AN: This is a crossover with Anita Blake, but the universe only, and you don't need to have read the books to enjoy this story.

Warnings: Anything you could think of for Marvel or AB verse, with the exception of the rampant consent issues inherent in Anitaland because fuck that, I don't roll that way. If anyone has any specific trigger warnings I should add, please let me know.


x


Chapter One - Tithonus

Tony sipped at his mug of what looked like plain black coffee but was actually enough espresso to give him a heart attack, and tried to turn his scowl into something Coulson wouldn't deem an 'inappropriate expression to display in front of customers.' The man really should have accepted by now that inappropriate was Tony's lifeblood, well other than the death magic, which was the only reason Coulson put up with him at all.

"I'm sorry, you want me to do what?"

The man in the chair across from his desk curled his lips into a lazy smirk. "You heard me, Stark. The Master of the City wants you to exorcise a ghost from someone. You will find out more once you accept the job, and she is prepared to reward you quite handsomely if you succeed."

"Once I accept the job? I don't know if your Master's heard, but I'm really not so good with orders," Tony said sharply, hoping it hid the spike of deep curiousity about who needed an exorcism, and how the hell he would even go about getting a ghost out of someone.

The only 'ghosts' he'd seen had been restless spirits in certain cemeteries, and the occasional soul at a funeral or crime scene. The only possessions he'd heard of had been demonic in nature, and he stayed way the hell away from those. The church could keep the demons, he'd take everything else they rejected as evil.

The man laughed, his body relaxed and confident in the stiff office chair Tony had purchased explicitly so that it would be uncomfortable to sit in for very long. "Oh, she knows. This isn't an order. But she wants your help in this matter, and the Master is very good at getting what she wants."

Tony's lips twisted. People had a habit of not getting what they wanted around him. Including himself.

"Leave your contact information with Happy and I'll think about it," he finally said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. He had some research to do before he made any decisions—ghosts were not supposed to possess people, and unless the man was lying or misinformed, something had gone very, very wrong. The dead was what he did, what he knew, and while he wasn't quite so arrogant as to think he knew all there was to know about death and death magic, he knew a damn sight more than just about anyone. This was new.

The man stood, still no indication of discomfort and his smirk entirely too knowing for Tony's peace of mind, and sauntered out of the office, calling out "Be seeing you, Stark," over his shoulder.

Tony grimaced at his back. He'd bet his favorite coffee mug the man was a shifter. Quite possibly a cat of some sort. That kind of casual physical arrogance was hard to find in humans. Not to mention that not very many vanilla humans ended up working for the Master of the City.

Not that the man's identity mattered, just his words. Looked like Tony's burning curiousity and his survival instinct were going to be battling it out again; those fights never seemed to end well for him.

His phone rang before he had time to devote any more thought to the situation and he grinned when he saw the caller ID. "What's up, buttercup?"

Rhodey laughed, low and rumbling and an instant mood lifter. "If any of the brass heard you talk to me like that, I'd be demoted to actually cleaning up piss."

Rhodey, his best friend in the world—one of his only friends in the world—headed up New York's Preternatural Investigation Squad, affectionately (or not, depending on who you asked) known as PIS for short.

"You are far too pretty to be demoted to janitor. They'd make you a secretary at least," Tony told him seriously.

Rhodey laughed again and Tony knew he was shaking his head as he responded, "And if Maria hears you talking like that, she'll insist on more self defense lessons as an excuse to give you a few bruises."

Tony shuddered, the caution in his voice only half feigned. "She is far more terrifying than your bosses."

"Very true," Rhodey said, his tone as smug as Tony was sure his smirk was. "And now that you've successfully distracted me for a minute, let's talk about why I actually called."

"If we must," Tony answered, flavoring his voice with noble resignation as he leaned back in his chair. "Do tell, brave officer, why you called this wretch of a consultant."

He grinned at the sound of a suppressed chuckle, then frowned as Rhodey shifted into serious mode. "I have a body I need you to look at."

"Of course you do," Tony said after a moment, the resignation no longer feigned. "You never call me for a drink anymore, sugar puff. It's all doom and gloom and dead bodies in the park."

"How did you know it was in the park?" Rhodey asked, a faint edge of suspicion to his words.

