferent city as she’d come to know it. Instead, against her learned nature, it reminded her of the rising chill of dusk as she played outside with friends as a child. Any minute, her mother would call that it was time for dinner, and she and Yang would dash for the shadows, giggling. Just a few more minutes of play.

It was stupid, Blake knew. A feeling she pushed down immediately, but that left lingering wonder behind: how did this woman–a calecalanth, no less–keep winnowing down her defenses? 

What was it Yang had said? She was nothing if not astonishing. 

“Slowpoke,” Blake said, picking up speed and dashing by. 

Reducing the laughter bubbling deep down to just a smirk was a small victory. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where they were going!” 

People always talked more when lifted up against a wall, Yang had found.

“Hi, Sorry, I’m Hangry.” 

Blake had re-affixed her hood over her ears, but Yang could still see her eyebrows rise into her bangs. She sidled up next to Yang and peered up at the man dangerously, raising her fingers to glide her nails across his throat. Yang found herself dumbstruck watching Blake’s fingers and forearm, but remembered to keep hold on the man’s shirt.

“Surely,” Blake said, “you know places they like to go.” 

“Lady,” he gulped, eyes flitting back and forth between the two, “I just work here.” 

“Ugh.” Yang dropped him back to the ground, then made a show of patting the wrinkles in his shirt and straightening his apron. “I don’t suppose you could hook a girl up with some fries?” 

“Uh,” he said, eyes still wide, visibly grappling with reality. “Maybe… my manager…” 

But Blake was already gently dragging Yang away. 

“But Blaaake,” she whined. “Hungie.” The aproned man dashed through a back door out of sight. 

“You’re not allowed to use the word hungie,” Blake said, releasing Yang’s wrist and turning to face her. Yang put on her best pout. “Until after we find your bike.” 

“Oh yeah.” 

Blake frowned. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear it go.”

“Don’t be. Just call me the queen of distracting situations.” Yang gave a finger gun and a wink, and was pleased to see Blake fight a smile.

 “I will not.” She shook her head. “Do you have a tracker or something on it?” 

“Well no, but…” 

Blake waited. Yang wasn’t sure she should be assuming Blake’s help, but it didn’t really feel that way. Blake’s choice to tag along felt like a blessing Yang was afraid to question, for fear it would disappear like a popped bubble–but something told her it wouldn’t. She put on her most winning smile.

“I have an idea.”

Yang cast a glance below her to see how Blake was faring with the rapid climb, but she needn’t have worried. Following closely, Blake the vampire had sensed the lull in pace and was taking the opportunity to cast furtive eyes about the quieting parking lot and streets below, while holding onto the pipe with just one hand and what appeared to be the strength of just her fingers. 

Yang gulped, nodded, and vaulted herself up the rest of the wall and onto the roof. As the tallest nearby building, the four story apartment complex offered an unfettered view of Argus’s skyline.

It was thankfully unoccupied. 

Blake alighted quietly nearby as Yang was straightening and zeroing in on the roof’s far edge, facing toward the city proper. 

With a grin, she indicated with a tilt of her head before crossing with Blake in tow.

“Just how good is your hearing?” 

A dark eyebrow rose once more at the question. “Not… terrible?” 

Yang made a small laugh and turned to face Argus’s skyline, looking sideways at Blake and cracking her knuckles. “Vampire versus calecalanth, round one. Since you were like, stalking me, I suppose you know what my baby sounds like?” 

“We’re not–I wasn’t,” Blake huffed, and gods help Yang if it was sort of adorable. “Fine, I know the sound your ‘baby’ makes, Yang, yeah.” 

“Well, when you say it, it just sounds weird.” 

Blake shook her head with a small, inscrutable smile. “So if I hear it over the din of the city, vampires are superior, Yang?” 

“Shh, I’m listening,” Yang said, flapping a shush hand in Blake’s direction. “Also, did you seriously just use the word din ?” 

The streetlights below flashed in Blake’s eyes. “Did you just start without me? What are you, a cheater?” 

“What are you, a nerd?” 

For a moment, the only sounds Yang could hear were the blood in her ears and the wind cresting the top of the apartment complex around them. The two of them–vamp and cal–caught in the moment, that small, inscrutable smile on Blake’s face and a smirk on Yang’s. 

Then the smile became flatter, more generic, and Blake looked forward. “Ready when you are, Yang.” 

“Right.” Yang cleared her throat and slowed her heartbeat, and looked forward once more, closing her eyes. “Aaand, go.” 

Engaging in this exercise made Yang realize she had, like, a lot of questions for Blake. Up until now she’d taken the existence of vampires and Blake’s apparent strength and speed for granted, because–well, in that odd way, Blake felt familiar. Not a vampire, but a Blake, which shouldn’t make any sense, but it did. But just how good was her hearing? How did she control it? What else could she do?

Wait, did being both a Faunus and a vampire give her, like, super-duper hearing?

Focus, Yang!

Yang enhanced her hearing the same way a calecalanth does anything - by focusing and fortifying, amplifying her body’s natural ability and spending a trickle of her aura to push it past reasonable. She didn’t have the directional hearing of Blake’s upper, feline ears, but the soundscape bloomed nevertheless. Audible detail of the city before her coalesced, sharpened into an examinable map of sources of sound, blurred by angle and echo. 

Her brow furrowed as she leaned toward a semi-distant source unconsciously, trying to narrow in on the sound. 

There. The sound of Bumblebee’s engine climbing too high into the RPM’s. Bastard riding her didn’t know how to fucking upshift. 

“See, I-” Yang started, opening her eyes and coming up short as she saw Blake angled toward the pier instead, just visible from their rooftop, the inky black water in the distance subtly replacing the dim lights of the harbor district.

Blake hushed her and a crease of concentration fell over her closed eyes like a veil. 

Yang turned the same direction, her eyes lingering on the thinly-veiled worry on Blake’s face. She opened up the soundscape again, wanting desperately to know what would make a vampire–make Blake– uncomfortable, even just a little. 

In the quieter zone toward the pier, Yang found herself struggling to identify anything out of the ordinary. From here, she could pick out the occasional car sound, trilling of gulls more distant, and mild clinks and pops of life in between. Then- 

A deep rumbling, the bass purr of massive Dust engines coming into the harbor. 

“A ship?” Yang said, opening one eye and glancing over. Blake’s eyes were still closed, and Yang could pick out minute movements of her upper ears beneath her hoodie. She decided to hold further theorizing until Blake had had a chance to share. 

The moment seemed to stretch as Yang had trouble looking away, squashing down the shaky thought of she’s got a nice face before realizing she was acting like a creep. Looking back toward the glow of the city, then to the cool, dark harbor district, she tried to remind herself to focus on her bike and eventual food, but Blake’s presence and unspoken thoughts were like gravity. 

“Two ships,” Blake said, finally opening her eyes. She drew her hood down lower, perhaps unconsciously, as she continued, scrunching her long hair inward with her elbows.

Her voice was quiet, but steeled.

“An Atlas expeditionary platoon.” 

Yang turned the words over in her head. “Are you sure?”

Blake scowled. “When something angers the Atlas brass from overseas, they make harbor in pairs for extended stays until… the problem is resolved. They always come at night to avoid excessive press.”

Yang could tell Blake was bothered–her gaze went past the dark harbor, out to the horizon. Yang wasn’t sure how to get to the bottom of it–how do you broach the subject of having a history with the world’s leading military force?

“Anything kick the hornet's nest lately?” Yang said, going for upbeat and jamming a thumb over her shoulder toward the harbor. Blake, though, simply raised a hand to her sellion, letting her fingers cover one eye as though embarrassed.

“The Schnee heiress was attacked just before the bullet train unveil,” she said, as though regretfully reporting an upcoming weather event. Perhaps unconsciously, her arms moved to the position from the night before, hugging her abdomen. 

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Yang said. But as she nodded her head in recognition, yesterday's events replayed in her head with conspiratorial placement: the attack happened near Atlas's southern coast, the attacker's body was never found, Yang told her little sister to not just assume it was a vampire, and then Blake appeared at the end of the day looking exhausted and terrified. 

And now, Blake was spooked by the Atlas reactionary force making harbor. 

“They said the attacker's body wasn't found, right?” Yang said carefully, but her line of thoughts must have read clearly on her face, because Blake made little effort to hide hers. 

“Because it was destroyed,” she spat. 

Yang felt her mouth hang. “No way.” 

Blake's upper ears flattened beneath her hoodie, and Yang immediately wanted to backpedal, give her room, and reign in the sudden, inexplicable urges of tell me everything and my sister’s gonna flip the fuck out . Then she remembered the silver dagger, the fear, the hunger. And now, what was essentially an Atlas hunting party. 

“Hey,” she started, instinctively raising a reaching hand, dropping it. 

“I didn't attack anyone,” Blake blurted. While her arms stayed clutched at her abdomen, her grip tightened and her eyes widened, pleading and afraid. 

You shouldn’t be afraid , was Yang's first thought. How could someone so beautiful and powerful–who'd just literally torn apart a group of attackers in an old parking lot–wear such a frightened expression? The actual culprit came to mind–the man who “challenged” the train–and some pieces fell into place. Yang didn’t like it.

“Yeah, sounds like that was the other guy,” she said, and was relieved to see some of that tension drain from Blake's features. “And then– boosh. Train. I don't know about you, but it feels like he was batting a thousand at the jerk Olympics yesterday.” 

”Yang,“ Blake said, her voice tinted with wonder. ”That's... a potentially very insensitive thing to say about someone who just got hit by a train.” 

”Yeah, well. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I've been picking up some, uh... good riddance vibes.” 

Blake seemed to deflate, tension replaced with exhaustion once more. “It's complicated,” she said simply. 

“I gotcha,” Yang said, untying her hoodie from her waist and pulling it back on as the rooftop chill finally caught up to her. “Take care of yourself, and only share what you want to share.” 

As the last was said through the yellow fabric of the hoodie still coming on, Yang realized for the umpteenth time that despite being told to be wary of vampires all her life, to never let down her guard, she felt safe enough to turn her back, obscure her vision. 

It’s Blake, though felt like an odd reassurance about someone she'd only known for 24 hours, but it felt right anyway. 

When her head popped through the top of the hoodie, Blake was merely watching her, something of a bemused expression on her face. 

So Yang watched back. 

She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows as usual. She pulled her hair the rest of the way through and shook it out. As she did, she watched Blake watch her, doing what she could only describe as slowly re-inflating. Yang wasn't sure if Blake was consciously standing straighter, stronger as the thoughts of recent trauma slipped further away, but it didn't matter as long as that crooked smile continued to grow slowly on her lips. 

“What're you looking at?” Yang said teasingly once she was oriented and ready to move. 

“Your face,” Blake said without missing a beat.

“My... face.” 

Blake shrugged. “It's a good face.” 

It was Yang's cheeks' turn to color as she cleared her throat and busied herself by turning and peering back toward the cityscape. 

“Your face… is a good face,” she muttered. 

“It's moved a few blocks.” Blake had moved to stand beside her.

“Huh?” 

“I heard your bike before the ships, Yang.” 

And then Blake had had time to find two ships in the harbor. Damn. Yang let out a low whistle. “Well played.“ 

Blake pointed at her upper ears, one of which twitched. “Even before I was turned, two sets of ears made my hearing better than most. Now I can hear the pigeons roosting on top of the parking garage your bike just pulled into.”

Yang gaped. “Blake, that's halfway across the city. Parking garage?”

“Yeah, that's the tone the reverb just changed to.”

Yang lit up the soundscape and zeroed in on Bumblebee's motor, now somewhat muffled and echo-y. “I'll be damned. But that means–” 

“They're about to cut the engine,” Blake said, suddenly looking very much like a bird of prey ready to descend on the city. “Let's go.”

“You still want to come?” Yang tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. 

Blake smirked in her direction. “Try to keep up,” she said, and launched off the rooftop. 

Grinning, Yang followed.

“My sweet girl, what did he do to you?” Yang was giving the clutch experimental squeezes when Blake swung smoothly through the separation between parking garage levels from outside. 

“She, actually,” she said, tossing the keys to Yang, caught in fluid motion. “Turns out none of the guys knew how to ride. He made his girlfriend drive it.”

Yang scrunched her face. “If she was out of practice, that would have been terrifying. Also, thanks again?” 

Blake half-sat comfortably on the concrete wall she'd just come over and shrugged. “It's easier for me to track than you. Did you know people leave mild butt-smell on bikes when they ride them?” 

Yang gave Blake a wide-eyed glare that she quickly turned to Bumblebee's saddle, which she immediately wanted to scrub with disinfectant, then back to Blake, who was definitely enjoying this. 

“Thanks,” she said shortly. She plugged in the key and switched to electric to check the dials. “Did you, uh, terrorize them at all?” 

“They were in a convenience store down the road,” Blake said, and then Yang heard her voice take on a dangerous edge. “I think human instinct kicked in, because she gave me the keys without a word. And the guys were frozen on the spot.” 

Vampires were supposed to be pure terror, right? But fear definitely wasn’t what was driving up Yang’s heart rate.

“Blake.”

“Mm?”

“You're hereby not allowed to go from talking about butt-smell to... that.”

“To what?” Blake asked, all innocence. 

“Do you eat?” Yang said, whipping around suddenly.

Blake blinked. “I–what?”

Yang couldn't tell if her stomach was abuzz with butterflies or angry stomach acid, but was pretty sure both would be quieted by an enormous amount of reheated fried rice. 

“Eat. Like, literally. Food?” 

“Um, right, that.” Blake busied a finger with a long tangle of her black hair. Yang would have found it cute if not for the shadow that had fallen over Blake’s features. “Food.” She paused with a small frown. 

Afraid she'd crossed an unseen boundary, Yang thought twice and settled on giving Blake time to formulate a response, and casually resumed her checkup of Bumblebee. 

“Sometimes,” Blake finally said. Her right hand crossed to rest over a spot on her lower abdomen. The several times Yang had seen the action flitted through her head. “When our bodies need it. After an injury.” 

Yang's eyes flitted down to rest momentarily on Blake's hand before returning to hold her expectant gaze. “No magic healing, huh?” 

Blake snorted and shook her head, clearly pleased with the direction Yang went. “No magic replacement, but I'm not going to bleed out or get infected. I guess you could call that part magic.” 

You’re magic.

“Do you...” Yang's eyes fell back down to Blake's abdomen, then to the concrete floor, which she kicked at absently. “...need food?” 

Blake swallowed, and her response came choked, almost a whisper. “...yes.”

Yang felt a flash of unplaceable anger with no clear target; she had a suspicion the cause for what Blake's hand cradled had been hit by a train. She made eye contact gently, giving Blake room to be as open or closed as she needed. 

“Does it hurt?” 

Blake only exhaled heavily and dropped her hand. “Not anymore.” 

Yang nodded, considering, trying not to imagine what kind of wound was hidden beneath Blake’s shirt and failing.

“Welp,” she said. “What say we get you patched up?” 

Blake's upper ears stood up. “What, like– now ? Aren't you tired of me?“ 

Yang splayed a hand to her chest.

“Hell no. Vampire or not, you're the most interesting thing that's come around in years.” 

There was that smile again. “Years, huh?” 

Yang paused; that seemed like a tenuous topic for the second day, so she decided to deftly dodge it. “Don't feel too special, though–Argus sucks and our dad basically kept us locked in a barn before letting us move here.”

“Oof.” Blake made a playful wince. “That explains a lot.”

“Girl, you know I was the hottest livestock in the boonies.” Yang punctuated with finger guns, and Blake, for once, was at a loss for words, only capable of holding her palms up with a what the fuck expression. 

“Anyway, enough history–let me feed you? I've got leftovers at home for me, but I can whip something up for you real quick.” 

Blake froze for what, to Yang, felt like an eternity before her features melted in cautious resignation. “Your home?” 

Yang nodded with the most encouraging facial expression she could muster, and she really, really wanted something to smother those butterflies. 

“You're sure it's ok?” 

Vampires: fabled predators of the calecalanth, terror of the night, immortal beings with insatiable bloodlust–and clearly not immune to feeling like a burden. Yang mentally cracked her knuckles.

“Look, you saved my life today, ok? AND helped me track down Bumblebee. If you didn't let me feed you, Ruby would track you down in a heartbeat to shove cookies in your mouth.”

Blake made a face. “Cookies?” 

“If she doesn't know better, she defaults to giving people things she thinks are the best rewards. And, I mean, she's usually right, but.” 

Blake grimaced politely.

“So,” Yang continued. “If not cookies, what DO you like?”

Blake shook her head. “Whatever you have and whatever's easiest is fine.” 

Yang tried to hide the way her heart soared at the response, but couldn't help jumping into the air fist-first. 

“YES! Let's go! ” She swung a leg over the saddle and twisted the ignition before craning her neck back to look at a very lost-looking Blake, hand gripping elbow again and looking around as though unsure how to proceed. “And man, am I starving. Do you, uh...” She patted the back seat. “...want a ride?” 

“Oh, um-” Blake said, hesitant, “I'm actually not sure which is faster.“ 

“You or a motorcycle?” 

Blake shrugged and nodded.

“Brothers' mercy. Well.” She had to extend the invitation somehow–it would be rude not to, and that was the only reason. “You can feel free to follow above, or you could do some science. Do you have any firsthand experience?” 

Blake's features darkened momentarily in a way Yang couldn't place. “No,” she said. Then, “I think I'd like to try. Riding, I mean.” 

Yang wanted to know what flashed across Blake's mind, what association might be there. She wanted to know everything , and didn't care if it was dangerous.

But all she said was, “Then hop on, vampire.” 

Blake did. 

Argus’s skyline was famous, cresting the continent and bridging the two cliffs of the great cove that sandwich the city. Its diverse set of towers ran in a rough line a short distance from the ridge that descends down to the beach, with a gap in the middle for the historic district and central tramway that ran from the continental wall to the harbor. 

The West Cove district, spending half the day in the shadow of the taller of Argus's great enclosing cliffs, was home to Beacon Tower, named for a prolific university on a distant continent. While the tower’s first 30 floors were leased as assorted offices, the remaining 31-40 were retooled as lavish apartments due to corporations cannibalizing each other and consolidating the office space.

Ruby and Yang's apartment was on the 40th floor. There was more building above, of course, in the ziggurat-style tower topper that housed primary maintenance, elevator lines–things like that–but the 40th floor proper was divided into a handful of penthouses, with two having their own outdoor space complete with patio, pool, and walls tall enough to ward off the high-altitude winds and affect privacy.  

One benefit of a superhuman lifespan was being able to live wherever you want. Yang and Ruby's father has refused to tell them exactly how much wealth he’d hidden away over the years, but it wasn’t hard for Yang to convince him that a Beacon Tower penthouse was an ideal apartment when they moved to the city. It was isolated and safe, surrounded by high-profile neighbors whose presence would ward off prying eyes, had a private parking garage below the building, and the patio worked as emergency egress. 

