Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Blade 2.

Summary: Chupa reflects on his feelings about Nyssa and the Bloodpack before Reinhardt takes some action. This is a prequel to my stories "Bloodpack's Night Off" and "Familiar," which is not posted here due to mature content.

Another Night at the House of Pain

Chupa sat at one of the tiny tables bordering the dance floor at the House of Pain, drinking tequila shooters with Priest while Reinhardt threw back bourbon after bourbon. Lighthammer and Verlaine were putting on a show for everybody atop one of the platforms, dancing, although it only missed being called fucking since their clothes remained on and fastened. Priest had harbored ideas in her direction before the heavily tattooed vampire had let him know that Verlaine was his. Now Priest made do with what he could pick up on their rare nights off from training, which didn't seem like much of a hardship to Chupa. The Irishman had the ability to talk his way into the pants of any vamp female he looked at, except for Nyssa. And Chupa knew he had tried. No, she would have nothing to do with any of the men in the Bloodpack, but whether that was a decision regarding discipline in the ranks or simply disinterest in them, he didn't know. All he knew was that he had picked the worst possible female to fall in love with.

Nyssa–the Damaskinos princess. Estupido! For the year that he'd lived in the Overlord's compound, training with the others to battle the Daywalker, he'd fantasized about her every waking moment, knowing even as he did that she could never look at him the way he wanted. Even if she had loved him back, her father would never permit such a match. Chupa's family were vassals to Ramon Santana, the current Miami overlord, minor nobility at best. He simply was not high-born enough to aspire to her hand in marriage. Of the men in the Bloodpack, the only one who was high-born enough was Reinhardt, and he had been disgraced by the scandal over his father. Damaskinos might think him good enough to lead the Daywalker unit, but marrying his daughter was something else. It gave Chupa a little comfort.

For about the thousandth time he wished he had never accepted the Overlord's invitation to join the Bloodpack. When Asad had presented him with the invitation, he'd been living at a beach house in Key West. Odd location for a vampire, a place known for the heat of its sun, but it suited him. It had a calm that he found he needed. For a long time he'd been an assassin for his father in Miami, but the thrill had been gone for years. Oh, Chupa had tried to distract himself from the boredom with drinking and drugging and indiscriminate fucking, but in the end nothing worked. All his life left him with was a pervasive sense that he'd died sometime when he wasn't paying attention. After this emptiness persisted for longer than he cared to remember, he went to his father and resigned from the murder business. Not that his father cared very much, because he was too busy kissing Santana's ass to notice that his son was missing. Chupa had never gone crazy spending money, so he still had a sizable chunk available to him when he decided to get the hell out of Dodge. Living at the tip of the dick of America, he remembered thinking that night when Asad had showed up at Scarlet, the vampire bar of choice in Key West.

Chupa had been making a living for the past few years boosting high-end cars, but he had been between jobs that night at Scarlet. He'd been sitting at a corner table, alone amid the noise and color, but he saw and heard nothing. The whiskey in his glass hadn't rendered him so drunk he couldn't function, though; it was simply that he didn't care to notice anything. Not the raucous song the band played, not the women on the dance floor in their bright, skimpy clothes, and not the dark-skinned vampire who moved toward him with a natural warrior's grace. When the vampire sat down at his table, Chupa finally took notice. "Seat's occupied already," he growled in English.

Asad replied in the ancient vampire language. "Not that I saw. You are Chupa, is that correct?"

He took a swig from the whiskey bottle. "Maybe. Who's asking?"

"I am Asad, the emissary of Overlord Eli Damaskinos."

Well, aren't you a chunk of hot shit, Chupa thought to himself. Out loud he said, "Kinda far from home, aren't you? From what I hear, Damaskinos operates out of Prague."

"You have heard correctly. I am here because the overlord wishes to recruit you for a team he is organizing."

He laughed. "What did you hear, that I'm a team player? Somebody misinformed you, emissary."

"You're not incapable of learning. The overlord wishes to extend the opportunity for you to join an elite tactical unit composed of the finest vampire warriors in the world. The purpose of this unit is to hunt down and kill the Daywalker, Blade."

Chupa sat up straighter, his surroundings suddenly taking on more substance. "About time someone finally decided to do something about him." But he was playing for time to collect his thoughts. The Daywalker was a great fighter, no question of that, probably a greater warrior than most of the vampires he'd ever known. Being part of the team that killed him would bring him a hell of a lot of attention. He'd be a hero to every vampire around. But that wasn't the main reason that he accepted Asad's invitation and left for Prague the next day. No, the clincher had been that, for the first time in years, Chupa had felt something–fear, anticipation, whatever. He had felt. The world had taken on some of the color and life he remembered, and he didn't want to give that up.

