One, two, Squalo's coming for you…

Three, four, better lock your door…

Five, six, grab your crucifix…

Seven, eight, it's not too late…

Nine, ten, you'll never live again…

"What kind of fucking gay song is that?!" the silver haired beauty snapped, swinging his head towards the blonde male before him so viciously that his waist-length hair swung around him in a threatening manner. Truth be told, he'd never heard something more offensive. He was a vampire—not Freddy Kruegar, a fucking fantasy nightmare. "Belphegor, I swear, if you keep spitting up stupid shit like that, I'll—"

"Don't get so defensive, Squalo~! The prince was merely showing off his creativity, ushishishi."

Resisting the urge to grab a handful of those silky golden strands and slam the man's pale head into the nearest wall, Squalo ignored the familiar idiotic laugh and turned away from his underling, instead facing the ceiling high window that exposed the nearly full moon over the Varia manor's surrounding forest. It bathed the treetops with a silver lighting, one that Squalo was used to, and reflected its eerie glow over the large pool of water extending at least a mile in the opposite direction seven stories below his feet. He could easily lose himself in thought while staring out into the midnight sky, daydreaming of a time where he could have the warm touch of the sun's rays against his pale skin without burning himself to near extinction.

In the distance, a single howl echoed and increased in volume when several other voices joined the warning call.

Belphegor rose, frowning as Squalo stood rigid in alertness. "What the hell is that?" the leader snapped to his right hand, though he never tore his gaze away from the shadows of the night on the other side of the manor's glass.

"Fran said many of the others were finding wolf prints on the trails around the manor. The prince told you that, remember?" The blonde's voice had reduced to a dull whisper, not that Squalo couldn't hear with his intensive senses, but he did so as if someone were trying to listen in. Squalo eventually turned slightly to glance at the other, glaring in confusion.

"What's your point? If those howls came from a pack of mere wolves, it wouldn't matter to us anyway. That species has blood that poisons our kind. It's useless to hunt them."

Belphegor shifted uncomfortably, realizing his mistake in the lack of communication with his boss. "They aren't mere wolf tracks. Fran said he thinks a werewolf pack is passing through, but that was several nights ago. The prince told you this, didn't he?" This wasn't the normal nonchalant blonde prince that Squalo had grown to loathe. He actually sounded nervous.

"You must not have, idiot! I would have been more careful!" the now angry leader pushed past Belphegor, purposely bumping his shoulder into the younger vampire to knock the other slightly back. Temper rising, he yanked open the door to his private office so hard that it slammed into the wall of the hallway, most likely creating a divot in the once elegant crème and eggplant wallpaper. "Where the hell is Fran?!" he demanded, spotting a lowly vampire cowering in the hallway from his wrath. "Did you not hear me? Find Fran! Bring him to me at once!" Without a second thought, the young vampire fled, and Belphegor slowly approached, but kept his distance at least twenty feet.

Squalo refused to even look at him. Instead, he swept down the corridor, headed east, searching for someone else to aid in the retrieval of Fran, his trusted advisor. The only reason Belphegor was with him instead of Fran was because his advisor was always off leading a gang of vampires into nearby towns to acquire food—or blood, rather. Vampires could eat food to sustain themselves for a short period of time, but after a while they begin to go mad from bloodlust. In order to maintain sanity amongst his clan, it was his job to make sure his most trusted peon found blood for them to live off of.

He rounded the hallway in frustration when he heard the sound of a window cracking. Glancing behind him in alarm, he found nothing, but instead grew confused when the sound of cracking shifted to the shattering of glass. "Belphegor!" he yelled, flitting down the hallway in a speed only a nonhuman could perform. His blonde underling was no longer standing in the doorway, or in his office, or anywhere to be on the floor, as much as the leader frantically searched. "Fuck..," he cursed under his breath, silver hair dancing wildly behind him as he sprinted into his office and found most of the glass to have shattered on the carpet.