Tony rolled his eyes. "It's New York City, there's at least a 25% chance of any dead body being found in Central Park, higher for the kind of cases we get called in on." He grimaced at the muted TV that was always on in the corner of his office. "Besides, you're on the news."

"Fucking reporters," Rhodey grumbled, suspicion faded into irritation. "That new bill Senator Stern is trying to get passed has them all over our asses."

Tony's grimace darkened into a scowl. Senator Stern, and his chief of staff, were guaranteed to make any day of his worse. Throw in a dead body, and a mysterious job offer, and it was shaping up to be a shit show of a Monday.

"I'll be there as soon as traffic allows, faster if you'll preemptively waive my speeding tickets."

"Nice try," Rhodey drawled, then hung up without saying goodbye. Tony made a face at his cell phone and then slipped it into his pocket before standing up and grabbing his keys. He shut the office door behind him on the way out, and poked his head into Coulson's office without knocking.

"Cops called, I'm heading out on a consult. Don't wait up!"

Coulson's expression never flickered as he looked up from his computer. "Call Happy if you're going to miss any of your appointments tonight."

"Yes, sir!" Tony replied, flicking his fingers in a lazy salute and hiding a victorious grin at the faint hint of tightening around Coulson's eyes.

"Get out of my office," Coulson said in that bland little voice of his that never failed to promise pain.

Tony let his grin slip out and then sauntered away, waving at Happy as he passed the desk and wondering if Rhodey would shoot him if he stopped for coffee on the way to the crime scene. Caffeine always helped him distance himself from the bodies and more espresso might just make the day bearable.

Once he arrived at the park, it was clear that no amount of caffeine would have helped.

It was a sunny day, despite still being winter, and the air was crisp but not frigid. Cops swarmed over the grass, and reporters milled behind the yellow tape border, along with the usual civilians who couldn't resist gawking at a crime scene.

Rhodey was standing by the corpse, the CSI's lurking nearby, and he waved Tony over, his face grim. Tony wanted nothing more than to not have to walk over to the body sprawled awkwardly on the grass, one leg flung beneath a park bench. Damn him for offering his best friend any assistance he could when Rhodey was first assigned to the detail, and damn him even more for actually proving useful.

Usefulness, in his experience, was more likely to result in punishment than reward.

He walked over anyway, and, after a slow and steady breath, looked down. It was as awful as he'd thought it would be. The body was male, and not a child. That was about all he could say, given the condition of it. The eyes were white and staring, the skin grey as ash and tightly wrinkled. The hair was short; it might have been brown, once. It, along with the rest of the body, looked like the life had been wrenched from it, leaving nothing behind but withered tissue.

Tony stared at the body, at the gaping emptiness of it, and felt sick. He'd seen bloodier corpses. He'd seen corpses in more pieces than he'd wanted to know a body could be torn into. But the shriveled husk on the ground in front of him was somehow worse, despite the lack of gore.

"There's no soul," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

Rhodey frowned. "I thought it was pretty rare for you to see those."

Tony shook his head. "It is, but, it's always there. It's why I can't raise anyone for at least three days." He waved a hand at the body. "It hasn't been three days and the soul's just, gone." He crouched down, cursing himself inwardly even as he brought himself closer to the body. "It's like it was sucked out of him." He grimaced. "Along with everything else."

Rhodey bent down next to him, catching his gaze. "Do you know anything that can suck out a soul?"

Tony shook his head again, then shrugged. "Maybe a demon? I'm not too familiar with those. But," he frowned, reaching out with his power and shuddering at the void he encountered. "It doesn't feel evil. Just...empty. Hollow."

The other man sighed, rising to his feet and beckoning the CSIs back over. "Well at least it's something. Not sure what we can do about it, but it's more than we knew before."

Not looking away from the body, Tony rose as well. "I'll do some research, ask around." The Master of the City wanted to hire him to do an exorcism, and there was someone or something going around sucking out souls. It was possible the two cases weren't connected, but not probable. Either way, the Master of the City might know something that could be helpful.

Looked like necessity had joined curiosity's side of the battle.

There wasn't a whole lot he wouldn't do to avoid ever seeing a body like this again, even if it meant walking into the lair of the most powerful vampire in the city.