So far, Yang hadn't found a reason to jump off the 40th floor of Beacon Tower. In fact, she'd had to convince Ruby not to more than once. She had, however, identified the best paths for scaling the exterior to and from their apartment. She'd made Ruby practice those in the dead of night, a task met with grumbles instead of the usual excitement since it felt like “homework” and having your sister perched at the top with a tether attached to you “takes the fun out of it.” 

Tonight there would be no scaling: one of many reasons to love Bumblebee–besides being fast and beautiful–was her encouragement to move and operate like a normal human being. Drive to and from work. Come home with bags of groceries. Invite vampires into your apartment. You know, human stuff.

“Almost there,” Yang called back. She felt Blake's arms, now comfortably wrapped around Yang's waist, shift as she leaned for a better look. 

“Can we see which one's yours?” 

Gods if having her voice that close to Yang's ear wasn't thrilling. 

Cool it, she thought.

They rounded a corner to descend a city street on a minor slope, the West Cove district sprawling out before them before terminating at the great cliff base. 

“That one,” she said, raising her hand off the accelerator to point. 

“Ah, that one,” Blake said, only slightly incredulous beholding the shiny high rise looming closer. “How low-profile of you.” 

Chuckling, Yang pointed to the top before gripping the accelerator again and giving them a boost of speed through the yellow light at the bottom of the hill, eliciting an oop of surprise from her passenger. 

“Sorry,” Yang called. “But yeah, up there.” 

“Up there?” Yang felt her sit back. “Yes, very low-profile.”

A few intersections later, and the motorcycle was rolling down the ramp at the base of Beacon Tower, the sturdy mesh gate at the bottom sliding up at the behest of a garage door button fastened to the inner curve of Bumblebee's handlebars. Yang could feel Blake behind her sitting up, her head on a swivel. 

As she maneuvered through the underground garage, Yang was confronted again with how little she knew about Blake despite the level of trust she felt inclined to give; was Blake unaccustomed to the city? Trained to check her surroundings? Just on edge? Overthinking it , she thought. From what she did know of her at this point, it could be a mix of any of those. However...

“Hold up,” Yang said after parking and looking back at Blake, who recoiled slightly at the sudden scrutiny. “You're not afraid of heights, are you?” 

“What?” Blake held her hands up. “No, no. Why?”

“Just, I feel bad all the sudden, bringing you out this way without asking. I guess I was, um, excited? And didn't check to make sure things were ok with you .” Yang flipped a leg over the saddle as Blake went the other way, the two sliding off in unison. “Which, now that I think about it, probably extends way past just how tall the building is.” 

When Yang turned to look at Blake over the bike, she found herself on the receiving end of a gaze she'd seen what felt like a few times tonight already–a minute tilt to the head, eyes soft but brows low, lips relaxed. Curious, surprised. And now, seeing it again, Yang could identify it: Blake wasn't used to kindness and transparency. Yang had seen it before, how the wary watch hands, shrink at loud sounds and voices, and regard sources of warmth and escape with suspicion.

Yang had a vague idea of the forces at work in Blake’s past.

But whatever had shaped Blake's experiences, she was strong. Cautious, but reserved and patient. Somewhere deep down, Yang felt pride. 

Even now, the vampire chose to let Yang spin her wheels instead of filling the silence, a corner of her mouth hitching. Yang was picking up on that–along with patience, Blake brought teasing and that dry humor. And Yang fucking loved it. 

“What?” she said. 

“Mostly nothing.”

“Slightly something?” Yang put a hand on a cocked hip in mock impatience, which Blake mirrored as her crooked smile grew. 

“A classification issue, I think.” Blake's eyes turned piercing, like she was playing a game she fully expected Yang to be good at.

“We talking taxonomy, or…”

“Something like that.” She leaned forward, all scrutiny. “I keep wanting to say you're a good person, but as a calecalanth, you're more of a monster, right?”

Yang also leaned forward, mimicking the dissecting gaze, even though she was the one under the microscope. “I see your problem. Monster could stand in for good or person , or even both.” 

Blake paused before her expression turned plain. “I hadn't considered that, actually.” She cleared her throat and regained her momentum. “No, the problem is that you're  good but by all accounts, not a person .”

“Rude.” Yang stood straight and crossed her arms. "Well, who's to say I can't be a good monster?” 

“A good monster,” Blake hummed, also straightening. “That's you.” 

No, Yang thought. I’m really not. But she easily covered the thought with a grin and a wink.

“Astounding,” she said. “So. Elevator's this way. And what about you? You good?” Yang didn’t catch the double meaning until it was too late, but Blake just shook her head, smiling.

“I’m good enough, Yang. Thank you.”

Yang thought about pressing– we can do better – but recoiled from the thought. Blake’s accompanying smile was enough. 

Though somewhere in Yang’s mind there was still a voice saying for now.

Blake thought the marbled lobby at the top of the elevator was a bit much. 

Still, she couldn't help but worry about the two sisters dirtying it when Yang opened their front door with a flourish only to be nearly tackled to the ground as a blur of black and red burst through and glomped onto her with force. 

“Hey, hey,” Yang said, catching her balance and adjusting to hold her attacker: a tightly clinging Ruby dressed in black leggings and a red sweatshirt who had buried her face in Yang’s chest.

Blake's senses were quickly hit with the smell of tears and adrenaline.

“Hey,” Yang said, softer, and Blake watched as the world disappeared around Yang, Ruby lifting a single fist to pound rhythmically against Yang's shoulder. 

“I was about to go looking,” she whispered hoarsely. “I was about to.” 

“Ruby–” 

“What happened? Why didn't you take your scroll?” Ruby finally lifted her face from Yang's hoodie and peered up at her sister. Her eyes were a little bloodshot. “It cut short, didn't it? Where were you? Are you ok?” 

“Ruby, look at me,” Yang said, lifting her sister off of her and to the floor. “Do I look ok?” 

Ruby's countenance shifted as she crossed her arms, her eyes–not leaving Yang's– went on the offensive. “I guess.” 

“Oof,” Yang said, eyes falling away, a hand flying to the back of her head. “I messed up, huh?” 

“Yes!” Ruby cried, exasperated. “Gods, Yang, and you tell me to be careful!” She suddenly caught Blake in the corner of her vision.

She blinked. “Oh, hi, Blake.” 

“Hi,” Blake said, meaning to hide how small she felt at the moment and failing. She cleared her throat. “Um, I hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of the lobby.” 

“Oh, yeah!” Yang said, perhaps overeager. “In we go, shoo-shoo.” 

“Wait,” Ruby started, batting at Yang's shepherding hands while looking from Blake to the door seriously. “Is that like, allowed?” 

Blake froze, suddenly wracked with shame. Ruby was right–how could Blake invite herself in with this family, potentially putting them in danger? That was beside the understood animosity between their species. She was forgetting caution, and logic, and realistic expectations, and now remembered to feel very much like an intruder. 

Her tunnel vision was broken when she felt a warm hand gently take hers. Her eyes snapped to focus to see Yang wearing a bright smile, the patience in her gaze betraying her understanding. Her hand fell away, but the warmth lingered.

“You know my sister’s a total nerd?” she said. “I’m sure she’d love to test the myth of vampires needing to be invited to enter a home, but I’m gonna go ahead and play it safe. Blake, you’re invited in. Your call.”

“Hey!” Ruby said, before looking between the two with a frown that broke in an instant with an apologetic grin. “And, you know, you would have been invited anyway.”

Blake let out a heavy breath. Right.

“Thanks,” she said, and let herself be ushered into the apartment. 

Inside, it was bright and white, with spots of color decorating the space. She took it in: to the right, a spacious living room with a low dining table and a recessed floor with segmented, dark gray couches covered in both yellow and dark red throw blankets and pillows, and a big cushioned bay window on the far end. Just across from the front door and to the left was a wide break in the wall that led into a broad corridor of a kitchen, with a sliding door to the outside at the far end. Further left was a hallway that had to lead to bed and bath. Mildly fluffy off white carpet dominated the space outside the kitchen, whose floor had pearly tile with black grout. The white of all of the walls was interrupted by the frequent painting or print, many of them of darker, earthier scenes of older times and landscapes. Blake was thankful for the interruptions of the overwhelming brightness.

The light faded somewhat, and Blake looked over to see Yang with her hand on a dial, clearly trying not to openly judge Blake's reaction. Was there any ill this woman didn't immediately perceive and attempt to treat? 

Blake gave Yang a grateful smile, whose return smile was subtle but satisfied.

The more subdued lighting complimented the brightness of the apartment well, and–along with the feeling of a sturdy wall between her and the cold city of Argus–let her feel comfortable enough to lower her hood on purpose for the first time in days.

The open air felt nice on her ears. 

“We can just do that?” Ruby said after closing the door and taking in the lighting with wide eyes. “Why didn't I know that? This is tons better. Wait, no.” She shook her head and pointed a finger at Yang. “I'm still mad at you. And you stink .” 

Yang gasped, indignant. “Wha–I do not–” She lifted the pit of her hoodie to her face and grimaced. “Oh, gods. Blake! Why didn't you say anything?” 

Yang's betrayed pout only made Blake feel a little bad. She shrugged. “There didn't seem to be much of a point. You’ve had a rough night and worrying about it all the way home wouldn't have helped.” 

“Oh?” Yang returned to a pose Blake was becoming comfortable with: crossed arms with teasing expression. “Protecting my fragile–”

“Yang!” Ruby interrupted, pointing aggressively down the hallway, “go take a shower!” 

“Yeesh, fine!” Yang raised her hands in surrender. “But when I get back you gotta tell me how that test went.” She jumped in and kissed the top of Ruby's head before escaping down the hallway laughing. 

“Ew, Yang,” Ruby said, flailing her arms despite Yang already being far out of reach. “Still in trouble, remember?”

“Still your big sister!” Yang called from down the hallway. “Mwah! Be nice to Blake!” And with that, she was gone behind a loudly closed door.  

“Love you, too,” Ruby grumbled. 

Blake, who had been watching with the wistful fascination of siblings, was surprised when Ruby then turned to her, looking at the floor. “Can I hug you?” she said. 

“Uh,” Blake said, starting to backpedal, but the initial look of crestfallen panic on Ruby's face rooted her feet. “Of course.” 

Despite the invitation, Blake expected the embrace to be crushing–but it wasn't. It was close, almost desperate, but with a pressure that Blake could almost say allowed her wiggling room. 

“Thank you.” Ruby's voice from Blake's sternum was quiet, but steady, with a resolute strength Blake hadn't heard from her before. 

When Blake returned the hug, she used a little more pressure than Ruby had allowed, whose arms she felt tighten slightly in response. “You're welcome?” 

Blake had always been an only child, but suddenly felt as though she understood a little what it felt like to want to protect a younger sibling. 

Yeah , a seething voice in the back of her mind said. You're doing great. Discover the calecalanth. Talk to them. Make attachments. You're a great vampire, Blake . 

“For saving her.” Ruby's voice cut through like a flame. Blake looked down as Ruby took a step back, looking up at her with a stronger look of gratitude than Blake was accustomed to, which wasn’t much.

It was... difficult to handle. 

“What makes you say that?” Blake said, unable to clear the hoarseness from her throat. 

“Pfft, that's what you say when someone saves your sister's life.” 

Despite herself, Blake leveled an unimpressed gaze at the smaller girl, who gesticulated upwards with her hands and turned around to enter the kitchen. 

“Fine, fine,” she said, making her way to a cupboard. “I knew it was going to be rough when I left this morning. Yang was like, out . She was supposed to recharge last night. Then, she always dresses, like, good. And has her scroll. And showers. Look,” she said, turning around with a bottle of chocolate syrup in one hand and an empty glass in the other, “I can tell it was... really bad. And she's being all,” Ruby made a face, “ lost puppy with you, and she sorta did the same thing for you last night, so.” 

Yang's little sister, like her, was apparently pretty sharp, even if Blake thought lost puppy was a bit much. She felt something akin to pride, which was illogical and bizarre and warm. Blake approached the wall divider and tentatively placed a hand on the corner, just at the edge of the tile floor. 

“That's... probably pretty accurate, yeah.” 

“It’s good you were there for her then,” Ruby said, obscured as she reached into the fridge. “It’s not, um… normal. What happened to her. Five days.” Back at the counter, Ruby fixed Blake with a strong look and held up a splayed-out hand. “Five. She should have been good through tonight.” 

“If she hadn’t helped me,” Blake started, unsure of how to proceed.

“Nope.” Ruby said. 

“What?” 

“Not your fault. Yang makes good decisions.” Ruby made a face. “Usually. But last night was a good one. And besides, like I said, five days. This was an anomaly. We’re going to have to talk about it.” 

“I still don’t… like the timing.” 

“Meh,” Ruby said. “Need more data.” Tingling of a spoon swirling the inside of a glass of milk filled the kitchen and tickled Blake's ears. Ruby's brow tightened as she deposited the spoon in the sink. “Do I, um, want to know the details?” 

Blake grimaced, the scene of the lot flashing through her mind. “Probably not.” She'd gone a little overboard. Left a bit of a mess. Did she have pent up aggression? 

“Mm,” Ruby said over a sip of chocolate milk. Her eyes narrowed. “Did anyone hurt her?” 

“Tried,” Blake said lowly. “They never will again.”

Ruby paused for the briefest of moments, then nodded as though this made perfect sense. Then her brows furrowed in thought. “Wait, how did you find her? Did you hear Bumblebee? Did you smell her and decide to investigate?”

“I didn’t–” 

“Wait wait, have you been stalking us since last night, vampire-style? Are you going to drink our blood?” Ruby’s tone had progressively risen from confused, to curious, to excited, and Blake wasn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Ruby, no, none of those,” Blake said with a disarming gesture. “Well, um. Sort of the first one.” 

“Oh, ok.” Ruby took another sip of chocolate milk, apparently satisfied. 

A door opening down the hallway and the sudden smell of citrus, lilac, and that bizarrely warm scent Blake could only describe as sunlight announced Yang's finished shower. Blake's upper ears swiveled and she could hear the sound of damp towel on skin. She looked toward the living room, fighting the color wanting to return to her cheeks and hoping Ruby didn't notice. 

“Ruby,” Yang called, clearly crossing from bathroom to another room as Blake heard another door open, “have you offered our guest anything to drink?” 

“I–but,” Ruby called, sputtering. “She IS a vampire, right? Blake? Don't you, like, not...” 

Looking back into the kitchen, Blake could see the familiar signs on Ruby's face of the sudden fear of having been rude. Blake smiled. 

“We were just getting to that,” she called down the hallway without looking. Yang was out of sight anyway, but... propriety. “I drink,” she told Ruby at a normal volume, who immediately started to scramble for the cupboard again. “I don't feed as often as... some others, and talking and moving get troublesome if I run through too much moisture.” 

“Whoa,” Ruby said, freezing with one hand to a cupboard handle, her eyes wide, enthralled. “So you're like... alive?”

Blake rolled her eyes and stepped into the kitchen, feeling more comfortable with the space by the minute. “Are you? The problem with alive and dead is that different beings need different things to survive, and in different ways.” 

“Oooh,” Ruby said, finally pulling the cupboard open and pushing various things around inside. “Like viruses, jellyfish, and old math professors.” 

“I’m not sure how I feel about sharing a category with… those.” 

“Me neither!” Ruby said with enthusiasm. She’d plopped several small boxes of drink mixes, teas, and sweeteners on the counter. “Maybe we can share a category. Cool kids’ table.” 

Blake hummed and approached the pile to choose. “Vampires and calecalanth, huh. The cool kids.” She picked up a box of spiced apple chai to investigate. “That sounds nice, but I don’t think it’s so simple, Ruby.” 

“I didn’t say it was,” Ruby said. “Oh, that tea’s from last year, but it’s… probably fine?” 

“Let’s find out.” Easy. Feeling comfortable enough to accept the host’s gift of tea was genuinely easy. Were Blake’s parents, and even Adam, really that wrong about the Calecalanth? Was it possible they were all like this, in fact the opposite of vicious cannibal monsters?

The two continued to chat amicably as Ruby heated water for Blake's tea, waiting for Yang to get dressed and, Blake guessed, get her mass of post-shower hair to a dry-ish, presentable state. Blake learned that Ruby was a mechanical engineering student at the University of Argus, and that her whole family had a part of getting her there. Both her father, Tai, and Yang homeschooled her (“Mostly Yang,” Ruby said to Blake's surprise) while her uncle (“He’s human!”) brought her to universities to tour and forged her high school diploma. The close family bonds were clear, and made even clearer the inherent oddities Blake noticed. 

“So, I...” Blake took a moment blowing on her hot tea to think of the best way to word this. “I was wondering. Vampires propagate through biting, you know.”

Ruby lit up like a beacon. “I DIDN'T WANT TO ASSUME but yes!” She hopped up to sit on the counter and leaned forward on her palms. Blake certainly had her attention. 

“Well. I was wondering if it was the same for calecalanth.”

“Nope,” Ruby said, popping the P, sitting back. “We're sort of... born this way?” 

Blake was unable to hide her surprise. “Really?” 

“I mean, yeah.” Ruby shrugged. “Our traits set in during adolescence.” 

Not for the first time tonight, the question of just how old they were–both of them, not just Yang–burned in Blake's mind. Should it matter? Blake supposed the question of whether the girl in front of her was 17 or 400 could have myriad implications. She had the feeling Ruby was either authentically young, or she was some kind of elevated being uncrushed by the weight of age. 

Yang's voice at the entrance to the kitchen was a shock. “I see those cogs turning, vampire.” 

Blake pushed down her surprise, turning to face her. “Please don't call me–” The word died on her tongue as Yang filled her vision, leaned casually up against the wall divide, arms crossed, lilac gaze amused, long, damp hair pulled around one side, now dressed in yellow plaid pajama pants and a tank top that showed a hint of muscle just below the hem. 

At least, she had looked comfortable before the words fell away from Blake's voice, when Yang's eyes went wide and she popped herself out of her lean, holding her hands up in apology. 

“Shit, I'm sorry, is that bad? I didn't think about what it'd feel like if someone went around calling me Cal’ .”  

Blake raised her own hands, once again mirroring Yang. “Yeah, but no, it's ok. It's just...” His features flashed through her mind. “I don't want to be defined that way.” 

Yang nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Got it. You are Blake. ” 

Ruby, still seated on the counter, pointed excitedly. ”It's Blake!“ she said. 

She chuckled. ”You're not wrong.“ Then, a pause. ”Cal’? Do people say that?” 