When it registered to him that the scent of blood was overpowering and that something must have crashed inwards to cause the glass to be on the floor, it seemed too late. Extremely warm arms encircled him from behind, trapping him in a grip that would crush human bones. Thankfully, however, Squalo wasn't human. And he wasn't the leader of the Varia Vampires merely for looks. He pushed his feet up against the large oak desk where he sat most nights and pushed himself into his captor, which loosened the hold of those warm arms. Squalo's strength allowed him to force his upper arms into the inside of his captor's and when they hit the bookcase several paces behind them, he got loose.

Snapping around, the Varia leader bore his fangs at the intruder, a tall, tan man dressed in black with a silver piercing connected by a chain to his ear. A low, dangerous hiss admitted in the back of the vampire's throat. He knew immediately that it was a werewolf, not by the looks—no, because werewolves only actually looked like large wolves during a full moon, and seemed like large humans with canines and heat radiation problems during normal hours—but by the disgusting stench of sweat and rotting blood that he'd only ever experienced once in his four hundred years of life after death.

"You fucking fleabag!" he screeched, hissing once more as he paced side to side while the werewolf glowered at him threateningly. "I'll gut you like the pathetic dog you are, and leave your head on a spike for your leader to see when he even dares to think of invading my home!"

The Varia leader was slightly taken aback by the erupts of laughter coming from his foe, but stood all the more alert.

"You think our great leader would send only me to attack your home? No, as we speak, your famiglia is falling one by one into their long-needed deaths, and the cowards who fear the ends of their parasitic lives are being captured for our pleasure," the man slurred, his thick French accent making Squalo bristle all the more.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Squalo launched himself hastily at his enemy, clashing into him with such a force that knocked them into the bookcase even harder, this time staggering the frame of the tall wooden book holder until it began to collapse over them when they struggled against each other away from it. It crashed only into the back of the werewolf, but in the force of its blow and Squalo's close vicinity to the creature, was sent backwards. He slowed himself in a crouch and glared down at the werewolf as it attempted to regain itself. He wouldn't give it the chance.

The master who had turned him had instructed him on how to kill a werewolf, since the two races were immortal rivals. Sever the head, he'd said. Ironically, that was also how a vampire could be killed—a stake to the heart merely felt slightly uncomfortable and garlic only smelled disgusting because of their intensified sense of smell.

Before the wolf could rise, Squalo reached him, gripping the sides of his head and preparing to twist with all his might until the spine gave way and the flesh would rip. But his attention was altered when he felt a familiar presence, and stared up at Belphegor in the doorway, looking perplexed and on guard. The blonde quickly sprinted over, and from what Squalo could tell, was looking to help his leader in any way possible.

"The mansion is under attack!" Squalo snapped, yanking on the head of the howling werewolf. Belphegor reached him, but instead of helping to end the life of creature beneath him, took him by surprise and bit into the side of his neck, hard. Squalo instantly felt the poison of a vampire's bite enter his jugular, but instead of dying instantly as most other races would, became feint instead and fell backwards, momentarily stunned by Belphegor's betrayal before blacking out.

Belphegor stood over his former leader's body and growled to himself, glaring at the relieved werewolf from behind his golden bangs as the man got to his feet. "You were supposed to kill him, not the other way around!" he snapped, hissing from between clenched fangs when the wolf growled threateningly at him.

"He got the better of me. It won't happen again," he said, hunching his shoulders to make himself seem bigger and more dominant—a wolf thing. Belphegor, ready to retort, was silenced by the intimidating presence of another figure that had just entered the room.

"It had better not, Levi A Than," a gruff voice warned. Said Levi seemed to shrink into himself, and Belphegor slightly turned to watch as the leader of the Vongola Werewolves, Xanxus, padded lazily into their midst. The leader's eyes were set on the dozing Varia leader, a slightly amused expression befitting his features. "I changed my mind. This trash belongs to me now." The crimson hues of the werewolf leader bore into Belphegor, asserting his authority. The young vampire stepped a couple feet away from Squalo's lifeless body and watched bitterly as Levi bent mechanically to throw the silver haired man over his shoulder and follow his precious boss to watch the remaining carnage to ensue on the vampire clan.

----

Beautiful…

Like an angel.

But deadly.

Kill them first, before they kill you.

Do you understand?

You'll never become a great leader until every single one of them is dead.

Don't let their beauty fool you.