Stupid smug shifters. Tony hated proving people right.

x

Steve saw Sam slip into the studio and gave him a slight nod, flicking his eyes in the direction of his office. It was rare for any of his pack to visit him at work, and whatever was so important as to warrant a change in that was best kept away from the all too nosy teenagers in his current class. Sam disappeared through the other door and Steve turned his attention back to the young girl whose painting he was standing beside. "Looks good, Bianca, excellent use of color this time. Keep it up and you'll steal my next show."

She grinned at him, brown eyes sparkling. "I'm gonna steal all the shows, Mr. Rogers, just you wait."

Steve laughed and returned the grin. "I expect invitations to all of them."

She favored him with a wink. "Only if you promise not to eat all the fancy hors d'oeuvres; I saw you demolish that whole pizza last Saturday at the community center."

Steve ducked his head as if embarrassed. He was glad that she was comfortable enough with what he was to tease him, even if he could have probably put a pizza away in his army days—before he had a wolf inside of him. "Get back to painting, missy, or you won't have anything to display at all those shows."

She chuckled and turned back to her canvas and he stepped away, moving through the rest of the room and checking on the other students before walking through the door that led to his office.

When he saw the expression on his Allectus' face, his lingering grin faded as he closed the door behind him. "Tell me."

"Peter confirmed it, Ian's missing. He wasn't in class, his roommates haven't seen him, and he hasn't answered his phone or returned a text in 48 hours," Sam's voice was grim and Steve rubbed a hand over his face as the words settled into his bones, making his beast rumble angrily.

The city had been different lately, off. Whispers and rumors and a sense of restless fear in the shifter, and other, preternatural communities. When Ian had failed to show up to the pack meeting the night before, Steve had known there was something wrong, even as he kept everyone else from panicking.

Ian was young, but he wasn't stupid and he didn't pull some of the dangerous and reckless stunts other young pack members did when they thought he wasn't paying attention. A shifter going missing was never a good thing, and it was almost never something simple or easy. It was hard to take down a wolf, one of his wolves, unless you were something bigger or nastier.

Or a well trained human—or just a lucky bigot—with the right weapon.

He bit back a growl and knew his eyes were a little too blue for human when he looked back up at Sam.

"You and Sharon pick teams, see if you can find a scent at his apartment, or the university." Ian worked there along with being a student, which helped narrow down the list of places to check.

"And you?" Sam asked, a faint hint of teasing in his tone despite the seriousness of the situation.

"I'll go see the Master," Steve replied, ignoring the grin lurking at the edges of Sam's mouth, and the heat already prickling beneath his skin. He had a missing wolf to worry about, and a city full of powerful people on the edge, so the ongoing attempts of a certain Master Vampire to seduce him were just going to have to wait.

No matter how much he'd found himself enjoying them.

Sam turned away just slow enough to fail to hide his grin, and Steve bounced an eraser off the back of his head before his Allectus could duck through the door. Sam casually flipped him off without turning around, phone already out and to his ear, presumably to call Sharon.

Steve sighed and glanced needlessly at the clock, confirming what his senses, finely tuned so soon after the full moon, already knew. Three more hours until sunset. He was quite confident that Pepper would be awake before then, if she wasn't already, and equally confident that she wouldn't reveal such a thing for something as simple as a missing werewolf.

All of which meant that he had time to wrap up his class, and grab a bite to eat, before heading to Roosevelt Island and dealing with the endless debate of which was worse: a werewolf stuck on an aerial tram, or a werewolf trapped in an underground subway.

There were many days when he wondered why New York had such a large and varied shifter population, given the dangers that dense populations and aggressive personalities posed to maintaining control. Somehow though, maybe thanks to the sheer indifference New Yorkers showed toward the strange and unusual, the largest city in the country had also become the preternatural capital of the country.

Of the largest, and therefore the most powerful preternatural groups, New York's territories were split up by borough: Brooklyn for his wolves, the Bronx for the Lions, Queens for the Rats, and Manhattan for the vampires, who ruled over all of the city in technicality if not fact. There was a shocking dearth of actual preternatural life in Staten Island, although it had a higher per capita rash of preternatural stores, 'psychics', and 'witches', than the rest of the city put together.

The smaller shifter clans, various groups of witches, and the occasional psychic and preternatural beings that were less common lived wherever it was safe or they had friends.