“Um, people don't,” Yang said, exaggerating an eye roll and sauntering into the kitchen before quickly returning to an easy smile. “But yeah, sometimes that just rolls off the tongue better. Oh, speaking of tongue!” 

And then she winked . 

“Yaaang,” Ruby deplored as Blake felt heat rise to her cheeks. 

“It's what you taste with; gods, Ruby, get your mind out of the gutter. Right, Blake?” Yang turned around to bend down to fetch cookware from a cabinet, which gave Blake a chance to recover. 

“I suppose that depends on what's being tasted,” she deadpanned. 

“Two of you,” Ruby groaned, defeated, as Yang laughed a pleasing sound from below, throwing a pointed finger over her shoulder. 

“That,” she said as she sprung back up with a high-walled, stainless steel pan, “depends on what you like." Then, walking backward toward a mostly empty countertop, “Steak? Tofu? Seafood?” Her expression was eager, eyebrows raised.

“I, uh-” The sudden onslaught of gourmet-sounding options, when Blake was expecting something more akin to grilled cheese or instant noodles, froze her on the spot, but her ears stood up at Yang’s mention of seafood. 

Yang noticed, her eyes flitting up to the top of Blake’s head before returning, accompanied with a grin. Blake cursed her features for making it difficult to hide emotions without a hat. 

“I have some frozen lobster?” At Blake’s subtly widened eyes, Yang spun around, pushed some things aside from one section of the countertop, and lifted it on a rear hinge, plunging her arms into the space below to rummage. 

“That’s a freezer?” Blake said. “Wait, no, Yang, I said whatever was easiest, you don’t have to-” 

“She loves to cook,” Ruby interrupted from her perch on the opposite counter. “ Everything is easy and she’s definitely going to show off.” 

Blake gaped back and forth. 

“Lobster linguine?” Yang said grinning, spinning back around with the prized frozen meat in hand. 

“See?” said Ruby. 

“It’s like, not quite the same as fresh, but if you cook it just right and put it in pasta, you won’t even know the difference.” Finishing that sentence with a cocky wink wouldn’t work for anybody but Yang, Blake decided as she let it slide. 

Ten minutes later, after Yang had partially defrosted two lobster tails in a start-stop-flip-spin method she called “microwave ballet,” they were slowly gaining color in a steaming pot on the stove. Yang was sliding dry linguine pasta out of a box into another pot of boiling, salted water, and still apologizing for not making fresh pasta on the spot. 

“It's like, not hard and you can do it super fast-”

“Yang.” 

“-but this is faster and I'm really hungry so-”

“Yang, seriously,” Blake said, Yang finally relenting with a sheepish grin as she finished and finally started doing something with the deep pan. “You know I don't eat much, but usually if it's pasta I'm eating stolen instant ramen.” 

Something dark flashed across the corner of Yang's features that Blake could see. After a pause, “At least cooked, right?” 

Blake could tell it was a genuine question disguised as a joke, and felt too tired to lie. “I mean... no, not really.”

Yang whipped around at the same time Ruby said “What!” Suddenly, with the subtle smell of lobster and starchy steam filling the kitchen and two sets of kind eyes regarding her, a vampire , with shock for eating poorly, Blake was accosted with images from long ago. Her mother doting on her nutrition. Her childhood home's kitchen filling with smells when holidays came around. Her father's twinkling eyes when he'd take a small bite of something cooked just for her in a family that hadn't eaten food in centuries. 

“I…” Before Blake could spiral, Yang's features softened and she held up one hand to forestall Ruby from any possible rant. She turned back around, dexterously twirling a slotted pasta spoon in the other hand. 

“Welp,” she said easily. “Gotta make up for lost time, girl. But Ruby keeps spare ramen seasoning packets in that drawer if you wanna give your lobster a little kick.”

Blake was pretty sure that was supposed to be a joke. Of course it was. How was Yang so good at putting her at ease? 

“I'll... keep that in mind,” she said. 

“Hey, those are VERY valuable,” Ruby said. Then, “We'll see.” 

It wasn't long before Yang had cut a full stick of butter into the deep pan to melt slowly on low heat and she'd lifted the glass lid of the steaming pot, made a sound of satisfaction, and pulled the lobster tails out with her bare hands to rest on a wood section of the countertop. 

Blake had watched with fascination as Yang's hands, all the way up the forearm, had become rigid and lustrous with tapered, pointed fingers just before entering the scalding steam and touching the shells. They looked almost like form-fitting keratin gauntlets, but more lithe. 

And sharp, and strong, Blake reminded herself as she watched Yang then de-shell the meat in rapid motions with her pointed fingertips.

But that didn’t compare to Yang reaching directly into the boiling water on the stove with the same hands, as Blake suppressed an involuntary sound of secondhand pain, to extract the pasta, giving it a shake and dropping it in the awaiting pan of melted butter. On top of that she dumped a bunch of a dry, white cheese she'd shredded. 

Using the same hand, Yang scooped two heavy splashes of the steaming pasta water into the pan with the rest, then gesticulated like a magician with her pointed fingers as she started to toss with deft wrist and elbow movements, the food easily clearing a foot above the pan as it flipped. “Aaand, emulsify! Ka-chow!” 

“Ka-chow, huh? That’s what you’re going with?” Blake said.

“Of course,” Yang said looking over to Blake, flawlessly keeping the tossing going regardless. “As is tradition. It’s the sound emulsifications make when observed in nature, Blake.” 

If Blake giggled at this, so sue her. She pushed down the seething voice inside and let herself smile, just a little.

When she was handed a warm plate full of lobster linguine just a few minutes later (Ruby had already taken her own share to the living room), Blake just stared at it. It hadn't fully registered that any of this was real. But the weight of the plate, its warmth, the rich aroma, the glistening of the saucy noodles and cuts of lobster–suddenly her brain didn’t have a choice.

What are you doing here? her brain wanted to say. But in all honesty, she was too tired. Maybe sometimes kindness could just happen. 

A microwave door slamming shut made her look up at Yang, who had given Blake time to stare. Blake hoped she didn’t look out of her mind, but then Yang had already shoveled a huge spoonful of reheated fried rice into her mouth and was moaning with abandon. It made it easy to pick up her fork, and all before they’d even left the kitchen. 

 When she took her first bite, it did register how long it had been since she'd eaten anything she actually wanted–even just to heal a wound, far and few between as those occurred. And maybe it was because she hadn’t had real food in so long, but damn, Yang could cook. She couldn’t stop her own sound of satisfaction as her fork was already twirling in the plate for a second bite. 

The rest of dinner seemed to pass in a stretchy blur as Blake's sensibilities were accosted with more life and light than she'd known in recent years. Ruby had already been at the living room's soundsystem putting on classic rock when Blake and Yang entered with their food. “Ya snooze ya lose” clashed immediately with “the cook chooses the music,” though both were shortly forgotten–as well as the food, just for a moment–as the two tumbled into a wrestling match across the floor, ending with Ruby pinned and tickled mercilessly in recompense for “burgling the vibes.” 

Not long after, they were seated on cushions around the low table in the living room and the sisters were playing a game of tossing bits of food back and forth, trying to catch with their mouths. When Blake giggled at Ruby rolling backwards trying to catch a high toss, Yang followed up by telegraphing a toss her way, and Blake found herself catching a piece of shrimp in her mouth without a second thought. Ruby cheered from her spot on the floor, and Yang grinned with a sort of immaculate warmth that Blake thought looked a lot like pride. 

Then Blake was being gently shoved away from the soapy sink in the kitchen, a warm mug of tea deposited in her hands(“You're our guest .”)

Before long they were back in the living room seated on the low cushions with hot drinks, the big TV mounted on the wall playing an ambient facsimile of a crackling fireplace. The sisters were talking about what to do with their weekend, while Blake watched, listened, sipped, and tried to suppress the growing feeling of needing to leave. It was getting late. 

Something about homework, rock climbing, and restaurants nearby was washing over Blake's consciousness as she started to wrestle with how to make her exit. There were things resurfacing in her mind that were more important than weekend leisure, things that changed the landscape. Things that were all she could think about just a few hours earlier. 

But these two calecalanth–these remarkable women–shouldn't have to worry about any of it. Yang, currently grinning brightly at something Ruby had said, had dealt with enough today alone. Blake pictured the blank, lifeless expression Yang had worn before she'd rescued her and decided anything at all that took away from her present light and smile wasn't worth it. So she settled on simple. 

“So, this has been... wonderful,” Blake started. The sisters turned to her, Ruby's expression bright, and Yang–Yang’s smile was jarringly business-like. So much for not dimming her light. “But I couldn't possibly intrude much longer.” 

Yang's heavy exhale was just as difficult to read as Ruby's furrowed brow was easy. “You saved Yang's life ,” Ruby said, reaching across the low table without quite touching Blake's arm. “You're about as much an intruder as Bumblebee.” 

Yang gave Ruby a sidelong glance. “And yet you tell me I can't use the spare room as a garage.” 

“No grease and combustion Dust without a proper workshop,” she said, raising a finger. “Besides, we have other uses for the spare room.” Oh no.

Yang nodded sagely, looking back to Blake. “Right. Blake, I don't know if you know this about showering and suddenly smelling like honey and roses, but-” she waggled a finger in Blake's direction, “-it does make it more obvious when others are in need of a scrubbie-dub.” 

“She's not AS bad,” Ruby said behind a nervous eye roll as Blake actually thought about her own image for the first time in days. Shit. 

Blake put down her mug. “All the more reason to get out of your hair.” Your very clean hair, she almost wanted to say, which felt silly.

“OR,” Yang countered, “and sorry, but you can and should absolutely use our shower and spare room tonight.” 

Blake felt herself wither under two hopeful gazes. Looking back and forth between them, she wanted to run.

You're a burden, Blake.

“You’ve done so much for me already, I really couldn’t impose.” 

My burden. 

“Hey,” Yang said, holding up her hands. “It’s up to you, but I absolutely promise you’re not imposing. The spare bedroom is actually the master bedroom, so it has its own bathroom we barely use.”

“And we don’t mind the company,” Ruby added helpfully.

Blake wanted to tell them vampires and calecalanth sleeping under the same roof would only bring disaster. It’s what they’d been told all their lives.

She wanted to dash for the door, the sliding door, even the window, and leave them safely behind her, warm and secure. And maybe, maybe if it was closer to when she’d fed, and maybe if her change of mismatched clothes was more freshly stolen, and if the night before hadn't been as cold. But she was tired, and Yang's expression somehow managed to promise safety. It didn't make any sense, but did it have to?

What are you doing, Blake?

Things didn't always have to make sense.

Just one night. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

Before the mirror fogged up from the hot water filling the tub, Blake took in the full image of her body. It occurred to her how long it had been since she'd felt the freedom to shed her clothes and just be . She allowed her fingertips to follow her eyes. 

She could feel more than see the grime covering her skin. There was a color and warmth to her that hadn't been there before, thanks to Yang's food replacing long-overdue cells from years of wear and tear. Her fingers slid down to a fresh scar on her left abdomen, an inch-tall gash that she knew had a matching counterpart in the same place on her back.

Where's your modesty, Blake? Cover yourself up. 

Here was her confirmation that silver left scars, even after healing with food. But the physical scar paled in comparison to the mental sting she recoiled from when she touched it. 

She tore her eyes from the scar and found her own gaze in the fogging mirror. Lobster linguine. Lobster linguine had repaired and replaced the severed tissue. She could maybe tell Yang that she was a good cook in the morning. 

As she lowered herself into the water, the faucet still running at a trickle, the warmth seeped into her bones and made her shudder. She imagined Ruby's questions. 

Yes, Ruby, vampires enjoy warmth. 

Yes, we show up in mirrors.

Her lip curled.

It's complicated. 

She imagined Yang looking at her sealed wound with approval, like an artisan or mechanic. She imagined the steam coming out of Yang's nostrils and the warmth that had followed her all the way to a warm bath. 

Almost fully immersed in the warm water, Blake started to cry. Once it started, it didn't want to stop, and her sobs made small waves in the tub.

It was too much. They were too much, in wholly unexpected ways. She didn't deserve any of this. They didn't deserve anything that followed her. How could she make it up to them? Could she afford to? Maybe she already had. Was it just a transaction? 

But the tears disappeared with the water, the trickle of the tap covered the sounds of her sobs, and her crying slowly worked itself out. 

Blake vaguely remembered what it was like to be stuffed up from crying, when she was a faunus child with a fully engaged immune system, and didn't miss the sniffly nose. Exhausted, she let her head rest against the back of the tub and turned off the trickling faucet with her toes. 

She had to tell them about the Atlas expeditionary force, Blake thought. And the state of the Schnee heiress. It would at least help to drive off any further offers for sheltering her. Blake wondered if Yang and Ruby knew what a huntress was, because the Atlas ships were likely under the command of a very angry one. 

Moreover, she wondered if a huntress would know of calecalanth. 

Blake's ears told her the apartment had gone quiet with sleep some time ago. Her imagination of how the sisters would react to her thoughts slowly shifted into nonsense as the light vampire sleep of dreams overtook her in the bath.

Chapter Text

The rainy season had officially begun in Argus. Emerald, beneath the safety of an umbrella, couldn’t decide whether she loved or hated it. As was often, she decided to play the middle: she missed the dry warmth of Vacuo, but the evergreen forests and rainfall of the northern coastal climate of Argus were a refreshing change of pace. For now.

Emerald’s weekend apprenticeship of huntressing ensured she wouldn’t stay in one city for too long, even if Argus had held onto her a year or two longer than expected. Vampire activity was strange, here.

Being an apprentice meant she was her master’s eyes and ears in Argus–and dealt with any of the blood-suckers if they popped up, as a treat. All the while her master was rubbing elbows with some kind of low-key cabal of hunters up in Atlas, probably trying to figure out just what was going on here. 

Meanwhile, Emerald was up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday about to discuss some hunt or other over coffee with a stranger.

Emerald stopped under the awning of a warm-looking coffee shop and looked out into the rainy, blue morning while shaking out her umbrella. The city streets were groggy and reluctant to wake. If not for the meeting with a huntress Master Cinder had set up for her in the cafe behind her, Emerald would still be in bed, too.

But if this led to her being able to hunt and kill a vampire, Emerald guessed it was worth it. Even if Cinder’s description of the other huntress was just “She’s a uniformed tight-ass and you’ll want to provoke her. Don’t.”

The interior of the cafe was warm and rustic, soft music and low light filling the space like a down blanket. Emerald wouldn’t say it outright, but this was probably her favorite kind of place to take a load off in Argus. 

She also liked how it made her meeting partner stand out like a sore thumb.

The woman sat in the farthest corner of the cafe, dressed in Atlas military whites and blues, white hair tied up in a neat bun and posture painfully rigid. On the table in front of her was a manila folder and an open laptop she was clacking away at. Her expression was unreadable, not even a resting bitch face.

Cinder was right. Emerald wanted to provoke her.

Two courteous and charming minutes with the barista later, Emerald had a mint mocha and was sliding into the seat opposite the sore thumb–and the damn woman hadn’t looked up from her computer once . 

Until now, when she smoothly shut the laptop and finally fixed Emerald with an icy, unreadable blue-eyed gaze.

Apparently, she’d clocked Emerald after all.

Yeah, she really didn’t like this meeting.

“Special operative Winter Schnee,” the sore thumb said, reaching a professional hand across the table. Emerald decided there was no way she was going to not try and make this at least a little fun, and reciprocated with the wrong hand, grasping the outside of Winter ’s and shaking it graciously.

“Hi, I’m Emerald.” Wait. Schnee? 

“Sustrai, I take it,” Winter said, annoyingly pretending to be unfazed by Emerald’s clear and brazen breach of social etiquette

Emerald made a low whistle. A fucking Schnee . It was even the exciting one. At least, as exciting as a member of the elite Atlesian family could be. Joining the military must be rich people’s version of acting out.

“My boss told me it’d be military, but you? This takes the cake.”

“Not relevant,” Schnee said, and she could have been talking about the grain pattern in the wood of the table. 

“Ok,” Emerald said, laying on a thick gossipy tone and leaning forward in her seat. “I’m dying to know.”

Schnee gave her a cold, expectant gaze.

“Is the whole Atlas military hunting vampires?”

Schnee didn’t speak, but matched Emerald’s lean with a heavy glare. The intended message was loud and clear: shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you .

Emerald sat back and held up her hands, rolling her eyes. “I’m being quiet. But yeah, ok.”

Schnee sighed and relaxed. “I am the only huntress,” she said quietly. “My personnel are a means to an end, and believe this to be a more… conventional manhunt. I would like to keep it that way.”

“Me too, girlfriend,” Emerald said over a sip of her mocha. As an apprentice, Emerald had a tacit understanding that the more vampires she brought down herself, the quicker Cinder would elevate her to a fully fledged huntress.

“Ms. Fall told me you were very well capable of being discreet.”

Emerald only gave a hearty thumbs-up over another sip of her coffee. Winter only waited, tapping a finger on the metal of her laptop.

“Ugh, fine, yes, I am the queen of discreet, ok?” Gods, she hated spelling things out.

Satisfied, Winter only nodded and took a sip of her (surely plain black) coffee before taking a sheet of paper out of her folder and sliding it across the table: a police sketch.

“Let’s just get this out of the way,” she said. “Have you seen this woman?”

“This is her, huh?” Emerald resisted the urge to pick the paper up off the table, just to prove that yes, she could be discreet, and leaned in for a closer look. The face depicted was a faunus woman, dark cat ears atop her head, features sharp and graceful, long dark hair spilling around her shoulders. A little written note coming off one of her eyes read “yellow.” 

Emerald had definitely not seen her. “Nope,” she said. “Hot vamp, though.”

Winter’s eye twitched, which Emerald considered a small victory. “Needless to say,” Specialist Winter Schnee said, sliding the paper back in her folder, “this is my target. I encountered her three nights ago, however briefly, during an attack on the new train station unveiling on the Atlas coast you may have heard about in the news. This sketch is based on my own experience–my personnel have already seen it, but you’re the only other person in Argus who’ll know what she–it–is.” Winter paused, her eyes falling to the lid of her coffee. “Her vampire partner referred to her by the name Blake just before… his demise.” 

Emerald was fascinated to see the corner of Winter’s mouth twitch at this last bit, which she assumed was the Specialist’s version of full-on hysteria. She drummed her fingers and donned her best faux-attentive expression. 

“So how do you know she’s a vampire and not like, a familiar, or some random sap?” 

“Because I otherwise would have been able to catch her,” Winter said simply. “Our encounter was just as I was arriving on scene. She fled immediately after, using supernatural means. My research since then suggests she may be Blake Belladonna, which would suggest she comes from an ancient lineage and could therefore be quite dangerous.” Emerald had heard the name Belladonna in huntress circles before: some ancient pair of vampires somewhere. Good to know some myths were real.