Of course, he had no idea that the training was going to take so long. It had been a year since the team had been assembled and still they hadn't engaged the Daywalker. Maybe it had been the grayness he remembered creeping back in that caused his fascination with Nyssa. Anything to keep the boredom at bay, keep the feeling alive in his chest. And no one could deny that she was a beautiful woman. The way her black hair fell against her face when she wore it down, which was seldom, the sharp look in her dark eyes when someone questioned her, the way the material of her clothing clung to her body–and that was where he usually stopped himself. He knew his place, but that didn't stop him from satisfying himself almost every night with images of her doing unbelievably erotic things to him. He knew he tended to follow her with his eyes when she was nearby, but he hadn't thought it was obvious.

Reinhardt hit Chupa's shoulder with his fist. "Need to talk to you, man."

Priest stood up quickly, grabbing his Guinness. "And on that note, gentlemen, I retire to a private room upstairs. If you have need of me–I'm sure you can handle any trouble yourselves. You're both strong boys. Good evening to you." Moving through the gyrating bodies of the dancers, by the time he reached the foot of the stairs, a tall mocha-skinned woman with long dreadlocks and a tiny redhead in brown leather had attached themselves to him.

"Damn," Chupa marveled. "How does he do that?"

"We all have our talents," Reinhardt remarked. "I just hope he's as much of a fighter as he is a lover."

"Speaking of that, when are we going after the Daywalker? It's been a year. We're as ready as we'll ever be." He did another tequila shot and looked around the House of Pain. It reminded him of Scarlet, just a little.

"We move when Damaskinos tells us to move, not before." The bigger vampire took a sip of his bourbon, the flashing lights over the dance floor reflecting in his sunglasses. "And so far he hasn't said jack shit about moving on Blade."

"What's he waiting for? Daywalker ain't going to die of old age, that's for sure."

"Who knows? But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Spill your guts, then. I'm getting bored waiting." But a thread of unease curled in his stomach as he suspected what the older vampire meant to discuss.

"The situation with Nyssa."

Oh, shit. Chupa took his time with the ritual of the shot, stalling for time as he sprinkled salt onto the webbing of his hand. "Not sure what you mean there," he began, but at that moment another vampire slammed into the back of his chair and upset the contents of the shot glass all over the table and Chupa. The rush of sheer gratitude that he felt for the distraction didn't keep him from twisting in the chair and snarling, "Watch where you're going, pendejo."

The other vampire, tall and thin with silver-rimmed glasses, looked down at Chupa with contempt in his curled lip, and tried to brush past without speaking. Chupa grabbed his arm and said, louder, "I said, watch where you're going, pendejo. You made me spill my drink."

"Careless of you." He jerked his arm free.

The Latino vampire shoved his chair back from the table and jumped to his feet. "Oh, shit," Reinhardt muttered as the bespectacled vampire, too late realizing his danger, went for a gun holstered at his hip.

"It's on," Chupa hissed as his own gun cleared leather and he fired. The silver bullet hit the other vampire directly between the eyes, turning him into a column of smoke and flame. It felt good to do something, finally, deal some of the death he'd been trained in, not just sit back and fantasize about a woman who'd never want him.

The sound of the shot echoed, even over the blaring techno. A nearby female vampire screamed as the male who'd jostled Chupa fell to dust. Several more saw the incident and started shouldering their way through the crowd toward the exits. His victim must have had friends, though, because at least a dozen of them decided to move on Chupa and Reinhardt. One of them, a short Asian male, fired a shot that disintegrated someone who'd had the bad luck to step between him and Chupa when he'd tried to escape. The dust and fire floating through the air panicked the entire crowd, and they stampeded like cattle. The screams of fleeing vampires blended with the techno and the sound of the exit doors moving upward. Neither Chupa nor Reinhardt took the time to watch the civilians flee, too busy trying to fend off their attackers. Chupa fired until his gun was dry, while Reinhardt had a pistol in each hand. The House of Pain's bouncers, after making sure the rest of their customers had escaped safely, drew their own weapons and waded into the fray.

All the commotion brought the other members of the Bloodpack running. Out of the corner of his eye Chupa saw Verlaine vault off the staircase, firing her Glock until she landed on the floor and took out one of the bouncers with a well-aimed kick. Lighthammer was right behind her, wielding his warhammer with deadly accuracy. As Chupa glanced his way, the silver spike shot out of the hammer and buried itself in the forehead of a bouncer who'd tried to grab Verlaine.

Snowman moved in to back up Chupa and Reinhardt, quiet and lethal, his sword moving with such speed it was visible only in quick flashes as he cut down attackers. The ash of exploded vampires hung so thick in the air it became difficult to see. The music continued, the bass line reverberating in their ears.

Priest had made it down the stairs, still gripping his glass of Guinness, both his women either safe upstairs or fled. He glanced around and casually shattered his glass over the head of a male vampire who got too close. "Did I miss the floor show?" he called out. The members of the Bloodpack were too busy fighting to answer. Another vampire snarled and rushed him, at which he casually drew his sidearm and put a bullet into his attacker.