Something fell with a thud and the studio filled with hushed whispers far too loud to actually be inaudible in his office. Steve grinned, happy to have his worsening mood dispelled by the antics of his favorite class of the week.

He cleared his throat, loud enough to carry through the door even to weak human ears, and then stepped into the doorway with a stern frown. The hushed whispers turned into a mix of giggles, murmurs, and definitely not hushed enough curses. Bianca was the only one who made eye contact.

"Tommy decided his art was lacking a certain physicality. I'm not sure bodychecking his easel was the best choice, but who are we to judge his artistic sensibilities?"

There were more giggles, and Tommy glared at her for a moment before flushing and looking up at Steve. "Sorry, Mr. Rogers. I just got a little too into the zone."

Steve maintained the frown for a moment longer before letting his smile slip as he walked over and lifted Tommy's easel back up. "Passion is a good thing in art, Tommy, just don't start body-checking your fellow artists, okay?"

"I'll save it for the field," Tommy promised, adjusting his canvas, and Steve clapped him gently on the shoulder before moving on to make sure everyone got back on task. He taught several classes during the week, but this was his favorite, made up of kids from his and Bucky's old high school. The school could no longer afford an art program of its own, so he had offered free lessons to any interested students. His status as 'that werewolf painter' kept some kids away, but for the most part parents in their old neighborhood were too glad of the opportunity to raise a stink.

Forty-five minutes later class was over and he called Sharon for an update.

"The children are obnoxiously eager," she told him, voice dry enough to strip the water from the brushes he was rinsing in the sink. Steve chuckled, picturing the disgusted crinkle of her nose as she watched the puppies. His second in command was the granddaughter of the Vindex who had moved their pack to New York, Margaret 'Peggy' Carter. She was also Bucky's cousin, although Steve hadn't known that before he became a wolf.

"Has their eagerness found anything?"

He could almost hear her frown in her clipped response. "No." There was a pause and her voice was different when she spoke again, lower and worried. "I found something though. There's an emptiness, like a scent that not's a scent. I don't know what it is, but it's here at the library where he was last seen and it's wrong."

Steve's frown deepened, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. Sharon was the most competent person he knew; frankly, if she'd had any desire for the responsibilities of Vindex, she would have been leader of the pack and he would have been her second. If she said there was a scent that wasn't a scent, he believed her. And he couldn't imagine anything that could cause that, which only made things worse.

"Can you track it? Or identify it if you find it again?"

"No, and yes. Sam found nothing at the apartment. I'll check in with my contacts, and it's date night tonight so I can ask Carol if anything's going on that might be related."

Steve frowned for a different reason. "Just-"

"Be careful, I know," Sharon cut him off, her voice amused. "Carol and I are very good at negotiating the difficulties of a relationship between a police captain and a werewolf. I think you need that advice more, as I highly doubt that you are nearly as skilled at negotiating relationship boundaries with the Master of the City."

He coughed and flushed, glad Sharon wasn't actually present to tease him about being the only werewolf who blushed. "Yes, well, keep me updated, and I'll see you and Sam tomorrow morning for breakfast."

She laughed, warm and rich, and then hung up on him without saying goodbye.

Steve sighed and stared down at the sink full of colored water. She was right and he was doomed. Pepper had centuries of experience at getting people to cross boundaries and his ability, and will, to resist a closer relationship with her was fading with every meeting.

Which changed absolutely nothing, because he needed to inform her of what was going on and seek her aid, and, frankly, he also wanted to see her. And he was tired of ignoring things he wanted.

He set the brushes on the drying rack and let the water drain out of the sink, then wiped his hands off on the towel. It was time for food, and then the fun of surviving traffic in New York without eating anyone.

He grabbed his jacket, unnecessary given his natural body temperature, but good for appearances and armor against unwanted touch. He turned off all the lights, set the alarm, and locked the door, then headed for his favorite hot dog stand. Mary had been a friend of his mother's, her accent as thick as if she'd been born in Ireland rather than being a second generation immigrant like his parents. She made amazing relish, had the best hot dogs in Brooklyn, and always upgraded him to polish dogs for free.

He ate two there on the sidewalk, enduring her stern and somewhat caustic attempts at mothering, and took another two to go.