Business in the cafe was beginning to pick up, the frequent ringing of the bell on the door making the two huntresses speak in more hushed tones, but Emerald’s excitement had only risen. She leaned forward. “Didn’t you like, bring an entire platoon?” Winter only sat back and sipped her coffee, gaze unreadable. “And I did hear about this. Another Schnee got hurt that night, right?”

Winter lowered her coffee, her eyes almost daring Emerald to continue, confirming her suspicions: Weiss Schnee, Winter’s little sister and heiress to the Schnee empire, had suffered an attack by a vampire before Winter could arrive to help.

“Oh my gods,” Emerald said, sitting back with a smirk. “This is personal .”

“It is business,” Winter said, pulling notes from her folder. “And there’s something I need you to understand.” She paused, requiring full attention. 

Emerald waved her hand in a go on gesture.

“If you do happen to be the first huntress on the scene, this target needs to be disabled and detained until I arrive. Are we clear?”

“Are you serious?” Emerald scoffed.

“Belladonna, ostensibly, is considered a high-value mark for interrogation before extermination. If you lack the ability to restrain her on contact I advise,” she leaned in dangerously, “that you wait for me before engaging.”

Emerald stared for a moment, seriously considering calling this special operative on her bullshit. “Fine,” she finally said, absently flicking her fingers along the rim of her cup. “But I signed up to kill vamps, not put them in jars.”

“Don’t be so one-dimensional,” Winter said. “One job can beget another before it ends.”

Emerald merely rolled her eyes and nodded, giving in as she gave her coffee another solid drag.

“So. Recently,” Winter continued as though this was a perfectly normal business meeting, “there have been a string of murders in your city attributed to animal attacks.”

“Yeah, I read the news.”

“My office had a hand in ensuring the actual forensics reports didn’t reach the news,” Winter said quietly. “As it is, both attacks had a level of brutality and style of attack consistent with vampires. But–correct me if I’m wrong–such obvious traces of feeding are uncommon for Argus, yes?” 

Despite herself, Emerald knit her brow and nodded. “Missing people left and right, but usually no actual trail to follow. So something changed.”

“Belladonna, most likely. Both instances occurred in the past two nights in parts of town where violence isn’t wholly unexpected, which is typical, but the two police officers…”

Winter paused, making Emerald quirk an eyebrow.

“What, is a vamp killing cops weird?”

Winter frowned slightly at her notes, which Emerald assumed was her version of scratching her head and saying gee-willy, what a stumper.

“No, but alongside the brutality, the specific pair lured from their squad might be significant. I may know what kind of victim she’s likely to target next.” Emerald’s eyes bored into Winter’s downcast gaze as the Sore Thumb started to organize and tuck away her papers and computer, but nothing shook free. She hated it when people withheld vital information, hogging the cards. 

Tidied up, Winter stood curtly. Emerald rolled her eyes before mirroring her. “Please keep an eye on the prior victims’ areas,” Winter said. “If I need to, I’ll contact you via scroll.” She pulled a folded piece of paper out of a pocket and hand handed it over. “These probably won’t be in public spaces until late afternoon or early evening, but when they are, I suggest you tune into public channels.” 

With that, Winter gave a single nod, turned briskly on her heel, and strode away and out of the cafe, and into a small, nondescript car waiting nearby at the curb.

Shaking her head, Emerald sat back down with her coffee and reluctantly unfolded the paper. She sighed at a copy of the finished sketch product.

WANTED: BLAKE BELLADONNA

ATLAS HIGH-PRIORITY REWARD: 100,000

Emerald scoffed. Listen into public channels, my ass.

She really didn’t like sharing.

— 

Blake shielded her eyes from the sun, her head angled sideways on the warm beach towel she laid on. The towel smelled like fresh laundry, and allowed the perfect amount of sun-drenched heat from the sand to warm her from below. The sea breeze stirred up the corners of the fabric and tickled her toes, the smell of the beach and the ocean mingling pleasantly with the grounding smell of clean cotton.

She let her gaze fall to the infinite stretch of beach to her side, the tall, lush trees of Menagerie’s coast watching over the sand and water, casting shade on the green upper foliage of the coast as far as the eye could see.

There was someone making their way towards her a ways down the beach, walking just shy of the waterline. She didn’t recognize them at first–then she saw long, blonde hair billowing in the ocean wind.

Oh. Yang.

Blake smiled.

As Yang slowly drew closer with a slow but steady stride in the sand, Blake could see she was wearing a flattering, bright yellow bikini beneath a long, black and red White Fang trenchcoat that was fluttering on the wind. The colors clashed, causing Blake’s smile to fade.

Suddenly the sun seemed to offer little warmth, and as Yang got closer, began to fade away entirely. What remained was a sort of half-light without a real source. The world was gray.

The crashing of ocean waves gradually gave way to a rising rush of white noise as the breeze died away, and the air became heavy. Now in Blake’s immediate vicinity, Yang didn’t seem to see her. Instead, she shuffled about the gray sand, looking for something, making sounds of frustration unbefitting for her bright voice.

Blake tried to speak up, ask if Yang needed help with something, but she couldn’t talk, much less rise from her beach towel to help. She could only watch. 

Soon, Yang’s posture and voice became more harrowed, signs of panic setting in. Now Blake could hear what Yang was looking for. 

“Ruby?” Yang called. “Ruby!” 

Blake wanted to help, but she could only croak, stuck on the beach. 

Then, Yang’s eyes finally found her, and their red, piercing gaze was a shock. “Where is she?” came Yang’s voice, pleading, angry. “What did you do?” 

No, not me, Blake wanted to say. It was him. She would never. 

Wouldn’t you? 

Yang’s eyes were blue, now, cold, furious. “You did this!” 

As Yang came to stand over her, Blake found herself paralyzed on the beach towel, unable to scramble away, or hide, or cover her eyes, as Yang became a shapeless form and seemed to fill the darkening sky above her.

Blake’s breathing hit a fever pitch as the white noise of the ocean became overwhelming and filled her ears.

Then she woke, suddenly surrounded by the darkness of the apartment’s master bedroom. She was slightly high on oxygen, the room’s dark features taking a moment to coalesce. But the smell of the bedsheets and the spare clothes she was wearing were grounding. She’d found the clothes in a neat stack on the bed after bathing.

The transition from the terror of dream-Yang to the gentle smell of her on the loaner clothes (loose gray sweats and a soft, goldenrod sweatshirt) was jarring. It was only when Blake tightly closed her eyes to shake off the nightmare that she realized she couldn’t move.

Her breathing started to hitch again, and all she could manage was a small, desperate moan as she struggled to get her body to listen to her.

Blake .

He was here. Adam was here in the room, watching her from the corner. Blake , he said again, and the desperate sound deep in her throat rose in pitch as she struggled against unseen bonds.

Don’t get too comfortable, my love.

He took a step closer from the corner of the room.

“NO!” Blake’s senses dulled as the world went black-and-white, and she turned to intangible mist and shot backwards out of the bed and through the wall.

— 

“Look,” Ruby said, snatching a hot chocolate-chip pancake out of the air that had been flung wildly in her direction over Yang’s shoulder, “all I’m saying is be ready to get rejected.”

“There’s nothing to reject , Ruby,” Yang said, pouring another disc of pancake batter on the pan. “I’m offering, and either she can use more food or not. We have a fridge. No biggie.”

“Uh-huh,” Ruby said, dunking her pancake in small bowl of syrup. “Uh, what do you think happens if a vampire eats food but their body doesn’t need it?”

Yang paused with her hand halfway into the bag of chocolate chips to the side of the stove, her imagination–already on the fritz with a real-life vampire in the guest room–trying to wrap itself around the question. Could Blake eat if she wasn’t injured? Did her body get rid of unneeded food like normal? Did vampires even burn calories?

Shaking the bizarre mystery of Blake’s body from her head, Yang sprinkled chocolate chips into the bubbling batter and turned to lean against the stove. “I think it’s probably none of our–”

A smoky, Blake-shaped shadow suddenly flew out of the wall above the stove, rapidly crossed the air of the kitchen, and disappeared behind the opposite wall. Yang and Ruby froze, looking at each other with wide eyes as there was a crash in the living room beyond the wall.

They bolted out of the kitchen in unison.

Turning the corner, they found Blake in a heap up against the low dining table, cushions flung to either side, her eyes wild and her breathing rapid.

Even Ruby withheld questions upon seeing the look of terror on Blake’s face, and Yang slid to her knees beside Blake in an instant, her hands going to steady Blake by her hand and shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” she said, “breathe. It’s okay, we’re here.”

“He–” Blake breathed, eyes flitting about before settling on Yang’s, “he was in the room. Watching me.”

Yang and Ruby’s expressions hardened as they shared a quick look, and Ruby gave a small nod as she turned and sprung around the corner and off the hallway wall like lightning, her limbs and neck already armored.

“No, she…” Blake said, reaching out with her other hand. Yang shifted to gently lower it.

“It’s okay,” Yang said. “Ruby’s quick.”

Ruby’s voice rang out from the bedroom down the hallway. “All clear!” Yang felt Blake tense, then relax as Ruby reappeared at a light jog, her skin fading to normal. “Other rooms, too.”

Yang took her hand from Blake’s shoulder, but stayed close. “Did you check the windows?”

“Yep. Latches and tells still in place.” Yang nodded. If any of the coins in the windowsills had been moved, they would know for sure–even the direction he’d left by.

“Um,” Ruby said, holding up a tentative finger. “Who’s… he?”

Right.

Blake seemed to deflate, and Yang held up calming palms while mentally praying thanks for Ruby’s patience. “It’s a story for after some tea and coffee, if Blake’s comfortable telling it, ok? And you have to promise not to freak out.”

At this Ruby’s eyes widened slightly, but she nodded and knelt. “Blake, is it ok if I put on some water for tea?”

For a moment Blake only looked at the floor, and Yang could see their defiant little connection coming to an end–chased by what, a phantom? Her hackles raised. A man who could drift through walls, as they’d just seen Blake do?

But Blake straightened herself against the table, rubbed her temples, and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “That sounds good.”

After Ruby returned to the kitchen, Yang took a deep breath and sat on the table next to Blake, putting her hands carefully on her knees. She didn’t know quite what to say, so she made a shot for levity. 

“You know, even though that could’ve maybe been life-or-death for a second there, I could see Ruby’s eyes about to pop out of her skull just trying not to ask you about breathing.”

Beside her, Blake froze before letting the tension leave her shoulders, allowing a small chuckle. 

“What, like you two haven’t seen me breathing this whole time?” There was only the slightest tremble to Blake’s voice, and Yang could tell she was grabbing the train of thought like a lifeline, recovering normalcy. 

“Not like, out of breath!” Yang protested. “I thought maybe you just breathed out of habit or something. You know, ‘cus vampire.” 

Blake shook her head and looked up at Yang, that tint of wonder back in her eyes. “You two are so curious.” 

“Can’t blame a girl for scientific rigor,” Yang said with a wink. “Plus, I figure Ruby’s too self conscious to ask at this point, so I gotta tell her later.”

Blake sighed, clearly mollified. “Alright. So, still immortal, or… whatever, but we need just a tiny bit of oxygen to think clearly and quickly.” 

Yang made a face. “What happens if there isn’t any?” 

“A little bit goes a long way, so it takes a while, but eventually you’d just hibernate.” 

A moment passed as Blake watched this information process behind Yang’s eyes, who looked up at the ceiling as she thought. 

“So what you’re saying is… “ Yang jutted a finger upwards, “if a vampire got jettisoned out into space, they could drift for an eternity and still wake up somewhere?” 

Blake stifled laughter behind a hand. “That’s where your imagination goes?” 

“What! It’s the natural extreme.” 

Blake shook her head. “I suppose yes, but you’re still a huge nerd.” 

Yang directed her finger back down to Blake and popped her thumb like a gun. “Guilty! But, um. Not helping with the ‘nerd’ look, but wouldn't your muscles and stuff need oxygen for the same reason your brain does?”

Blake shrugged “Sense of touch, maybe, but… no.” Then her gaze became distant. “Our strength comes from… somewhere else.” 

Well, Yang couldn’t resist that. “Where?” 

Blake just returned to focus and gave Yang a tired look. “I have no idea.” 

“That’s… ominous.” Ok, vampires were weird, but fun. At least this one was. 

Blake simply shrugged again. “Someone once told me vampires are the way we are because we exist in two places at once. One is Remnant. The other…” 

Yang found herself riveted, Blake’s voice like a silk-bound storybook. “Yeah?” 

“The other place has different rules.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like time.” 

Yang gaped before pursing her lips, raising her eyebrows, nodding. Yeah, that sorta made sense. Even if it was insane. 

“But,” Blake said quickly, “that’s just some old legend, I think.” 

“Blake, to mortals, or whatever, we are legends. That explanation doesn’t seem so far-fetched to me.” 

The corner of Blake’s mouth twisted upwards. “No more far-fetched than the literal concept of a soul, huh.” 

Yang could only muster a wink before the reason they were in the living room in the first place drifted back into their mood like a fog, and they fell silent for a beat. 

“Okay,” Yang said, steering back to more pressing matters. “I know this is… a lot. But I have to ask: is it possible that the, uh, asshole did not in fact get hit by a train, because he did what you… just did?” Yang grimaced as she failed to find the right words. How do you describe someone turning into smoke and going through walls?

Slowly, Blake shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen him do what I just did, and…” her features darkened and scrunched as an apparent memory replayed in her head. “...the train’s impact was very real.”

“Oh,” Yang said, kicking her feet. “Good. I mean, not good , you know but.”

“It’s ok, Yang,” Blake said, stilling a kicking foot with a hand, but her eyes stayed forward. “The impact turned him to dust. But a body would have been better.”

“Like, literally into dust?”

Blake sighed, and they could hear the kettle finish heating in the kitchen as Ruby loudly rummaged through cabinets. “Tea first.” Then, her head turned to regard Yang, a small but real smile blooming on her face. “Thank you for the food, by the way. I’ll admit it: you can cook.” 

Yang nearly choked over her response, but recovered gracefully. She hoped. “You should see what I can do with some prep time,” she said with another wink, and Blake shook her head with that small smile.

“Next time I need a tune-up, your kitchen will be my first choice,” she said. A pause, and she bit her lower lip. “Wanna see?”

Yang cocked her head, even as her heart skipped a beat. “See–oh!” Her eyes flitted to Blake’s abdomen, and she scooted back a bit on the table. “If it’s ok?”

With a small nod, Blake got to her feet and pulled the hem of her sweatshirt up her left side. Yang’s initial flush over the proximity and trust, soft-looking skin, and lean muscle was quickly overrun by absolute fascination with a tall white gash of a scar where she’d seen Blake’s hand hovering the night before.

“This was open before you ate?” She resisted the urge to reach out.

“Mmhm.” Blake hitched the fabric a little higher and twisted on the ball of her foot, and Yang sat riveted as Blake brought the back of her abdomen into view, then gasped.

“ All the way through?” Yang hissed.

Blake let the sweatshirt drop and shrugged. “It was good food.”

“Yes, it was,” Yang said, “but you know that’s not what I mean. You were impaled , Blake.”

“And I think you saw exactly what that means for a vampire,” Blake said gently, sitting back down next to Yang. “That part of the body just… stops.”

Blake had said that after the initial injury, bleeding and pain stopped. She really wasn’t kidding–it was as though aging and injury were on eternal pause. 

“I still don’t like it,” Yang grumbled.

“Me neither,” Ruby said, appearing at the edge of the living room, steaming mug in hand. Her expression was uncommonly stark. “That you were stabbed, I mean,” she added, then looked into her mug and drummed her fingertips along the ceramic. “Sorry for peeking.”

Yang shook her head, gestured widely at the scar. “Stabbed with what?”

Blake stood, stretched, and seemed to force herself to stand straight, putting on a face fit for a survivor. “Silver. Tea?”

“Yeah,” Yang said, finding Blake’s steadfast energy contagious. “I need coffee.”

Disappearing into the kitchen around the corner in front of Blake and Yang, Ruby’s voice rang out, amused. “Yang, you already had coffee.”

“More coffee.”

A few minutes later found the three of them curled up once again on the couches. Blake had seen the half-done pancake setup and apologized for being unable to accept, and Yang’s mind was still swimming from her response when Ruby inevitably asked what happened to food if she ate uninjured.

“We’re not exactly sure where the food goes, but it’s unpleasant,” had not been even close to what Yang had expected.

Now, the three relaxed in relative silence, Ruby cross-legged on the loveseat and Blake and Yang at opposite sides of the sofa. Yang was considering bailing Blake out of having to share uncomfortable details, but before she could commit to a plan Blake spoke.

“I’ve had night terrors before,” she said. “But it felt so real.”

“Mm-hm,” Ruby hummed, warm and welcoming. Yang nodded, encouraging.

“But saying that it was not real might not be… the wisest course. Not that you’re in immediate danger,” she added quickly.

Yang nodded slowly and took a sip of her coffee—black, as was her law for second cups. “So,” she said.

“So,” Blake said quietly, her fingers wrapped around her own warm mug like an anchor. “His name is Adam.”

The name filled the space like an oily film. Yang clenched her jaw and nodded while Ruby took a loud, irreverent slurp of hot chocolate.

“Have you always been able to go through walls?” Ruby blurted, unable to contain the question any longer, and the derailment was like magic. Blake snorted into her cup, giggled, then slipped into quiet laughter that sounded like gentle music to Yang’s ears.

Ruby grinned. “Sooo…”

“No, Ruby,” Blake said, voice still joyfully strained. “That’s new. Older vampires can do wondrous and terrible things, but that’s only the second time I’ve…” Blake cut off, a look of realization settling over her features.

Oh.

Yang leaned forward intently. “Just spitballing here, but was the first time you turned all smokey, uh, the other night?” Blake’s gaze swiveled to her, surprised.

“It was,” she said softly.

“Okay, what? ” Ruby said, eyes going back and forth between them. “What am I missing?”

Yang looked to Blake for permission, who gave a small nod. “You know the train guy who you sort of jokingly said was a vampire?”

Ruby put her mug on the coffee table and hunched forward. “No. Way.”

“I was there,” Blake said quietly over her tea, curbing some of Ruby’s enthusiasm. 

“He’s the one you saw in the corner,” Ruby said quietly, pieces fitting together.

Blake nodded once more, and Yang got the feeling she was trying to hide behind her mug, her upper ears laying down flat on top of her head. She was shaking.

Without thinking, Yang reached an arm down the back of the couch and touched the tip of her fingers to Blake’s shoulder.

Blake drew a deep breath and crossed a hand to her own shoulder just near Yang’s fingers, closed her eyes, and nodded.