----

A nightmare. Every Varia vampire that stood to fight off the werewolf menace fell eventually. There were too many of the beasts. Finally, when there were scarce forces left, the vampires surrendered, especially once Xanxus showed them their unconscious leader. Without him, they felt lost, and became prisoners of the intruders. With Xanxus leading them, a vicious, bloodthirsty ruler, it seemed even the great Squalo was no match. The Varia Manor was proclaimed the new headquarters of the Vongola werewolves.

Days passed like years. The vampires – at least twenty of them – left were left to rot in the dungeon basement of what used to be Varia manor, unless a werewolf fancied a dying breed and decided to "keep one as a pet". The most sought after vampire was their fallen leader, Squalo, who had already been claimed by Xanxus. Squalo was the only vampire allowed out of the dungeon, and was tortured thoroughly by the sun when he was kept in his old quarters—also Xanxus' new favorite room.

Squalo was bound to the edge of the bed with platinum constraints, since that was the only metal a vampire was weak against. Depending on Xanxus' mood, the curtains may or may not be open, which made things even worse for Squalo on a sunny day. Two weeks into Varia's fall and Squalo was hiding desperately behind the side of the bed where he could be most hidden from the sun's harmful rays, whimpering while his right wrist remained exposed and had begun to turn a painful shade of red while his skin burned.

Xanxus barged in around noon, licking what was left of the blood from his lunch off the corner of his lips. He noticed Squalo writhing on the floor and gave a wolfish, sadistic grin, before he neared the vampire and pulled him up slightly by his long strands of silver hair. "What's wrong, sharky, don't like the sun?"

A low hiss of defiance rolled off Squalo's tongue, and the vampire, despite his current situation, bared his fangs. "Fuck you."

"Is that an offer?" the werewolf asked, a delicate brow rising, though his dark features betrayed his questionable look.

"Go fuck yourself!"

Releasing the vampire's hair, Xanxus instead gripped tightly at Squalo's chin, lifting the silernette's head up and tilting it to the side so he could press his face roughly Squalo's cheek. "You're fucking comical, did you know that? And you're at my mercy, so I'd watch what you say to me. I could do anything to you—anything I wanted." Squalo's breath hitched in a panicked way when he felt Xanxus' hands travel south, gripping at the beautiful creature's hips to pull him up against the wolf.

If it weren't for the loud knock at the door, Squalo might have found himself in a serious bind.

"Who is it?" Xanxus snapped irritably, turning his head around while Squalo veered his head back as far as he could, his attempt at freeing himself.

"It's Levi, boss. I'm sorry to interrupt, but your nephew has arrived. He's creating a ruckus."

A frustrated sigh left the raven haired male, but the Vongola leader soon released his hold on Squalo. He stepped away, heading towards the door, but stopped a moment to look back at the flustered and angry vampire. After a moment's consideration, he yanked the curtain to the window closed, and didn't wait to slam the door on Squalo's relieved gasp.

--

Downstairs, Yamamoto Takeshi, Xanxus' nephew, was knocking over tables, throwing blunt objects around the main hall, and lashing out at anyone who dared to try and stop him. He was powerful, one of the most powerful werewolves Xanxus allowed himself to associate with – even if they were blood related – but the leader could no longer allow the raging teen to continue his rampage. From the banister, he growled loudly, shouting, "ENOUGH!" Yamamoto faltered his next throw – one of the decorative loveseats that he had been attempting to through against the wall - but glared up at his uncle, defiance written across his face, which was a look usually not suited for the younger male.

"What's the meaning of this?" Xanxus demanded, rounding the banister to descend the stairs. Yamamoto bared his pointed canines and growled as his uncle neared, but dropped the loveseat to the side of him so he could round his shoulders and seem threatening. Xanxus resisted the urge to laugh.

"I told you to ignore this clan, Uncle! I was protecting it!" Takeshi roared, causing many of the spectating werewolves to flinch. Xanxus didn't.

"Ah, I remember your request. But then you fled to Denmark, and left the clan unprotected. These parasites don't need freedom—they'll multiply. I had to take action."