The aerial tram won out over the subway—better views and a better smell. Plus he was pretty sure he'd survive the fall if it became necessary to quickly vacate the vehicle.

Now if only he could guarantee that he could survive what was to come after the tram ride.

x

Clint was sprawled on the floor at Natasha's feet, one of her hands tangled in his hair, when Pepper stepped into her office. She raised an eyebrow at him and he grinned cheekily.

"Stark's on the hook. He'll wriggle around for a bit, but he'll contact us."

She nodded, not questioning his confidence, and moved to her desk, settling into the plush leather chair with a silent hum of pleasure. "Good. In the meantime, we have plenty of other business to deal with." She glanced down at her tablet, an unnecessary human gesture of reminder, one of many she cultivated for her public image.

"The Blood Rose is opening tomorrow night, and my new gallery should be completed by April—ahead of schedule. I have an interview before the opening, ostensibly about Blood Rose, but actually about Senator Stern's new bill."

Natasha's eyes flashed in her direction, green and biting. "I still want to arrange an accident for Mr. Stern. Something suitably embarrassing. And fatal."

Pepper chuckled, undeniably tempted by the image of what she knew her Temoin was capable of, then shook her head. "He is a thorn in our side, but he is a visible and fairly predictable one. There are others who would be far more dangerous if they stepped up to take his place as our enemy." Not to mention that she was curious as to what he would do if given enough rope to hang himself. Or for his far more unpleasant chief of staff to do it for him.

If Mr. Stark called before the interview, she might even have some juicy tidbits to leak. There were many reasons for her interest in Anthony Stark, and while his power was first and foremost, his past and connections were nothing to overlook.

"How are preparations going for Xavier's visit next month?" Pepper asked, leaning back in her chair and raising an eyebrow at her second. Pepper was very fond of Xavier and his prickly animal servant, and especially fond of Raven. Natasha, on the other hand, was less fond of the triumvirate, particularly Erik and his tendency to view everyone and everything as a threat to his mates.

Given that Natasha had a similar attitude when it came to her, Pepper found her distaste amusing and enjoyed forcing them to interact.

"Well," Natasha responded, her voice as dry as dust. "The rooms are prepared to Erik's very specific requirements, reservations have been made at places of interest, and those who need to know have been informed of the details. All that remains is for you to confirm with the Vindex which wolves will be available for feeding."

Pepper smiled, always happy for an excuse to demand the presence of the delectable Steve Rogers. She vastly preferred the role of seductress to that of seductee, and Steve was the most enjoyable challenge she'd had in centuries. Once he gave in, she was quite sure he would also be the most enjoyable lover she'd had in centuries, enough so that she might not give him up.

A rhythmic knock on the door interrupted her internal debate between dismissing Natasha and Clint so she could call Steve, or waiting until she'd heard the rest of her daily report. "Come in, Klara."

A young girl skipped into the room, hands wrapped in the skirt of her rose-patterned dress and her long black hair braided into a circlet around her head. She curtsied in front of Pepper's desk and Pepper's smile warmed. "What is it, Klara; is Darcy torturing you with makeup again?"

The petite vampire frowned, her childish features wrinkled with distaste. "I am not a living doll."

"I will remind her of that fact," Pepper promised. It was difficult even for their kind to remember that those who looked like children were not children, however many childish mannerisms they might choose to maintain. For the mortals, it was even more of a struggle to separate appearance from actuality. Although, to be fair to her pomme de sang, Darcy tended to treat anyone who would hold still long enough as a doll for her to decorate, and vampires were undeniable masters of holding still.

"But that is not why I am here. The Vindex is here to see you."

Both of Pepper's eyebrows rose and her smile curled into one more resembling the cheshire cat than her usual serene superiority. "Well, how convenient. Do send him in, Klara, thank you."

Natasha smirked at her as Klara vanished through the door and Pepper waved an elegant hand in her and Clint's direction. "We will finish later, make sure that I am not disturbed."

"Of course, my liege," Natasha responded, rising to her feet with a curtsy as elegant as could be expected from a member of the Romanov family, even while clad in skin tight black leather pants. "We will leave you to your assignation with the werewolf prince."