“Yeah,” Blake said. “He’s… old. And he’s the reason I am the way I am.” Her voice had taken on an edge, and Yang wondered just how much double meaning was contained there. “Older vampires have… a degree of control over the vampires they turn.”

“Sounds like he was holding you back in more ways than one,” Yang said.

Blake shook her head with a resentful smile. “Here’s a vampire fun fact,” she said. “Things like what you saw–turning to shadow, and other abilities–are normally only capable by ancients, or sometimes vampires turned by them.”

“What, like you get some of their power?” Ruby said, riveted.

“Mhm,” Blake hummed, openly bitter. “It has a bit of an influence on the development of the new vampire’s traits. Or abilities, I guess.”

Yang nodded sagely. “Like a sourdough starter.”

Blake turned to Yang, amused and incredulous. “Sure, Yang. Like a sourdough starter.”

“I mean,” Ruby said, sitting back. “Pure sourdough starter would be really gross, but the bread itself ain’t bad. And the gross little blob doesn’t stick around to keep you from having superpowers or whatever.”

Blake covered her face with a hand, shaking her head with a huff and a smile. “Yeah, I guess,” she managed. “Especially since I think the ability to phase like this is… from my side.” 

Blake’s side? Did her family consist of vampires? Curiosity swelled in Yang, a fountain ready to burst, but she forced herself to focus on Blake’s situation. 

“But that’s not all,” Yang said, frowning. “You said control.” 

Blake shut her eyes and slowly exhaled through her nose. Yang felt a pang of guilt, but then Blake opened her eyes once more and the gold of her gaze, directed forward, was steady and molten. “Yes.” 

“So… did the sourdough starter force you to be there, the other night?” Yang ventured.

Blake regained her balance with a sip of tea. “Yeah,” she continued. “It’s been that way for a while, now.” Yang heard the implication there, that Blake hadn’t always needed to be forced. Her heart ached for the untold story, but she only nodded. “He wanted me to see.”

“See what?” Yang said, knowing that whatever it was, she wouldn’t like the answer.

“The frailty of human power.” Blake squeezed her eyes shut. “He had gotten word that the Schnee heiress would be personally supervising the public unveiling of the new coastal train station and wanted to turn her, and use her to break down the Atlas top brass from the inside.”

Ruby drew her eyebrows together. “The Schnee Dust Company is kind of a crappy monopoly anyway, but I’d feel bad for her being used that way.” 

Blake drew her knees up and hugged them, hiding half of her face and gripping her mug in front. “Their labor practices are reprehensible, but the Company was supposed to be the ‘chink in the armor of humanity.’ Just the start.”

Yang let out a low whistle. “I feel bad enough just picking off a few of the shitty ones every couple of days. This guy sounds like a colossal dirtbag.”

At the mention of necessary murder, Blake’s upper ears flattened and for a breadth of a moment her gaze became distant and wistful, and Yang realized a benefit of having a vampire around was being able to share in the complexity of the life of a monster.

  “Anyway, there were more people there than he expected,” Blake said with a sobering shake of her head. “It was a mess. He rushed the feeding with the heiress, and I don’t know if she survived. And all I could do was watch.”

“That’s terrible,” Ruby said before tilting her head, juggling traumatic topics and apparently settling on the silver lining. “But… isn’t he, you know, dead? You’re free now!”

Blake let out a long exhale, closed her eyes, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “More free than I’ve been in a long, long time.” But when her eyes opened, they were frozen amber. “But no. He’s not dead. Not exactly.”

“But…” Ruby started, at the same time as Yang said, “So how…”

Blake waved her hand. “When you get as old as him, it’s very… difficult to be killed for good. Especially by something as simple as being hit really hard. But he’s gone for now.”

Yang frowned. “So when you saw him this morning…”

“He wasn’t actually there,” Blake said quickly. “At least. Not physically?”

“So where IS he?” Ruby said.

“Nowhere. Everywhere. In my head.” The crestfallen defeat in the way Blake said it was almost more than Yang could take, and she realized in that moment that she would keep helping her in any way she could, differences and warnings be damned. 

“What, like literally in your head?” Yang said. One step at a time.

“Sort of, yeah,” Blake said. “He still has his grasp on me, even now. I can hear him sometimes.”

“What an asshole,” Yang said, and Blake snorted. “Can we like, burn him out?”

“When is he coming back?” Ruby said, all business, looking for solutions. Yang felt a swell of pride. Blake’s demeanor for the most of the morning, and her patient sigh now as she closed her eyes, didn’t seem to convey any sense of immediate danger. But it was still a good question.

“Not for a while,” she said after a moment, the morning sunlight glinting gold in her eyes as she studied the far wall of the living room. “I think I’ll be able to tell as he pulls himself together, as it gets closer. But I don’t know exactly when–or where–that will be.” Blake cast her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Blake,” Yang said gently. “None of this is your fault.”

Blake’s eyes snapped back up. “You don’t know that,” she said. “And you two are going to have to move. Possibly far away. That part is definitely my fault.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Yang said, and yeah–it felt silly once it was out, but it didn’t feel like a lie.

“You should be,” Blake said, serious and pleading. “Even ignoring the rest of his guard and followers, you can’t fight Adam. There is no fighting him. And I don’t want you to have to fight me. ”

It hit Yang just how powerful Adam’s control over her must be. The thought was shattering, and for once Yang didn’t have a response. She and Blake just sat there, a live wire between them.

“But wait,” came Ruby’s voice, breaking the silence. They turned to look at her. “Wasn’t he defeated by just a train ?”

“He was defeated by his pride,” Blake said with bitter humor. “The new Atlesian bullet train isn’t something you fight. It’s like a force of nature–you just get out of the way. And he won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

“So just what happened ?” Yang said.

Blake sighed. “I’ve told you Adam is very old. He’s in love with the past–I think he used to be worshiped, or something.” Ruby snorted. “He hates technology. It’s the reason for the loss of the ‘good old days.’”

The thought of Blake deciding to get on Bumblebee last night flashed through Yang’s head. I think I’d like to try, Blake had said. Riding, I mean.

“So,” Blake continued, “when he had an opportunity to show Atlas humans how frail their technology was…” She put down her tea and slapped her palm with the back of her other hand, simulating an impact. Her tone became somewhat distant. “I couldn’t believe it.”

There was a moment of silence that Yang didn’t wait long before breaking.

“Not gonna lie, Blake,” she said, bringing Blake back to the present, “for someone presumably so old, he sounds kind of like an idiot.”

“Just full of pride and spite,” Blake said, shaking her head. “Though my dad did always say pride curtails wisdom.” Then she froze, clearly having overshared.

Before Yang could fully register the shift, Blake picked her mug up off the coffee table and sprang off the couch, walking briskly to the kitchen. “Sorry, I really should be going,” she muttered.

“Whoa, hey,” Yang said, getting up and following at a respectful distance, Ruby not far behind. “It’s ok! Say only what you want to say, remember?”

Around the corner, Yang found Blake with her shoulders hunched over the sink, mug deposited inside. “You two have been so kind,” Blake said without looking up. “But the longer I’m here, the more danger I put you in. And,” she spun around holding up a hand, ready to cut off a defense, “it’s not… just Adam. He still has lots of support. And it’s not even just them . I really should go.”

Blake paused, a look of hesitation passing over her features, looking to the side. It was clear she wanted to share more but was afraid to, afraid of involving Yang and Ruby further. Yang didn’t want to press it, but then Blake appeared to make a decision and her gaze returned with harder resolve. 

“The city is going to be swarming with Atlas soldiers that are probably… looking for me,” she said, more to Ruby than Yang. 

“Yeah,” Ruby said slowly. “I read about those ships this morning.” 

“Targeting Weiss Schnee seemed simple enough, but none of us knew that her older sister, who’s also some kind of top-ranking Atlas soldier, is also… someone who kills vampires.” 

Of course. If vampires really were real, vampire hunters would be a thing, too. It sounded like a very stupid and dangerous hobby, but for every ounce of guilt Yang and Ruby felt when taking life, there should be just as much fear and anger on the other side.

“That’s…” Yang struggled to find the right words. “...some rotten luck.” 

“Which is why I can’t stay here any longer. I don’t think huntresses know about calecalanth, but I still can’t put you in any more danger than I already have.” 

“What,” Ruby said, “are soldiers going to knock down our door?” 

Blake sighed. “I don’t think anybody except the older Schnee sister could actually recognize me outright, so I should be fine sticking to the shadows, but I can’t risk leading anyone here. Or to you two at all.” 

“Okay, just.” Yang took a deep breath, held her palms down in front of her in a calming gesture. “Let me–let us do one more thing for you. Please?”

Blake turned her head, eyes narrow. “What would that be?”

Yang cleared her throat, scratching the back of her head and looking to the side. “Let us buy you some clothes.” Way to sell it, Xiao Long. 

“Yang–”

“That fit!” she emphasized. 

“You’ve already done too much,” Blake said, but if she was going for a tone of finality, she didn’t quite reach it.

Ruby piped up behind Yang. “Plus,” she said, “that way the good people of Argus don’t have to have their favorite outfit go missing in the middle of the night.”

There it was again–Blake absolutely could blush, and she knew it, turning around quickly to busy herself with the mug in the sink.

“She didn’t have a choice, Ruby,” Yang hissed.

Ruby held her hands up. “I wasn’t saying it like it was a super bad thing!”

“If,” Blake said, her shoulders going still, “I let you buy me clothes, will you promise to not worry about me after?”

Yang paused, careful. She wasn’t sure if she could manage that, but she could try. “We can try.”

“Yang,” Blake said, turning around, and her gaze was piercing. Yang gulped, suddenly on the ropes. “Promise me.”

“I promise to try not to worry.” Yang saw Blake’s gaze shift over her shoulder to Ruby, still at the entrance of the kitchen, and whatever passed between them made Blake roll her eyes.

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” she said.

“Alright!” Ruby whooped. “Let’s go shopping!”

—

They had scarcely left the parking garage in Ruby’s car when Ruby shouted “OH SHIT” and twisted the steering wheel, careening wildly down another ramp into an extended underpass, where she slammed on the brakes.

From her place holding on for dear life in the passenger’s seat, Yang shot a look over her shoulder at Blake in the back seat, who was wide-eyed with her hands pressed to the ceiling of the car.

“What the hell, Ruby?” Yang said.

Ruby twisted around from the driver’s seat and fixed Blake with a stricken look. “Are you ok?”

“What?” Blake said, dumbstruck, and looked to Yang for help, who could only shrug.

“I didn’t think about the sunlight through the windows,” Ruby said, and Blake slowly brought her hands down to cradle her face.

“Mmmm,” Blake said from behind her hands. “Mm-hm.”

“Oh yeah,” Yang said. She raised an eyebrow. “But did you really think that’d be a problem at this point, Ruby?”

“Isn’t that why we took Red Rose instead of the motorcycle?”

Yang gave Ruby an incredulous look. “We can’t fit three people on Bumblebee.”

“That’s quitter talk!”

“Ruby,” Blake said, and both sisters looked back in unison. “I’m really fine, but there are cars behind us.”

“Oh, yeah, ok. Sorry!” Ruby held on to the last syllable as though calling to the other drivers, even though they probably couldn’t hear her. It was the thought that counted.

Yang smiled and shook her head fondly as Ruby put the car in gear and exited the underpass with haste. She normally would chide Ruby for making a scene in her high-profile, bright red muscle car, but these were extenuating circumstances.

“So vampires aren’t, like, allergic to sunlight?” Ruby said at the next intersection.

Blake hummed from the backseat. “Allergic isn’t the right word. But it does make us disintegrate.”

Yang looked sharply over her shoulder in alarm.

“Not me,” Blake said with a wry smile. “It’s the older you get. Ruby, you might say we get more…” She paused, thoughtful. “Vampire-y, as the years pass.”

Yang snorted. “Is that the technical term?”

“Very technical. Direct light is hotter for me, though. And my eyes are more sensitive to it. It’ll only get worse as I get older.”

“That sucks,” Ruby said, down-shifting to catch a yellow light. “Is that it? Oh,” she added, excited, “Are you allergic to garlic ?”

Yang poked her sister in the side, who made an eep . “Ruby.”

“It’s ok, Yang. Again, I wouldn’t say allergic.”

Ruby bounced in the driver’s seat. “Ooooh!”

“It numbs my smell. Like, a lot. It’s very uncomfortable.” Blake seemed to shudder at an unseen memory. Yang twisted further to address her more directly.

“Ok, now that sucks. I love garlic. I was this close to adding some to our pasta last night.” She wrinkled her nose. “But cilantro does the same thing to us, taste and smell.”

“I’m so sorry,” Blake said, genuine. “That’s quite the loss.”

“Eh. Our uncle says it tastes like soap, so I don’t think we’re missing much.”

“One of the unlucky ones,” Blake said, sitting back. “I love cilantro.”

“Weirdo,” Yang said.

“Heathen,” Ruby quipped, pulling the car into another parking garage before raising one hand in a flourish. “And welcome… to the mall!” 

— 

Looking over her shoulder in the mirror, Blake watched Yang laughing at something with the store attendant. That laugh and smile were intoxicating–the amount of life she breathed into any space was just unreasonable. Even the chain clothing store Yang had pulled Blake into felt more lively with her lighting the space. Normally Blake couldn’t stand sterile environments like these.

“Yang, eat,” she’d said the night before, clutching a Yang who couldn’t be bothered to protect herself. Briefly in Yang’s reflected image in the store mirror she saw that lifelessness instead of the bright being warming the store, and felt a surge of protectiveness. 

For as long as she’d been a monster, Blake had reeled at every life she’d had to drink. 

Your humanity , a voice spat the word in her head , will leave you eventually. 

And yet, she was driven to lift a human neck to another monster’s teeth. 

Blake had only known her for two days. It was bizarre.

She shook her head and looked back down at the thing that’d brought them in here, nestled dubiously in her hands: a purple crochet-style beanie with white cat ears on top. She recoiled at the idea of it initially, but Yang had pointed out that the hat was trending in Atlas and Argus among youth thanks to a recent spike in the popularity of some cartoon.

The hat was definitely insensitive toward those with faunus ears, but it’d be an excellent way to blend in as a human. It was a step up from the hood that only worked at first glance and made her more conspicuous.

The first thing she’d done was feel the inside, and the stitching was open into the ears, and just about the right size.

Blake rubbed her thumb over the fabric and sighed.

She guessed it wouldn't be that uncomfortable.

“I’m really glad you guys still have these,” Blake said easily as she strode up to the counter with the attendant, where Yang shot her a grin. “I’ve wanted one for a while.” 

The effort of keeping her ears down and back under the hoodie was exhausting. Suddenly Blake was actually pretty excited to pull the hat on.

The cashier smiled amiably and began to speak, but Blake didn't catch it. Instead, out of the corner of her eye, Blake saw a pair of white and blue uniforms coming into view as they made their way down the mall promenade outside the store. She quickly picked up the hat from where the cashier had just put it on the counter and shoved it on her head, pushing her hood smoothly out of the way. Yang disguised a glance out onto the promenade as embarrassed excitement while the cashier chuckled.

“You weren’t kidding,” the cashier said. “Want me to snip off the tag?”

Blake forced a smile. “That’d be nice, thank you.”

As the cashier’s wrist came up near her face to carefully maneuver a set of little clippers to remove the tag, Blake could smell the blood through their skin. It smelled a bit like iron, and a whole lot like life. She felt her fangs start to sharpen beneath her lips and cleared her throat with a smile, urging them back.

“Thanks,” she repeated. She felt a pang of envy for the calecalanth’s apparently long feeding cycle–Yang and Ruby’s five days compared to Blake’s two. The soldiers in the mall reminded her all too well that she’d have to feed before the end of the day if she didn’t want to begin rapidly losing strength.

Yang’s features passed over with a ghost of a frown for an instant, too quick for the cashier, but something like a brief eternity for Blake.

I’m not going to tell you to feed a second time, Blake. My love. I don’t understand why you must use the full two days. Every. Time.

“So, um.” The cashier was drumming their fingers.

“Oh yeah, money!” Yang said

Their eyes shifted between the two of them with a small smile as Yang handed over her card, and Blake was once again caught with the strange sensation of being a kid, this time in secondary school without a worry in the world. Just her, Yang, and the mall.

“Hurry up, slowpokes!” Well, ok, Ruby was there too.

She’d returned from elsewhere in the mall, and was vibrating near the store entrance. “I found the coolest store!”

But Blake noticed they were being overcharged. “Wait.” Blake held up a hand, eyes glued to the digital price display. “The price tag says-”

“Uh, surprise,” Yang said before the cashier could respond, pulling a second, identical hat from behind her back and pulling it onto her head.

Blake smiled and shook her head. “Sneaky.”

“Adorable!” Yang said, launching a pair of requisite finger guns, and yeah.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She hummed. “Though the purple does go good with your hair, Yang.”

“I wanted to, it makes sense, and thank you , I think it does, too.” 

Bidding farewell to the cashier felt a little like leaving someone who knew a secret about them, but they didn’t know the half of it.

“Hey, nice hat! Hats!” Ruby added, leading the way walking backward. “That’s so cute! And definitely not weird at all because only one of you-”

“Ruby.” Yang pursed her lips.

“-is, uh, actually a fan of the character.”

“Character?” Blake asked.

“In the kids’ show it’s from,” Yang said. 

“It’s not a kids’ show, ” Ruby huffed, turning around. “Well, it is, it just subtly has very mature themes that appeal to an older audience.”

Blake hummed. “Those tend to be the best ones.”

“See, Blake gets it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yang said. “Anyway, this one’s yours.” She pulled a third hat from where it was tucked into a back pocket and tossed it in Ruby’s face. 

“YES! Now we’re a crew!” 

Blake could only watch the look of fondness on Yang's face, mystified. 

Not long after, they’d arrived at the front of the store that had caused Ruby such excitement: it seemed to specialize in outerwear.

“Look,” Blake said, pausing at the door to Ruby’s coat store , stopping Yang ahead of her with a gentle touch to the shoulder, who whipped around, eyes wide and ready. “I already hadn’t considered the hat, but I don’t want you spending too much on me. What do you do for work again?”

“Physical therapist,” Yang said, flexing an arm with a grin (unnecessary but appreciated), and Ruby struck a pose next to her.

“Engineering student!” Ruby said with a peace sign.

“No offense, but that doesn’t sound like a lot of disposable…” The word income died on her lips as Yang’s raised eyebrows summoned up images of the marble lobby at the top of Beacon tower, and their humbly lavish apartment.

Ruby smiled, equal parts sheepish and understanding, and glanced side to side before speaking. “I’m sure you understand, Blake, but our family’s kind of… old. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Really not an issue,” Yang said. “That’s ok, right?”