"YOU KILLED THEM ALL!" the young werewolf howled, slamming his bare arm into the loveseat enough to send it flying into the wall, where it crushed into several pieces. Xanxus' crimson eyes squinted—there was pain in the voice of his nephew.

"I didn't." A glimmer of shocked hope crossed Yamamoto's features, furthering Xanxus' suspicion. He smirked, but Takeshi caught himself and glowered. He was still angry about the slaughter. "The survivors are in the dungeon. If you want to worry yourself with their pitiful faces, go ahead. I have other matters to attend to." Unfortunately, those matters didn't include pinning an exasperated vampire leader naked against his bed. Not now, anyway.

Yamamoto, momentarily ignoring his uncle, darted down the halls like he knew exactly where he was going. Even more strange, Xanxus concluded. But he needn't dwell upon it for the time being.

--

The three werewolves guarding the door to the dungeon were reluctant to let the young royalty past. After a few snappy comments that were unlike Yamamoto, however, they let him through, and he was devastated at what he found. Every one of the vampires were chained like dogs to the stone walls of the dungeon, either asleep or passed out from fatigue. A worried knot twisted painfully in his stomach while he searched through the survivors, at near tears until he came across a pale, shoulder-length haired silvernette passed out in the far corner. Blessed relief swam through him momentarily – at least the vampire was alive! Well, as alive as a vampire could be. Takeshi quickly knelt, brushing the dirtied hair from the other's face, lips slightly parted as he searched for words that were caught tightly in his throat.

In a rush of anger, he ripped the platinum chains from around the silvernette's ankles, wrists, and neck, and allowed the slumped figure to fall into him.

"Hayato…? Can you hear me?" Takeshi's heart stood at standstill while he waited for agonizing seconds until seafoam green eyes slowly fluttered open.

"T-Take… shi?" Those now dulled green eyes attempted to register just how real the moment was, and when he realized that it truly was Yamamoto holding him, he choked on a cough of surprise. For a few minutes, Yamamoto held the smaller figure to himself, rocking him from relief and just glad that the other was in his arms. But when that died down, the smaller leaned back and stared up at the werewolf, before pulling back his arm and slamming his fist hard into Yamamoto's jaw.

"You asshole! Idiot! You fucking left me!" the vampire yelled, straining his voice until it cracked. Yamamoto sat, reeled back, holding his face with one hand in surprise. Hayato, desperate, picked up a chunk of metal that had once confined him and threw it hard at Yamamoto's head, which the werewolf easily dodged. "You said you would never leave! That you'd always be there to protect us! Fuck that!"

"Hayato, calm down!" Yamamoto pleaded, getting to his feet, ready to protect himself from further assaults. Other vampires were waking, confused at the noise.

"Now they're all dead! Ryohei, my sister, that stupid cow lover, e-even my mother..!" Unable to support himself any longer, Gokudera fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. Yamamoto couldn't simply watch him fall, he rushed forward and grabbed the male before he hit the ground and pulled him tight against his chest once more.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Hayato, so sorry… I thought that my uncle would keep his word.."

"Your hell-spawn fucking Uncle is up there on his high horse doing God knows what to our clan leader! Fucking ASSHOLE!" Hayato, for the life of him, tried to push Yamamoto off and failed miserably. "Let go of me, you filthy dog!"

"Hayato…"

"I said, get OFF!" Pushing a strong, but weakened hand into the werewolf's face, Takeshi finally sighed and released the angry vampire. Gokudera fell on his rump, glaring hatefully at the man who had once promised to protect him and his clan from the wrath and the growing power of the werewolves. He felt betrayed, and most of all, heartbroken, and the silvernette could no longer look the other man in the face.

A few moments of silence passed before Yamamoto carefully stepped over the vampire as the silvernette tried to keep his compose calm, at least until the werewolf left. Then, "Hayato, I don't expect you to ever forgive me for leaving, but I will make things right the best I can. You and the rest of your remaining clan are hungry. I'll get you all the blood you need." With that as his final words, he left, leaving Gokudera alone with his nearly dead brethren to mourn the loss of his friends and family.