Pepper was tempted to indulge in a childish gesture of her own, but resisted the urge, instead composing herself in her chair and folding her hands on the desk in front of her. Steve had come to expect her advances—and enjoy them, even if he wasn't ready to admit it—which called for a new tactic.

There was another knock on the door and after she called for him to enter, Steve stepped in. He was tall, golden, and radiating power, and she took a moment to bask before speaking. "Well hello, Mr. Rogers, what brings you to my door today?"

His answering smile was more than a touch amused, and Pepper carefully kept her own amusement from showing on her face. Many, many people underestimated Steve Rogers and his intelligence and he liked it that way, which made it even more fun to tease every bit of it out of him.

The amusement faded from his face as he spoke, and he seemed both taller and broader as he fully assumed his persona as alpha, increasing the aura of power in the room. "One of my wolves is missing. There are no witnesses, but a strange scent was detected at his place of employment. I wanted to inform you of the matter, and seek your aid in determining if outside forces are at play, or if a homegrown enemy is to blame."

"And to think I am the one not born in the past century," she murmured, then took a needless breath and nodded. "We will of course assist you in any way we can. Before you leave, give Natasha the details of your wolf and what you know of his disappearance and everyone will be put on alert."

His shoulders relaxed from their straight, firm line, and he gave her a genuine smile. "Thank you, Pepper."

She smiled back, because she wanted to rather than out of calculation, and gestured toward the chair on the other side of the desk. It was sinfully comfortable, designed to make someone never want to leave it, so that the very act of sitting down was an acceptance of Pepper's timeline.

Steve was well aware of her manipulations, this many years into their alliance, and his smile remained as he sank into the seat. "You are unbearably lovely," he told her, and Pepper momentarily cursed the fact that even her powers would not enable her to fake a blush.

"And you are unbearably kind," she retorted, earning a chuckle as he slumped deeper into the chair. "Now, before this descends into endless flattery, which we will return to later, I need to discuss the details of Master Xavier's visit with you."

"Of course," he said with a slight nod. "I am at your service."

Pepper's smile took on a wicked edge as she leaned forward. "Be careful with your words, Mr. Rogers; you never know what I might ask."

Steve's smile didn't falter. "And you never know what I might say yes to."

If it wouldn't have ruined her image, Pepper's answering smirk might have been described as shark-like. As it was, she re-folded her hands and settled back into professionalism. "We will need several wolves to volunteer to feed Xavier and his entourage while they are here. It would also be lovely if you could grace us with your presence when he arrives, and attend events over the course of the week as you are able."

"I'm sure there will be competition for volunteers," Steve said wryly. "But I'll send over the best behaved." There was more than a hint of wickedness in his expression as he continued. "And I will be happy to clear my schedule in order to be present as your ally, or your companion, whichever is preferred."

"Why, Steve," Pepper exclaimed, with an entirely false flutter of her eyelashes. "Surely you haven't decided to surrender your virtue to me now, after all these years."

Steve laughed, low and rumbling. "My virtue was sacrificed many years ago, so it cannot be surrendered." He met her gaze, unafraid of compulsion, and smiled with sweet slowness. "I may, however, have decided that playing along is more enjoyable than resisting."

"Would this new attitude extend, perhaps, to being my date for the opening of The Blood Rose tomorrow evening?" she asked, her tone arch. Despite Steve's grim and worrisome news, the night was showing so much more promise than she'd expected.

"I believe I could be persuaded, unless the situation changes," he responded, still smiling but voice serious enough to shift the tone of their conversation.

"Excellent. Formal attire will be required, and Natasha can give you the details when you discuss the other matter with her," Pepper stated with equal seriousness, repressing all but the barest hint of smug purr from her voice.

Steve rose to his feet and gave her a shallow bow. "Then I will see you tomorrow evening. I hope the rest of your night is as enjoyable and productive as it has been so far."

Pepper laughed, smiling up at him with all the charm six hundred years had given her. "Productive yes, but I dare say it won't be nearly as enjoyable."

Steve's eyes twinkled, but he didn't respond, instead leaving the room without another word.

After his footsteps had gone far enough that she could no longer hear him, Pepper allowed herself several more minutes to bask in her own smugness before returning to business. It had proved to be an excellent Monday so far, and she was looking forward to seeing how the rest of the week would shape up.