It occurred to Blake just how long it’d been since she’d experienced the act of behaving like an average person, riding in a car and spending money at the mall. The mortal passerby suddenly felt like they were moving in slow motion, the three extraordinary beings–monsters, Blake reminded herself–standing among them like gods, with both curses and advantages the passerby could never understand. 

Yes. 

No. That’s how he thought. These people were living lives just as distinct and vivid as her own, even if they were shorter. It didn’t feel fair. That was the life she was supposed to have, that had been taken from her. Tea, food, friends, and no need to drink the life out of someone. 

Yang, noticing the pause, twisted her hand like she was about to reach out, and Blake realized she had to get out of her head. No time for what-if’s, but rather what was in front of her.

She decided she’d waited long enough to ask a question that’d been burning in her mind since almost the moment she’d met the calecalanth. With a quick nod, she entered the store by pushing a suddenly perplexed Yang ahead of her, who was forced to backpedal until Blake had them pushed into a corner full of coats on hangers, muffling their presence among other shoppers. 

“How old are you?” Blake said, standing close, looking up directly into Yang’s eyes, knowing full well just how much intimacy Yang could withstand before crumbling like a paper house.

She felt only a little bit guilty.

“Ha, um,” Yang attempted, burying her hands in the coats to either side of them, clearly looking for an out and finding herself cornered in more ways than one. Eventually, she flattened under the scrutiny, looking up at the ceiling with a drawn-out sigh.

“Fifty,” she finally said. A warmth bloomed in Blake’s chest as she looked up in wonder as Yang tentatively looked down to gauge Blake’s reaction.

“That’s insane,” Blake said softly, before realizing what she’s said and drawing Yang’s attention back from a panic. “Me too,” she quickly added.

“You’re kidding,” Yang said, eyes wide, their proximity long forgotten. “What month?”

“January.”

“July,” Yang said, then nodding with a crooked smile, knowing what was coming.

“I’m older than you,” Blake said, poking Yang gently in the chest.

“Practically geriatric,” Yang said with a bigger nod. “You look good for your age.”

“Shut up.”

“You old people, can’t let the youth state their piece,” Yang said, shaking her head. “Sad.”

Blake considered playing along, an unseen energy tugging at the corners of her mouth, but decided a quip likening Yang to a youth felt too absurd to manage. 

“Help this old lady find a coat?” she said instead before remembering she still had Yang cornered with very little space between them and she’d been looking up into her lilac eyes for the past minute. She hastily backed out and brushed pointlessly at her sweatshirt, looking anywhere else. 

Yang slowly emerged from the coat racks. “We’re gonna get you warm and stylish.” Blake had to give her points for effort. 

Moments later, they were perusing the many racks of outerwear while Ruby was… somewhere in the store. 

“We still manage to celebrate birthdays every year,” Yang was saying in a hushed tone, “but after a while we noticed we’d slowed down with getting older. At first a little, then, like, a lot.” Yang hoisted an extravagant pink, zebra-striped coat with a fuzzy collar. “I probably stopped outright around 24. From what our dad says, it’s not like we… stop aging. We’re just really good at repair.”

“And Ruby?” Blake gently plucked the hanger from Yang’s hand and placed the coat back on the rack.

Yang shrugged. “We can’t tell if her body decided her prime was sooner or if she’s just, like, outwardly small. Honest.”

Blake hummed. “Prime. Calecalanth are lucky.” She was feeling a long brown coat with subdued orange fringe between finger and thumb and side-eyeing how good a fit it would be on Yang, and had to remind herself they were only there to get clothes for her. She reluctantly let it go.

“I wouldn’t say that , but. How does it work with you?”

“We don’t know.” Blake frowned. “Ok, I don’t know the why or how but I can tell you that over the course of about five years after being turned, our aging slowly grinds to a halt.”

“So are there, like, millenia-old child vampires because someone bit a toddler?”

Blake peered at a coat high up on a rack. “Well, yes,” she said. “At least, there have been in the past.”

“Whoa. And like–”

“Yes, Yang, old ones, too,” Blake said, a curve to her mouth.

Yang blew a resigned puff of air past her lips. “Killer grandma.”

Blake snorted, and there was a beat as she investigated the hem of the coat she was looking up at.

Yang fiddled with the same hem before looking over. “So, when were you… you know.”

Blake’s smile vanished, a familiar pit in her stomach. “I was seventeen,” she said flatly.

Yang palmed her forehead. “I’m sorry, for a moment I forgot he… I’m sorry.”

Blake shook her head. “It’s alright, Yang. It really was… a long time ago. I was only fourteen when I started following him.” She covered her face with a long sleeve of the hanging coat. “Became enticed, more like.”

Yang made a low whistle, but Blake could hear the anger simmering beneath it. “And how old was he, exactly?”

Blake snorted. “Somewhere between five hundred and five thousand.”

“Gods.” Yang reached up and lifted the coat off the rack and lowered it into Blake’s arms. “I’m sorry but that’s like… a whole other level of predatory, if you ask me.” Yang looked a little guilty saying it, but Blake gave her a level, reassuring gaze.

“It was monstrous. I know that now.” She looked the coat over with curiosity. “Thank you,” she said softly.” It was a long, gunmetal gray duffel coat, loops and black toggles running down the middle on either side, with a large, deep hood and a dark purple plaid interior. It was somehow both casual and stylish, and looked like it could be about as warm and obscuring as she needed it to be. “I love it,” she said.

“Then it’s yours.”

Blake fumbled for the price tag. “Oh, Yang.”

“Blake, I feel like I’ve never actually used our money for something this useful before. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but I need you to know that this is not a burden , it’s a pleasure. ”

Part of Blake was fighting to reel back, run and cover. Gifts were social contracts, it said. Nothing is given freely. But with increasing certainty, Blake was learning that things given by Yang were free of attachment.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like I could steal this exact coat off of someone’s clothesline somewhere.”

Yang’s humored grin and gaze rose to indicate the approach of Ruby from over Blake’s shoulder.

“P’sh,” Ruby said, apparently keyed into the topic, “good luck with that. This is the coat store . A lot of them are like… dry clean only. Also, look what I found!”

Like the prized pelts of fallen prey, Ruby lifted an outergarment in each hand (nearly jostling an adjacent shopper in the process) and grinned with excitement. In her right was a red, hooded cloak, almost like a cape, whose fabric looked sturdy but still flowed somewhat with the air, and played warmly with the light with its deep color.

In Ruby’s left hand was the kicker: a long aviator coat, it was about knee-length, dark brown leather, had bomber-style fleece lapels,  toggles and loops like Blake’s, and dark goldenrod interior with orange trim. It also had prominent shoulders and, of course, a deep hood made of the same fabric, ringed with fleece. 

Blake realized with a jolt that it was the one she had been considering for Yang earlier.

“Check these out! Wow, I’m glad you found one for Blake, I felt kinda bad.”

“Sweet hood, sis. Also, is that actual leather?” Yang sounded dubious.

Ruby shrugged and tossed Yang the coat clearly meant for her, who caught and hesitantly sniffed it. “Eh,” Ruby said. “Beats filling the ocean with the microplastics that come off of faux.”

“I don’t mind or anything,” Yang said, hoisting the coat, apparently having passed the sniff test. “It’s just. Wow.”

“It looks kinda like mine,” Blake said, lifting it to show Ruby, whose eyes lit up.

“Perfect!” she said. “It matches whatever you two have going on!”

Yang stopped with one arm in the coat, fixing Ruby with a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ruby had already pulled on the cloak, twirling as fringes of red caught on surrounding merchandise. “I don’t know! If I did I would have said that instead of whatever you have going on . But it’s like, two in a pair or whatever.”

Blake was smiling, always enjoying their sibling behavior even if this time it was somewhat at her own expense. “I suppose she’s got a point,” she said, making Yang’s cheeks darken as she pulled the rest of her coat on. “We have had a recent bout of mutualism.”

“Anyway,” Yang said, clearing her throat and raising her arms. “How do I look?”

Blake hummed while Ruby vibrated. “Like a cross between a pilot and a cowboy,” she said.

“Sweet.”

“What about me?” Ruby squealed, drawing out the last syllable as she did another spin.

“Like a fairytale,” Blake said without hesitation, and Ruby pumped a fist in the air.

“Hell yeah!”

“Well, Blake?” Yang said expectantly. “Try on yours!”

Blake sighed, realizing she was afraid of liking it. But she’d already committed to this, so she might as well follow through.

And yeah, she liked it. It slid onto her shoulders like a thick second skin, and when she pulled the hood up over her head, it felt like a cowl deep enough to obscure most of her face, even swallowing the hat, from just about any direction. The inside felt like fine wool, but switched to a silkier fabric at the arms, and there were big pockets on the front and inside. She tried looping a toggle, then another, as Yang and Ruby watched with visible excitement, and found the size to be just a tiny bit on the big side.

“It’s perfect.”

With Ruby as a driving force, the afternoon seemed to pass in a blur. Before she knew it, Blake was nursing an iced jasmine tea in the food court while Ruby was waiting somewhere for a crepe and Yang was getting her own drink.

Blake regarded her reflection in a mirrored column, full outfit purchased, straw idly against her lips, the pleasant floral taste of jasmine lingering on the edge of her tongue. She held her own gaze, suddenly grateful for the moment that her reflection hadn’t yet begun to fade with age. Then, her eyes glazed over as a group of human teenagers wandered by, the smell of their blood cutting through the cloud of scented hygiene products that followed behind.

There was life in them, and Blake was thirsty for it.

You’re a monster, Blake. Like me .

She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, urging her fangs back. Get a grip.

“Hey, you ok?” Yang’s voice wrenched her eyelids open, and the livelihood of the food court flooded back with its lights and sounds. Yang stood beside the column with a cup of lemonade, her other hand in her pocket and her brow drawn slightly over a steady lilac gaze.

Blake forced a smile, nodded. “It’s getting… late.”

“Yeah.” Yang nodded back with a small frown. “You’re getting sorta… pale.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

Something passed across Yang’s features, something dark with gravity that threatened to pull Blake in. Then it was gone.

Yang grimaced and pulled a sharp inhale through gritted teeth. “Know any, uh, good spots?”

“I saw posters for a Human Pride march that’s supposed to start in the old warehouse district.” Just mentioning it made Blake’s incisors start to descend. She calmed them with a sip of tea.

Yang hesitated before bobbing her head, and not for the first time Blake felt a rush of warmth at the concern. “That’ll do it,” she said, satisfied.

Don’t get too used to it, Blake. You’ll get spoiled. By a Human .

Calecalanth too, she reminded the voice. Come to think of it…

“Is that how you do it?” Blake looked down into the dark amber of the cup held in both hands. “Find… food?”

Blake could feel Yang’s gaze slip to the floor as she considered her response.

“Sort of,” she said slowly. “You know we have to be picky, because…” She lowered her voice. “Not many people deserve it. We’ll go places, figure where the assholes are, yeah. But there’s a little more to it than that.”

“How so?” In unison, their eyes came back up and found each other once more. It felt natural, expected at this point to find Yang’s gaze and hold it.

“It’s… hard to explain,” Yang said, scratching the back of her head with a small, nervous laugh. “Let’s just say… I can use my own soul to tell if someone else’s is like, bad or disused.”

Blake knit her brow. Could calecalanth judge souls without contact, before having to hurt the owner?

 “What, like before you…?” Blake asked.

Yang switched to a self-assured grin and shoved her spare hand back in her pocket, leaning hard against the pillar. “Before I,” she said before taking a long drag of her lemonade.

Blake gaped. She didn’t think Yang would be the kind of person to lie, but…

“I don’t think I’m used to souls actually being a thing,” she admitted.

Yang popped her eyebrows. “You think that’s wild, imagine how they taste.”

“They have a taste ?”

“No.”

Blake groaned. “You’re terrible.”

“Hey, now. I’m like, super awesome, or whatever.” Her features relaxed. “Anyway, I doubt you need to be able to taste or smell quintessence to know… a thirst-quencher.”

Blake snorted involuntarily and quickly covered her mouth with minor embarrassment. “I’ve had no trouble finding good prey in the past, no,” she said quickly. She didn’t add that Adam, of course, had been much less discerning. “And even if not at the march, I’m sure it won’t be too hard finding something.”

She ignored the nagging knowledge that there was now actually a way to tell if a victim truly deserved to die. Had she made mistakes in the past? Chosen a victim whose life to leach based off of a misunderstanding? 

Then why be so picky anyway? No, she thought. She’d done enough harm when it was outside her control. Now, she had to try. She had to.

Blake shook her head, and Yang, who undoubtedly still noted Blake’s brief lapse, nodded in resignation. Once again their eyes met, and there was agreement: that was enough brazen talk of murder in the mall food court.

“Anyway,” Blake said. Turning away from the pillar, she struck a small pose and gestured to her outfit. “I think this is it. What do you think?”

Yang slowly walked to match Blake’s new direction and gave Blake a studious up-and-down with her eyes.

Blake felt a flutter as she received the invited scrutiny, Yang’s eyes giving her a long once-over, a smile growing as she did. The coat now completed a full outfit (with the change of more comfortable clothes in a bag set to the side). She wore slim, gothic-style jeans and a slate gray crop-top with a crosshatch pattern near the collarbone, and on her feet were tall combat boots, black and buckled up the calf.

The purple plaid coat interior, and the bit of blue hidden in the slate gray top, were enough color to keep the outfit from being too stark, and the combination was, really, overall a great blend between streetwise and stylish.

“I think you look happy,” Yang said, and damn the blush that wanted to rise to the surface.

Doing her best to ignore it, Blake held her wrist behind her back and leaned forward. “Is that, like, your way of avoiding telling me it looks bad?”

“No!” Yang said, stricken. “No, it looks great. Awesome, even.”

Then, just as a smile threatened to break free at watching Yang’s abashed recovery, Blake instead watched as the color drained from Yang’s face as the smell of a pressed uniform, warm metal, honey, and vivacious blood entered the area and approached them from behind her.

“Yang! Hello, again.”

Before she could think better of it, Blake whipped around to see a tall woman–even taller than Yang–with long, richly red hair drawn into a ponytail beneath an Atlas soldier’s hat. Her powerful physique filled out the matching uniform she was wearing, which was less ornate than others Blake had seen patrolling the promenade.

Blake had two simultaneous reactions: she wanted to rip this soldier’s throat out with her teeth, and she was stunned to hear Yang’s name uttered in a stranger’s voice. The two reactions effectively canceled each other out. 

So she was left in limbo as Yang scrambled for normalcy.

“Pyrrha! Oh my gods, it’s been forever.” Yang dashed forward and lifted Pyrrha off the floor in a bear hug, the taller woman laughing brightly.

“Yes, it has.”

Yang put Pyrrha down and fixed her with a serious expression. “Ok, but why the uniform? You joined up with these assholes?”

Pyrrha smoothed the blue-and-white jacket and donned a sheepish smile. “Oh this, it’s just temporary. It’s volunteer work.”

Blake tried to keep herself from openly bristling. “AEFs don’t use volunteers.”

As Pyrrha’s bright green eyes shifted to her, Blake felt a stab of shame and fear. Being thirsty made her rash. She had to keep her mouth shut.

But despite her intimidating stature, Pyrrha didn’t lash out. Instead, her head cocked slightly to the side and her lips parted in a curious expression before becoming a friendly smile.

“Hello,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m an old friend of Yang’s. Are you Yang’s friend, too?”

Blake slowly took the proffered hand and shook. “...yes. Uh, nice to meet you.” Keep it together.

“Pft. I wouldn’t say old. ” Yang shifted her weight and pointed a casual finger in Pyrrha’s direction, and the body language alone was enough to set Blake a little more at ease. “You only left for Atlas like, five years ago.”

“Still,” Pyrrha said brightly, “it’s nice to see you making new friends.” She leaned in conspiratorially to mock-whisper to Blake behind a hand, and gods, Blake could smell all of her blood. “Back when I lived in Argus, Yang didn’t… get out much.”

The gossip curbed the thirst a little. “You don’t say,” Blake said.

“Anyway,” Yang said quickly, clearing her throat. “I thought you were going out there to fight fires in Mantle.”

Pyrrha stood straighter as she looked away, somewhat abashed. “I did. I am.” She plucked at her uniform, then brushed her fingers over a unique red fabric band around one arm that Blake hadn’t seen on any other soldiers in the promenade. “But I’m also a volunteer expeditionary EMT.”

Both Yang and Blake blinked slowly in response. Pyrrha couldn’t be serious. Was the Atlas military really that desperate to save money? “That’s… new,” Blake said.

Stupid. Shut up.

But Pyrrha powered on, unfazed. “It is new, apparently. The rescue and recovery sector of the military had its budget reduced, so they weren’t able to spare additional medical field staff for the expeditionary force.”

“Let me guess,” Yang said flatly. “It’s unpaid.”

Blake only gaped. Atlas? Cutting military funding?

“Mm-hm,” Pyrrha said, but straightened her back. “But it’s ok. I want to be here.”

Yang shook her head. “Ok, but why? Isn’t this some sort of witch hunt or whatever?” It took everything for Blake to keep her ears from lying down flat beneath the hat.

“So you do know a little bit about it.” The corner of Pyrrha’s mouth curled. “Word does travel fast. Um, sort of, but.” She paused, bit her cheek. “They’re searching for the primary suspect involved in the attack on Weiss Schnee.”

Blake busied her hands with the loops of the coat.

Yang didn’t miss a beat. “All due respect to the SDC company heiress, but isn’t she, like…” She gritted her teeth and grunted. “You know. A lot?”

Something warm passed over Pyrrha’s expression. “She can be, but I know her, Yang.”

“You do?”

“We’re friends, and she’s really a… remarkable person.”

Yang chuckled, a subtly nervous edge tinting the ordinarily bright sound. “Well now I’ve really heard it all. The world just keeps getting weirder.”

Blake knew at this point that taking part in the conversation was her best cover, but couldn’t trust her voice not to shake if she spoke. Her hackles were raised and there was a bottomless pit in her stomach, and she felt trapped.

“I’m sorry,” she interjected quietly. “Yang?”

Yang’s eyes landed on her with intensity, seemingly ready for anything.

“I, um.” Blake couldn’t find the words. She tugged at the edges of the coat, shrinking under two gazes.

Yang’s eyes widened suddenly, as though she’d just remembered something. “Oh, crap! I forgot you were just about to go to the bathroom.” She held out an apologetic hand. “Do you need me to hold on to anything?”

“Are you sure?” Blake hesitated before slowly offering her iced tea to the extended hand.

“Go! Shoo shoo.” Yang gestured, but then held up the tea instead. “Wait. Can I try this?”

Pyrrha seemed slightly mortified. “I’m sorry to have held you up!”

Blake shook her head. “No, it’s ok. And that’s fine–thank you, Yang.”

She tried her best to keep her exit from looking too hasty before realizing Yang’s cover for her would have explained it anyway.