Apparently the bouncers had decided that the friends of Chupa's victim were much less of a threat than the Bloodpack and tried to move in closer. Reinhardt shouted over the music, "Stand down. We don't have any problem with you." Of course it did no good, leaving the vampire warriors with no choice but to continue slaughtering their way out. A training exercise, Chupa thought wildly as the hammer of his gun fell on an empty chamber and he was forced to flatten one of the bouncers with a powerful right hand before slamming a fresh clip into the weapon.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended. What was left of the House of Pain's security force decided withdrawal was the best policy and melted back into the woodwork, leaving the Bloodpack alone on the dance floor, gasping for breath in the space that now reeked of cordite and vampire remains. Lighthammer wrapped an arm around Verlaine and pulled her close against his chest. "Are we finished here?" he asked.

Reinhardt holstered his gun. "Yeah. We'd best get back to the compound so we can explain this to Damaskinos before the owner of this place does. Anybody hurt?" All of them shook their heads. "Then let's move out."

Chupa brought up the rear, uncharacteristically silent. He'd never meant for things to get that out of hand. He just hadn't wanted to talk about his stupid need for Nyssa with Reinhardt. The older vampire was probably his best friend on the team, with the possible exception of Priest, but the idea of a heart-to-heart talk, much less one about feelings, made his skin crawl. At least everyone had made it out okay, and, if he presented it to himself the right way, he had actually done the team a favor with this unorthodox training exercise. Now they knew they could function effectively as a unit.

But Reinhardt wasn't as easy to dodge as Chupa had thought. The next evening he cornered Chupa at the gym while the Latino vampire worked out on the heavy bag, making it dance like a speed bag would for a human boxer. "Still need to talk, you know."

He gripped the bag to hold it still, then turned to the Austrian. "I didn't think it would be that easy to stop you. So talk."

Reinhardt glanced around, then moved closer. Chupa hoped the bigger man wasn't about to make a pass. He'd never heard anything about him being gay, but that didn't mean a whole lot. "You need something to take your mind off Nyssa. She will never be interested."

Well, shit, he knew that already. Hadn't he been living with that painful knowledge for almost a year? "I'm not a moron. Tell me something I don't know. So let's just let it go already."

"When we go up against the Daywalker, we can't afford to be distracted. By anything. That will get one or all of us killed, sure as shit. We have to be at the top of our game when we engage him, and we won't be if you're still mooning around after her."

"And your solution is?" Chupa aimed a punch at the bag, sending it flying out in a big arc, then punching again when it returned.

"Another woman."

He sighed with relief. At least Reinhardt hadn't come on to him. "Not gonna work. I've fucked almost every vamp female in Prague. Hasn't done a bit of good."

"No, I was thinking something a bit..different." Chupa raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever been with a human?"

Well. He'd thought he was past the point of being shocked, but Reinhardt managed it. Sex with humans was a fetish that some vampires had, but he'd never met any. It struck him as being akin to having sex with the cow that provided your Big Mac at McDonald's, but he kept that idea to himself. "Afraid not. The notion–it doesn't appeal."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss it. It's a whole new world."

Chupa finally turned away from the heavy bag and stared at his friend. Reinhardt was showing a hell of a lot of trust in him. If word got out that the badass Dieter Reinhardt had fucked human, that would take some of the luster off his reputation. Other vampires might not be so hesitant to try taking him out, and Damaskinos might even remove him from the team. "How long have you been into it?"

The older man stared at him, he thought, but all Chupa saw were the reflections of himself in those sunglasses. "Years. Nothing else ever really did it for me. And I do have to say one thing–if you decide to do this, it's going to change your whole damn outlook. Human females, they're different. They're so–" He paused, searching for the right word and not finding it. "I can't even explain it. But I think it'll fix you up."

"Sounds like you already have someone in mind."

Reinhardt grinned. "I do plan in advance. It's not something you have to do, but the team can't go on with you like this. When we get into firefights, I'd prefer it was with the Daywalker, not some random jerkoff who makes you spill your drink."

If Chupa had been human, he would have blushed. "I'll think about it, man. That's all I can do right now."

"Fair enough." Reinhardt moved toward the door of the gym. "Just let me know what you decide."

"Yeah." He turned back to the heavy bag and began punishing it relentlessly. If the team leader had meant to unsettle him, he had certainly managed that. Confusion and resentment roiled around inside him. The Bloodpack did nothing but train for a fight that seemed more distant with every day and Nyssa would never drop her cool reserve, never be with him the way he wanted. That hurt, and hurt bad. And sex with a human was supposed to make all this better, put a song in his fucking heart? Chupa channeled all his frustration and rage into one last punch, which succeeded in ripping the heavy bag free of the ceiling and sending it sailing across the room to crash into the opposite wall. The sound crashed against his eardrums, sharp and clear as he realized thegrayness was gone. He was burning with emotion and never wanted to let that go. If and when he died, he wanted that aliveness. Anything was better than feeling dead.

When Reinhardt opened his door, Chupa said, "Just make sure she's pretty. And not brunette."