--

Later that night, guards entered the dungeon, looking pissed as they carted in three trays piled with IV blood bags. Slowly, the vampires awoke to the scent of blood, mouths watering as they were passed out evenly among the survivors. Gokudera hid in the corner, refusing to acknowledge the fact that his brethren would stay sane merely because the idiot werewolf had supplied them with some kind of pathetic kindness. Out of pity, he figured. Still, he sunk his fangs into the side of the bag once the werewolves had retreated out of the dungeon, preparing himself mentally to make a full recovery – and hopefully lead what was left of his clan to freedom.

--

The door to the room opened, and for a panicked second, Squalo thought it was Xanxus. He was relieved, however, though not entirely, to see a gentler face, and one that didn't belong to a horny, blood lusting vampire killer. This werewolf was much younger, with a confident air about him. And as he neared, Squalo's nose picked up the scent of fresh blood. Sure enough, settled in the young werewolf's hand was an IV bag filled with a vampire's most precious nutrition.

"I'm not fucking you for that, brat," the vampire snapped in a way a shark would. Ironic to his name.

The werewolf chuckled, amused, and shook his head as he neared the tiring vampire. "No, this is on the house. How are you feeling?" The boy sat in front of Squalo, not afraid to get close, and offered the bag.

After a moment of consideration, Squalo reached as far as his constraints would allow and pulled the bag to his mouth, greedily sinking his fangs into the pouch to feed. When he was finished – and he had pretty much sucked out every last drop – he pushed the bag onto the floor and stared at the younger male. "Who are you?"

"My name is Yamamoto Takeshi. I'm Xanxus' nephew," the werewolf said, eyes darkening at the mention of the man's name. "But don't associate him with me. I'm disgusted at what he's done."

"Finally, a werewolf I don't want to rip the head off of!"

Yamamoto laughed again, greeted by a clever smirk from the vampire that was slowly gathering back his strength. "I'll take that as a compliment." Picking up the emptied bag, Takeshi stuffed it halfway into his pocket, intent on disposing of it properly. He was an odd werewolf, but Squalo was beginning to like him. At least he didn't look at him like a sack of meat ready to be pounded—agh. Fucking horny werewolves. "If you're wondering, I've given the surviving vampires blood as well. They should be recovering. I'll bring them as much as I can."

Squalo squinted his eyes at the tanned male, suspicious. "Why are you helping us, dog?" he asked, trying not to sound too rude. After all, this mutt was helping them. That had to count for some politeness.

"Gokudera Hayato," Yamamoto said sternly, eyes drifting to the floor, "I made him a promise, but I didn't keep it very well. I'm sorry."

Squalo perked at the familiar name, but gave the werewolf a confused look. "The dynamite-obsessed brat? Wait—that would make you…"

"Did he tell you my name was Take?"

The vampire let the name register in his mind, and cringed. "Yeah… He said you were the reason why we were becoming the most powerful vampire clan in the Western Hemisphere. Geez, that makes you the Take. That kid really rides your dick, doesn't he?"

Yamamoto gave Squalo something similar to a warning glare. "I let him down."

Squalo sighed, not really wanting to offend the only werewolf on their side. Not with the lives he still had left to protect. "They would have come for us eventually, whether or not you wanted to protect the clan. Either way, I'm sure they appreciate the help—even the bomb brat."

The air about them lifted, somewhat, and Takeshi nodded. He got up slowly and looked to the door just in time to see his uncle pass the threshold, irritated to find his blood relative there.

"What the hell are you doing in here with my trash, Takeshi?"

"You're the trash, Uncle!" Yamamoto snapped back in reply, the corner of his lip twitching in distaste. Squalo was highly impressed by his courage. He didn't think many men would dare lash out at Xanxus. The man was as deadly as his name meant tenth generation power.

"Shut the fuck up. Get out of my room, before I disregard your blood relation to me and sever your inflated head." When Takeshi didn't make a move the first time, Xanxus' blood red eyes glinted dangerously. He didn't need to growl to seem threatening. After taking a moment to send a slightly apologetic look towards Squalo, the young werewolf angrily left. That left the two of them alone, and Xanxus only made it worse by shutting the door.

Although that didn't stop the screams from reaching the ears of the rest of the manor throughout the night.

Fucking horny werewolves.