This really was a mess.

The food court’s bathroom blessedly had single-use, empty units but shutting the door behind her summoned mixed emotions. The sudden quiet and relative safety of the space eased her tense muscles, her body deflating somewhat with her back against the door and eyes closed.

And then there was the panic.

It was always there, simmering just beneath the surface, but the ships in the harbor, the soldiers in the promenade, and finally the sudden appearance of Pyrrha made Blake feel like the sky itself was reaching down around her to trap her in place.

She saw a set of shocked, icy blue eyes giving way to fury.

And maybe she deserved it.

—

The radiance of Pyrrha’s soul made it a little easier for Yang to keep from glancing in the direction of the bathroom. The thought of Blake in there was two-tone: as far as Yang knew, Blake’s physiology had little use of a bathroom’s amenities, so it felt a little silly. On the other hand, it had to be stressful to suddenly be face-to-face with one of the soldiers hunting you down.

Would Blake try and make a break for it? Everyone eventually did, Yang thought, but Blake was fascinating and new and somehow delightfully unsettling, and Yang had hoped to see her just a little longer.

Yang wished Blake truly knew the uniformed woman in front of her.

Yang knew Pyrrha was good at deciding when to mask emotions and when to lay them bare–everything her old friend did was carefully chosen to have the most positive effect on those around her. And right now, Pyrrha was throwing the occasional concerned glance in the bathroom’s direction.

“Is she going to be alright?” Her tone was genuine. Because of course it was.

“In the bathroom?”

“Yang.” Pyrrha fixed Yang with a patient gaze and clasped her hands in front of her.

Ah.

“Yeah, ok. Social anxiety, you know?” This probably wasn’t technically a lie?

“She seems nice,” Pyrrha said, suddenly switching direction. “When did you two meet?”

Adrenaline threatened to ramp up. Yang focused on her heart and commanded it to slow, putting on an easy smile.

“She’s just a friend, Pyr. We met last week when Ruby and I were out getting dinner.”

Pyrrha held up her palms. “I wasn’t suggesting anything, sorry!” She let a warm smile slip in as her hands fell. “But, Yang, you do seem brighter than before.”

“Careful,” Yang said with a pointed finger. “I’m always a ray of sunshine.”

“Of course,” Pyrrha said, then her gaze returned to something closer to patient. Given the situation, it was a little unnerving. She seemed to choose her next words carefully.

“Yang, the talk around this… job.” She looked around before stepping closer, and the deep breath Yang took smelled like pressed uniform and honey. “At first I was just as angry as everyone else. But it started to sound like they didn’t have a clear target and pinned it on the next best thing.”

“Okay…” Yang shuffled her feet. “So why are you here, Pyrrha?”

“To help,” she said simply. “Like I said, at first I was angry when I heard that Weiss had been attacked and was in critical condition, the attacker apparently having fled to Argus. When Weiss and I first met…” Pyrrha’s expression softened. “I was responding to a blaze in the miners’ housing complex in Mantle. When I got there, Yang, the first thing I saw was the SDC company heiress dragging faunus children out of a burning building.” 

Yang let out a low whistle. This, she could not picture. 

“Since then,” Pyrrha continued,  “I’ve come to admire Weiss as a person. Her family’s empire can be reprehensible, but she’s pretty openly in opposition to her father and is trying to do good. In big and little ways.” Pyrrha tugged at the EMT badge on her sleeve. “I volunteered hoping to learn more and… see to less people getting hurt.” 

It was a lot to take in. People could be mercurial, complicated things, and Yang didn’t have the full picture. So she kept to the practical. “Do you know if Weiss pulled through?” 

Pyrrha only sighed, the question clearly not new to her. “Nobody has seen her since the attack. Her father is keeping a tight lid on things.” 

Yang thought about what she knew of the Schnee mogul from the news. “Knowing him… I feel like if his daughter actually died, he’d spin it for media sympathy, and we haven’t heard anything like that, right?” 

“That’s what I’m hoping too,” Pyrrha said, rubbing a spot of moisture from the corner of her eye. “And look, I need to get going, and it was amazing to see you, but…”

Pyrrha stalled, uncharacteristically hesitant and circumspect. Yang didn’t like it. 

“Pyrrha?”

“You’re a good judge of character, Yang. I like to think I am, too. Just be careful.”

“I…” The adrenaline was back, and Yang couldn’t stave off the initial shake to her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Pyrrha only smiled, small and knowing. “Me, neither,” she said. “Take care, Yang.” And then she was gone, striding down the promenade like any good soldier.

Yang’s gaze remained fixed on the departing sway of Pyrrha’s ponytail. What was that ? Was Pyrrha really that perceptive? Did she really know?

A drop of cold condensation gathered on Yang’s fingertip, reminding her of the iced jasmine tea still grasped in her hand. She finally turned back and quickly scanned the food court for its owner.

Yang found her immediately.

Blake was partially obscured by another column halfway to the bathrooms, peering around at Yang with one eye.

“Blake,” Yang said, making her way over. “Pyrrha, she…” She trailed off as she came around. Blake didn’t move, her arms down and crossed to grip her abdomen as though cold. She just slowly pivoted to watch Yang come around, her expression mostly blank. Yang recognized something she hadn’t seen since meeting Blake two nights ago: wariness. With how pale she was, it was an unfortunately familiar sight.

“I could hear,” Blake said quietly.

Yang nodded. Of course. “Look, I don’t like it either, but Pyrrha–”

Blake quickly shook her head. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, and…” Yang watched, helpless, as Blake looked for the words and freed her arms to pluck at her new coat. “Thank you, Yang. But this was a mistake. I…”

“Blake–”

“Goodbye.”

Before Yang could really register what was happening, Blake drifted in and rose to place a quick kiss on Yang’s cheek, then left the food court like a breeze.

When Yang turned around, she was gone.

Slowly, she looked down at the forgotten tea, and the only coherent thought she could summon was that the straw and her cheek had something in common.

“Found you!” Ruby entered Yang’s vision, rolled up crepe in hand. Banana and chocolate. Yang forced a smile. “Gods, that line was… whoa hey, are you ok? Where’s Blake?”

Yang gestured vaguely with the tea. “I’m fine. She’s gone.”

Ruby’s knit brow wasn’t great. “Gone-gone?”

“All according to plan, Ruby.” Yang took a deep breath. Normal. This was normal. “Let’s go home.”

—

Out of respect for Ruby’s car, Yang drove responsibly. Which was hard, because first gear had a bit of kick. Not that it should matter–there was absolutely no reason to tear up the road or blow red lights.

Yang was fine.

And alone. Ruby had once again asked to be dropped off at Penny’s to study, but not before asking for the fifteenth time if Yang was okay.

Ruby had nothing to worry about. Because Yang wasn’t going to worry about Blake, and they’d done what they set out to do. Now Yang had a few hours to hit the apartment’s gym before heading back to pick her sister up for dinner. Maybe Penny would come along. The more, the merrier.

Yang’s scroll lit up from where it sat in the car’s console, shortly thereafter causing the car’s heads-up-display to show the name of the caller: TAIYANG

The reaction to seeing his name in an oncoming call was something that not even 50 years could erase–Yang and Ruby’s father had had his ups and downs as a parent, but he’d always kept their safety as his first priority. And when your safety involved making sure a whole city wasn’t aware you were killing people and eating their souls, there were a few choice ways to fuck up. 

The answer button on the steering wheel felt heavy. With the whir of events in the past two days, Yang had forgotten to think about the sort of things Tai never missed in the news.

“Hey, Dad.” Yang tried to keep her voice bright, but knew he’d see right through it.

“Hey, kiddo.” And there it was, just as bright, just as transparent. Tai had countless Hey Kiddo s. This one wasn’t Yang’s favorite, even if was packed with love just like the rest.

“You caught me in Red Rose for once. I don’t even have to pull over.”

A dry chuckle on the other end. “As if you bother pulling over on your bike, anyway. You know I love filtering my daughter’s voice through high winds.”

Yang rolled with it. “That’s ‘cus you’re a try-hard, dad.”

“Speaking of.” Tai’s version of the “dad voice” tended to be infinite patience wrapped around even greater caution. “I’m bringing Ruby’s birthday present around next week.”

Yang used the intersection she was turning at as an excuse to process. It was a genuine thing for him to do, but she could tell there was more to it than he was putting up front.

“Sweet. What’da get her?” The last big thing he’d gotten her a few years back was currently thrumming in response to Yang pressing down on the accelerator.

“Wait and see.”

“You’re no fun.”

A pause.

“Dad, if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, I’m gonna start running red lights.”

There was a heavy sigh from the other end. “Yang, have you and your sister been forgetting to clean up after hunts?”

Things had moved so fast and weird these past few days, Yang had put off thinking about the messiness of the whirlwind. And if Blake wasn’t used to the city, she may have just followed Yang and Ruby’s lead. Yang didn’t know how to explain the trail of bodies to her dad, so she feigned ignorance as eloquently as she could while changing lanes at 45 miles per hour with a mind that was anywhere but here.

“Uh…”

" Yang. ”

“What, dad? I got a little sloppy, ok? But it’s Argus. A body here and there is practically on the newspaper checklist.”

She could practically see Tai squeezing the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. “There’s already a publicly acceptable amount of unexplained and animal-related deaths, Yang. Adding to that is not blending in.” Yang held her tongue, and heard her dad sigh. “You and Ruby are getting older, and over the years we can get complacent. Please don’t get careless.”

“It was just…” Yang trailed off, already seeing how this train of thought ended.

“It was just what, Yang?” Tai said after waiting for Yang to finish her sentence, his voice taking a raised edge of pleading. “A couple of police officers? And then-”

“I only had four days,” Yang blurted.

“You… what?”

“I didn’t miscount, and Ruby can confirm it.”

Yang slowed the car into a turn lane, eyeing a fuel station, desperate for something to break up the monotony of driving while on the phone.

“Yang.” It was the voice of a parent unable to truly convey the depth of emotion they were feeling, desperate and thankful and concerned. It took until Yang had pulled up next to a pump at the station for Tai to continue. “How close was it?”

Yang shut off the car and pinned her scroll between her neck and shoulder, clambering out and selecting the premium fuel dust compound on the pump.

“It was…” She settled on a form of honesty. “It was close. Really close. I had barely enough to feed with.”

“I’m so glad you’re ok.” While genuine, it preceded another pause. “… does that have anything to do with the parking lot full of bodies I read about?”

Yang’s heart jumped. “Not really,” she said quickly. “But my, uh, target was one of them.”

It sounded like Tai put something down on the other end, and Yang could tell he’d just stopped doing whatever he was doing to distract, just like Yang with the fuel, to instead direct 100% of his attention her way. Oh boy.

“Sounds like that was quite a mess, Yang.”

“What if it was?” Yang said, suddenly more sullen than she expected to feel. She hadn’t been the one to kill those attackers, but she knew she could have. “They ganged up on me and got what they had coming.”

“You don’t mean that. And what happened to subtlety?”

Turns out keeping Blake a secret wasn’t that hard.

“Yeah, sorry,” Yang hissed, circumspect, and waited until she was back in the car, engine started and Tai hooked back up to the wireless before she continued. Tai could probably picture it, waited patiently. “Turns out things like restraint and care are a pain in the ass when you’re down to a sliver of your soul.”

A moment passed between them, the weight of going past that threshold shared in the fear and trauma that surrounded it. Tai didn’t say it, but Yang knew the parking lot full of bodies would immediately have made him fear that Yang had failed to feed in time.

She felt a stab of guilt—possibly the only thing worse than becoming a soulless cannibal monster was pointless killing performed with a perfectly clear mind. Luckily, her supposed self-defense didn’t count as either.

“Look,” she said, pulling out of the fuel station lot and headed home. “It was a weird night,” as though that explained everything, and really? It kinda did.

“Yeah,” Tai said, distant in a way Yang hadn’t heard in a long time. “About that. In all my time, Yang, matters of the soul have been very… consistent.”

“Then how do you explain how I had only four days?” Yang snapped.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Tai said, even, measured. “Just… you need to be extra careful from now on. If the five day limit can change, we don’t know if it can continue to shift or… what else.”

The implications were a little overwhelming if Yang dwelled on it. She pulled the car into Beacon Tower’s outside lot, not wanting the basement to prematurely end their call. “Is there like… a calecalanth doctor or something?” she said, half-joking.

Tai chuckled, tired but bright. “No, Little Dragon, there is not. Just your lame old man.” His tone shifted. “Yang, listen. I know Argus can feel like a wild place, but careless feeding isn’t as invisible as you think it is. You need to keep you and your sister safe.”

Yang grimaced. Ruby deserved an older sister that kept her wits about her. “You’re right. I’ll–we’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Tai sighed. “Good. And Yang?” A brief pause. “You’re not a monster.” 

Yang knew he was dancing around the subject of Summer, and maybe Raven, suffering the fate of calecalanth that failed to feed in time: becoming wild, insatiable cannibal ghouls endlessly trying to refuel a soul that is no longer there. 

Yang’s experience suggested the failure and transformation was inevitable; it was annoying how easily her father could read her over the distance.

“Obviously,” Yang said, deflecting with impatience. “So see you next week, huh?”

“Yep, a few days or so before Halloween.”

“Ok, then.”

“Alright. Love you, Little Dragon. Tell your sister I love her, too.”

“Tell her yourself. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you calling.”

Yang could practically hear him nod. “Maybe I will.”

They shared one more basic farewell before Tai hung up. Neither of them had ever been good at the small-talk of adults, of typical salutations and goodbyes. They didn’t have the strongest relationship, but they tried, and that was enough.

Yang switched the car off and stretched in the driver’s seat. She could leave the car outside for a few hours before going back to Penny’s place to get Ruby.

Getting out and starting across the mostly-empty parking lot toward the lobby door was easy. Yang felt a pang of stress when the memory of yesterday's struggle crossed her mind, when just rising from the driver’s seat would have been a monumental task.

She stopped in the early evening sunlight, closing her eyes and letting the light breeze–uncommonly warm for the middle of October–gently whip her hair and the edges of her new coat. It smelled like the ocean, evoking a feeling of vastness and possibility, both intriguing and terrifying. These past few days had been simultaneously the most exciting and most terrifying days of her life, and despite Blake being back to on her own, normalcy felt distant. Blake was still in the city, the AEF was too, and Yang’s soul was apparently being… wonky.

Yang breathed deeper and focused on the breeze, its grounding and familiar nature. Countless summers and autumns had come and gone with this same breeze, even if this one smelled like the sea, and the mischief of Argus.

Yeah. Blake or no Blake, everything was going to be fine.

Yang welcomed the gold-orange sunlight back into her eyes and finished the trek across the parking lot.

The breeze was flicking about the usual pieces of paper taped to the glass of the tower lobby’s front door: ads, notices, community programs. She gave them a cursory glance as she reached for the door handle, then froze.

Blake’s face looked at her impassively from one of the notices.

It wasn’t a photograph, but a sketch. A wanted sketch, emblazoned with the Atlas military logo, with a reward of 100,000 Lien. Yang snatched it off the window, letting the barely-open door swing back shut and taking in the image of Blake in her hand with wide eyes.

The sketch artist had illustrated her long hair spilling partway over her shoulders, with her chest to shoulders showing some sort of formal coat or jacket. Her eyes, looking at the viewer, were cold and impassive, her mouth equally turned somewhat downward, a touch beyond simply neutral. Most notable was the lack of any head covering, her upper, feline ears standing tall and distinct and larger-than-life. Yang found the mood of the image slanderous and distasteful.

Pyrrha must have seen one of these before they went up.

Yang was wrong. She couldn’t relax knowing Blake would be this easy to clock; if this worryingly accurate sketch was on the front of Beacon Tower, it must be all over the city. 

Tempering her adrenaline, Yang checked for any other notices in eyesight while crumpling the one in her hand, already imagining Blake being found while feeding.

Yang found herself back in Ruby’s car, Beacon Tower forgotten. Blake had mentioned the human pride march, so that’s where Yang would go. Next best bet was the old harbor district where they’d first met her, but Yang couldn’t be in two places at once. 

Yang needed Ruby.

—

Blake perched atop a high roof, looking down over the edge. Below, a crowd was gathering in a street flanked by tall, neglected warehouses. They looked like bustling miniatures, Some some with signs, and some with faces painted in the colors of the Atlas flag.

Blake knew without the need to look that none of them were faunus.

She figured they had plans to march towards city hall, or maybe the Atlas navy base. Their destination mattered just about as much as their “cause.” Blake would be done with them before they left, short one member. Maybe more.

Then she could get away from this disgusting crowd.

Blake turned away from her perch on the rooftop and surveyed the rest of her staging area. A dusty space between the roof and a suspended air filtration unit caught her eye, and moments later her new duffel coat and hat were neatly folded and tucked out of sight.

It felt strange putting her brand new outerwear in such a dusty, disused hiding spot, but she could just brush away the dust and cobwebs later. Right now her fangs–which had lowered as soon as she heard the crowd minutes ago and hadn’t retracted since–demanded her attention.

Blake’s upper ears, now free of the hat, flicked in the breeze as she carefully looked over the edge once more. For a moment, Yang’s face flashed through her mind. The magic of souls. Knowing just who in the crowd truly deserved to die.

Could things really be that simple?

Blake frowned. Or complex?

No use dwelling on it. She drew in the scent of blood wafting up from the crowd, focused on it. Life had taught her just how easy it was to find a willing donor.

At street level, the smell of the crowd was unnerving. Blake kept catching whiffs of Atlas uniforms and hygiene products common to the north. It shouldn’t be surprising at a gathering like this, but the way her day was going, it had her on edge.

It didn’t help that her choice of luring spots was limited. The alleyways were too exposed, and Blake had only been able to find one disused warehouse nearby that was easily accessible, the faint smell of electronics inside suggesting occasional storage. But you could only be so careful.

It was time to feed. 

Stepping almost to the lip of the alley, Blake zeroed in on a group of marchers milling about near the edge of the crowd with painted faces. She put on a sullen, shadowed expression, knowing the piercing effect it had on the gold of her irises, and pretended to kick absently at debris on the ground.

The scuffing sound got their attention, and immediately Blake had three painted faces swept up in her gaze. She made her upper ears flick for good measure, and wasn’t disappointed when all three faces contorted in various forms of disgust.

One grinned and shook his head, eyes fixed on her.

Another knit his brow, mouth slightly parted, staring daggers.

The one in the middle got out a set of car keys and jingled them. “Here, pussy pussy.”

Oh, Blake was definitely going to drink him.

Holding his gaze, she spit roughly on the ground and backed slowly into the alley, exuding as much cocky confidence as possible and letting her lips curl into a smirk. The marcher in the middle of her group leered and jabbed elbows with his peers.

“Come on,” he said, and made for the lip of the alley.

Finally.

Keeping them just in sight, Blake feigned a look of panic before appearing to look for a way to escape and shuffling around a corner, out of sight. She heard them pick up the pace to catch up with her, their sick predatory instinct piqued. She kept this up for another corner.

When she cleared the second corner, she sprung straight upwards two stories, silently grabbing hold of a windowsill and waiting for the group to round the corner. When they did, they cleared a good couple meters before slowing to a stop in confusion. As luck would have it, Mr. Keys was bringing up the rear.

Blake was already falling into place behind them before their heads could begin to swivel, her legs silently absorbing her impact with the ground and her arms wrapping around his neck and mouth.

Lifting him clear off the ground, she swung him silently back around the corner they’d just rounded before he could react. Then she swiftly dragged him halfway down the alley and into the warehouse door she’d made sure to leave loose. He had only just started to flail when she reached the door, and tried to bite her hand. 

What a weak jaw. 

Blake felt a flood of relief as she half-dragged, half carried the struggling man further back into the shadowed space, among boxes and equipment. She seemed to have broken his neck by this point, but it hardly mattered. She felt the strain on her own weakening body from this activity, and it was getting harder to focus on anything but blood.

Just as Blake exposed the man’s neck and opened her mouth to feed, there was a clink and a pop on the floor, and with a sudden aerosolized burst of gas Blake’s sense of smell was gone, her nose and back of her throat hit with an overwhelming numbness. Garlic.

The scent of Atlesian uniform, fresh plastic, and electronics flashed through Blake’s memory. Of course: she’d been played, and she was an idiot.

You’re getting sloppy, Blake.

A white and blue figure dropped smoothly from the rafters, and there were several more clinks and pops as devices scattered about the floor around Blake, emitting more gas and bright flashes of light. Blake didn’t have time to think, closing her eyes and burying her teeth in the man’s neck and backpedaling as she drank.

She felt her body flood with life, strength returning and senses clarifying, even as death was surely advancing in front of her.

When she opened her eyes and dropped the spent body, her assailant had ducked to the side, drawing a silver saber and casting another device on the ground where they’d just been: a glass and metal ball that immediately began strobing a harsh light that hurt Blake’s eyes and made her vision jarring and erratic.

She needed to get out of here.

She dug her fingers into a box to her side—empty—and flung it in the attacker’s direction before crouching to leap for the door, only to be repelled by another bright flash accompanied by a piercing sound and more gas from somewhere in front of her.

She turned the motion into a backflip and watched as the blade of the attacker’s sword sailed under her, but her equilibrium was too disrupted to manage any kind of counterattack. When she landed, she was near the ball device, which jetted into the air and exploded into light and glass and silver shrapnel, some of it embedding in Blake’s thigh and underarm as she instinctively protected her face and stumbled backwards.

When she shook her head and tried to get her bearings, she saw her attacker rolling an identical ball back onto the floor, and saw that it was none other than Winter Schnee, whose cold, ice-blue eyes were focused squarely on her quarry, but was now maintaining a safe distance.

Visions of Adam burying his teeth in Weiss Schnee’s neck as Blake stood passively nearby flashed across her memory. 

Oh no.

If she hadn’t just fed, Blake would have missed it.

She would have missed the squaring of Winter’s legs and the forward lean of her upper body–the only warning before she slung the sleek rifle on her back into position and fired, all in one lightning-fast fluid motion.

With her senses being bombarded, Blake could only pick a random direction to pivot to avoid a sudden blast of light and heat that singed her jeans where her thigh had just been. The blast melted into the concrete behind her before cooling into splatters of white metal.

That was molten silver.

Despite the garlic numbing her sense of smell, somehow the white-hot silver registered to Blake’s nose as she narrowly avoided another cone of searing light, leaping toward a window. It smelled like death and fire, as though her vampire physiology had recognized a clear and fatal threat and was doing everything possible to tell Blake to run away, escape, don’t die.

She’d nearly reached the window when a small, sleek cylinder seemed to jump up in front of her. If she hadn’t raised her arms just in time, the flash would have blinded her and the spray of tiny, silver flechettes would have found her face.

No time. Schnee was right behind her.

Blake instinctively dropped to the floor just as the long blade of the saber skewered the air above her, and she fanned her legs wildly behind.

At the threat of Blake’s unnatural strength, Schnee cursed and jumped back, but by the time Blake had gotten to her feet, the rifle was once again pointed in her direction.

There was no time to evade.

There was only time for the ridiculous notion of explaining to Ruby and Yang what a huntress was: Everything I could tell you about vampires, Ruby, they already know. Yes, their tools can be very… cool. Yes, they train like elite assassins. Don’t give me that look, Yang. I don’t think they know about the calecalanth, but you should stay safe and hidden just in case.

Time seemed to slow as the muzzle of Schnee’s weapon flashed, and the narrow cone of shining, liquid silver death emerged to reach toward Blake. Then the color of the world drained away and Blake became weightless, and the blast impacted the wall behind her knee.

Color and weight returned as Schnee backpedaled and thumbed another round into a tube on the side of her weapon. A tiny voice in the back of Blake’s head told her this would be an excellent time to attack, but the world was spinning, her ears were ringing, her nose and upper throat were numb, her eyes were struggling with the lights and shadows, and the only thing she felt capable of was vomiting.

So Blake braced herself for another shot from Schnee’s weapon. Maybe she could phase again. But would that just be putting off the inevitable? Death at the hands of Winter Schnee probably wasn’t far from what she deserved.

Blake didn’t realize Schnee had something new in hand beneath the rifle until it was too late, and a  blinding flash from it found her eyes unprotected.

The light was all UV, Blake realized as she helplessly pawed at her stinging, useless eyes. She wasn’t just blinded–her eyes hurt.

“Shit,” she said, stumbling, and something huge and hard impacted her shoulder and side. It took her a second of scrambling to realize it was the floor. With her ears ringing, her sense of touch was almost all she had left.

Blake crawled, looking for the wall. Why hadn’t Schnee finished her off yet?

Her hands felt what should be the wall below the window and she quickly scrambled to put her back against it, then found herself unsure whether to hold her hands out for protection or brace them against the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, her voice hoarse. She could feel the presence of Schnee standing over her. Then she faintly heard a crash and felt a spray of broken glass pepper the top of her head and her arms and thighs from above.

There was a sense of a struggle as Blake tried to get to her feet at the apparent shift in activity. She could feel the air shifting in response to intense movement, and then heat radiating from the center of the room. Someone or something made something like a roar.

Blake had only just gotten herself turned around and was gingerly feeling out the apparent broken aperture of the window when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and she was lifted free.

Then, as Blake’s position was shifted so that she was cradled against her rescuer’s chest,she felt  intense wind from a series of rapid, powerful movements as she was carried up, forward, back, up, up, away, away, away.

Yang’s heartbeat was so strong. What a way to learn its rhythm.

Despite the clear breach of their almost-promise, Blake was too tired to be mad.

She gave in to her exhaustion, and dreams overtook her as wind sailed by.

A whirlwind of nonsense intermittently let a piece of coherence shine through.

Chewing on a shelled crab leg while mall-roving teenagers balanced on tiny motorcycles.

A purple sun mollifying an angry Winter Schnee like a big, warm cushion.

Her childhood friend Ilia during firearms training, telling Blake to shoot for center mass.

Ruby. She was riding Yang’s shoulders, who was flashing a grin and a thumbs-up.

Noise. Sound. Music. Smell?

—

Blake opened her eyes to find herself on a familiar coffee table: it had been retrofitted into a soft operating table with repurposed couch cushions and a pillow for her head. Her vision was blurry, damaged. She blinked, but nothing changed. Looking slowly to the side, she could make out the color and shape of Ruby hunched over her thigh, absorbed in the task of attempting to wrest a piece of silver shrapnel from Blake’s jeans with sharp, pointed fingers.

Blake tilted her head the other way.

“I forgot to tell you,” Ruby was saying to Yang, who’d just just come through the door with takeout bags. “With everything happening I sorta forgot. Guess who I ran into walking around the wharfs after you dropped me off?” 

The numbness having subsided, Blake could smell grilled fish, lime, onion. Fried potatoes.

Whatever Yang had been about to say, kicking the door shut behind her, fell short as she saw Blake looking in her direction. Eyes wide, she dashed into the living room and all but threw the bags on the cushionless couch before kneeling on the other side of the table.

Blake’s head tilted from one side to the other to watch Yang cross the space. Seeing her face get close enough to recognize gave her feelings she couldn’t identify.

“Blake, you—you’re awake, you got your eyes back, uh—don’t be mad, but…”

“Now why,” Blake croaked, before stopping to cough, her throat dry. There was Yang with a water bottle out of nowhere. Blake got up onto an elbow and drank, grateful. “Why,” she started again, “would I possibly be mad?”

Yang bounced up and down on her heels, eyes going anywhere but on Blake, her hands folded in her lap but fidgeting wildly. “Because I, uh…”

“You kept worrying about me.”

“It’s a character defect,” Ruby said before Yang could protest. “Hi, by the way. Yeah, I’ve been trying to get her to stop worrying about me for years. No dice.”

Yang had stilled, looking resolutely at the carpet between her knees. “It’s not a defect,” she grumbled. “I just know when people deserve better.”

Blake dropped from her elbow, back to staring at the ceiling. 

You know what you deserve, my love.

“I’m not a person, Yang.”

Ruby said “Hey,” at the same time Yang scoffed and said “Have you checked with the people police?”

Blake didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t muster the indignance she knew she should feel. “No, I think you ate them all.” She tilted her head back to see Yang donning a small smile, and couldn’t stop one of her own.

“Gods, I hope not,” Ruby said, rocking up onto the balls of her feet and hoisting a glass tumbler full of something glittery. She shook it, and it tinkled brightly. “So. These are fancy.”

The flechettes.

Blake instinctively ran her hands along the backs of her forearms, felt dozens of tiny holes and cuts.

“Fancy doesn’t even begin to cut it,” Yang said, running her hand along her abdomen for some reason. “No pun intended.”

Blake sprang back up and fixed Yang with a glare, while Ruby fell back on her butt in surprise. Yang seemed to realize her mistake and quickly put both hands on the floor, looking nowhere in general.

“Yes,” Blake said, “that’s exactly the problem. What did you do? What happened to the huntress?”

Ruby made an “oh” sound and looked at the glass of flechettes with new eyes.

Yang laughed nervously, clambered to her feet, and started pacing. Definitely not a good sign.

“Yang, get on with it. What happened?”

Yang crossed her arms, but didn’t stop pacing. “When I got there, I was casing alleyways, then I found these two assholes. Well. One was freaking out, the other was weird, talking into a headpiece or something that he’d ‘lost the target.’”

Blake groaned and fell back down, bouncing slightly on the cushions.. The crowd had AEF plants. Winter Schnee had played her like a violin.

“Yeah,” Yang said, glancing Blake’s direction before continuing. “Anyway, her, uh, tools weren’t exactly subtle from the outside with our senses. Was that who I thought it was?”

Blake covered her face with her hands and grumbled through them. “Winter Schnee. Huntress, apparently. Killer of vampires.”

More excited sounds from Ruby were definitely concerning.

Blake peaked through her fingers with one blurry eye. “What else, Yang?”

Yang had stopped pacing and was now staring at the ceiling, her arms still crossed. “She was tough–and fast, I couldn’t land a clean hit– but I could tell she was getting frustrated.” 

“Everything a huntress carries is designed to fight vampires.” 

“Yeah. Felt like she was trying everything and nothing was working, and when I finally got my hands wrapped around her sword, she just… sorta growled and let go, and uh…” 

Blake felt a sense of dread. How had Yang managed to get Blake out? 

“Did she shoot at you with that, like, hot metal?” She was talking a little higher, faster.

Ruby piped up. “The WHAT?”

Blake just kept Yang fixed under her glare.

Fidgeting, Yang finally stopped pacing and faced Blake, throwing her hands up in the air. “Yeah, she hit me with that stuff. Stung like a bitch.”

Blake couldn’t contain her incredulity. “You got shot by that ? Gods Yang, are you ok?”

“Yang!” Ruby shouted, exasperated.

“I’m fine!” Yang’s fingers danced along the hem of her t-shirt. “It dug into an armor plate and was still burning so I sort of… tore it off and threw it at her.”

Ruby and Blake sat for a beat in stunned silence.

“Tore what off?” Blake said, not willing to fully grasp the weight of what Yang had just said.

“Yang,” Ruby said.

“The armor plate. It was like, the best option at the time, and was enough of a distraction to get you out,” Yang said, holding her hands up. “And I’m fine! See?” She did a spin and threw up her arms.

“Armor plate?” Blake said, looking back and forth between the sisters. “Like what you do with your hands and arms?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda like chitin, it’s pretty cool—”

“Yang!” Ruby said. “Show. Now.”

Under Ruby’s demanding pointed finger and Blake’s worried gaze, Yang conceded and lifted the right side of her shirt. Running from her right waist up to her ribs was a huge swath of angry, exposed flesh, like the skin had been torn away. It was glistening, but not bleeding.

Blake gaped as Ruby dashed around to anxiously dote on her older sister.

Nobody should have to suffer for what Blake had done. Especially not like this.

“It’s fine, I just need time to heal it,” Yang said, voice even and calm, looking straight through to Blake’s mental dive. “Also, better me than you, right?”

The absurdity of the statement quickly gave way to understanding: Yang had reasoned out what that molten metal was. If it had struck Blake, it would have cleaved a hole right through her like an eraser.

But none of this mattered in light of the real catastrophe this was.

“Yang. Ruby.” They looked at her, quieted. “I don’t think huntresses knew about the calecalanth before tonight.”

A moment passed among them.

“That is, of course, assuming throwing… things at her didn’t kill her.” 

Yang thankfully dropped the hem of her shirt and blew a strand of hair from her face. “Nope. Might have gotten a few tiny burns, though.” 

Ruby nodded, somber, before looking up at Yang. “And now she even has a piece of you.”

Yang just shrugged, but her expression was adamant. “Can’t do anything about that now. If something bad comes of it, we’ll deal with it.”

“Dad’ll be mad, though.”

Yang grimaced, and Blake got the feeling “mad” was underselling it.

“Glad you got to feed, though,” Yang said, the change of subject jarring. But honestly? Blake welcomed it. She should be more angry, more worried, more tired, but staying upset was hard with these two.

“How do you know I fed?”

“Because I also threw the body at her,” Yang said, and she may as well have been bragging about performing well on an exam. “Also, your cheeks do this… thing.”

“Less pale,” Ruby said helpfully, having given up on worrying about Yang’s skin, now crossing her arms and looking back to Blake’s leg.

“Yeah, that.”

“I appreciate the help with all… this, Ruby,” Blake said, gesturing to the glass of flechettes and smaller pile of silver shrapnel on a napkin nearby, “but after I eat, the rest should just be pushed out.”

“Actually, Yang was the one that did your arms before leaving to get food,” Ruby said, moving to clean up.

Of course she was.

Blake looked to Yang, who was studiously absorbed in the silver-studded holes in Blake’s jeans, and felt a rush of warmth. She gave up.

“Looks like you got me food,” she said.

Yang visibly perked. “Attagirl,” she said, grabbing the takeout bags and eagerly handing one to Blake. Inside was a delightful smelling wrapped bundle and a boat of fries. Blake rose to sit cross-legged, making room on the table as Yang sat to mirror her with her own spoils.

A moment later, she was mumbling through a mouthful of fish taco, which had miraculously passed the garlic sniff-test. “Good place nearby?” It almost made her wish she got injured more.

Yang had devoured half of hers already. “You have no idea, Belladonna. I swear it’s the one place that actually listens when you ask them to leave stuff out for, like, any allergy. You can imagine the weird look when I said no garlic, though.”

Blake paused her chewing and narrowed her eyes. Her vision was already starting to clarify, eyes healing. Belladonna?

Yang froze, before avoiding Blake’s gaze and grabbing her fries, brandishing one like an excuse. “Sorry. Wanted posters. Also sort of why I thought you were in trouble.”

 “Mm.” Blake nodded. Of course. She was going to have to change her hair. 

“Ooh, are we doing names?” Ruby said, coming back into the room with something to dip her fries in.

“Xiao Long,” Yang said, rolling her eyes and extending her hand with a smile.

Warm. Rough. Soft. Holding Yang’s hand felt inevitable. Letting go felt like climbing away from a precipice.

Ruby looked between the two of them and shoved three fries in her mouth, as though she’d been about to say something and thought otherwise.

But the relative resulting cold of letting go was somehow what reminded Blake that she’d narrowly avoided being killed by Winter Schnee earlier this evening.

For a moment, Blake had almost welcomed it. Having seen the love Yang and Ruby shared was a brand in the guilt that smoldered from taking Schnee’s sister from her. But here, now, she was thankful for the two calecalanth, thankful for Yang saving her from the verge of extermination.

No, she thought. Murder.

And it really had been close.

Slowly chewing on another bite of taco, Blake thought about the tiny speckles of white scars that’d be on her arms. Then she thought about the singe to her leg from narrowly avoiding the first silver blast.

Come to think of it, Blake felt sure there were much more lethal ways to dispatch vampires than tiny flechettes and leg shots.

Then the dream of Ilia and firearms training popped back into her head.

It was based on a real memory: a fleeting one, and it had been many, many years, but Ilia’s endearing annoyance was memorable.

“Don’t aim for the head,” she’d said. “Or even arms or legs. This isn’t a movie. If something–or someone–is worth shooting, shoot for center mass.”

Winter Schnee sure as hell had had proper firearms training, and the few shots she’d managed had been aimed at Blake’s legs. Despite being a well-equipped and informed huntress, she had apparently been trying to take Blake alive.

And despite Schnee being more cold and calculating than the few other huntresses Blake had had the displeasure of encountering, there was genuine malice in her eyes and movements. Blake had the feeling it wasn’t just because she was a vampire.

She swallowed the chewed food she’d forgotten was in her mouth.

This was definitely about Weiss.

Schnee’s little sister was still alive. 

Winter was probably hanging on to a hope that Blake could somehow reverse the vampirism. Or could share any insight at all, due to her association with the man who turned Weiss.

“She’s all alone,” Blake muttered.

“What?” Ruby said. 

Yang slowed to a stop, mouth open with the last of her fish taco on the way, eyes going wide.

 —

Across the cold northern ocean, in the basement of a grandiose mansion at the center of a sprawling complex in the city of Atlas, a wild and thrashing figure was chained to the wall, long white hair frizzled and simple nightgown dirty and frayed.

The sounds of her screeches and growls filled the lower part of the mansion just as much as the constant straining of her chains and shackles.

Weiss Schnee was so done with being confused. She was getting tired of fury.

More than anything, she was thirsty .