The sky is inky black, rich and beautiful, sprinkled with silver stars. Morning is a long way off, and the pavement is already frosted with deadly ice. Jesse McCree is bundled up in his greatcoat, a cheroot dangling from his frozen lips. Silently, he curses the fact that he hasn't been able to afford the purchase of a new scarf. His worn boots tread silently across the ice as he makes his journey home from the newspaper offices.
He has been working late again. In the two weeks since the paper ran the sensationalist story about Lord Shimada, and then ran an apology the very next day, readership has risen a small amount. It is not enough, but it is promising.
Jesse wonders where Shimada is tonight, and blushes involuntarily in the darkness. He remembers the taste of Shimada's brief kiss. However, too much vampire hysteria around London will encourage them to be reckless. It puts me in danger. McCree remembers Hanzo's words with a shiver; even in the freezing, empty night, it is almost impossible to imagine that these words were true, and yet he can't forget the scars on the nobleman's beautiful neck.
A carriage rolls past. Jesse breathes his last from the cheroot and crushes it beneath his boot. The offices are a good thirty minute walk from his home, but it has always seemed pointless paying for any form of transportation. McCree has grown very used to living a frugal existence. No wonder Hanzo Shimada has not been in touch; what interest could a scruffy newspaper editor hold for a titled, handsome gentleman? Jesse laughs aloud at himself, reaching up to drag his fingers through the stubble on his face.
Ahead, around a corner, there is a loud crash and the squealing of horses. Jesse McCree freezes for only an instant before setting off at a run. A carriage crash in these icy conditions is hardly surprising, but could be incredibly dangerous.
A scream shatters the night. It is a sound filled with such dreadful terror that it makes the blood run cold in Jesse's veins.
He rounds the corner, his boots skidding helplessly on the ice. In a small alley, the carriage has flipped onto its side. The horses lie dead, a surprising amount of blood coating their slick bodies. There is no sign of the coachman.
A figure in black is standing on the side of the carriage, his back turned to McCree, who watches as the stranger takes hold of the door and tears it off effortlessly, like a boy tearing paper. Something tight and icy knots in Jesse's stomach, and he tries to shout out, but the words die in his throat.
The scream comes again; it is coming from the woman in the carriage. The stranger bends down and lifts her roughly, pulling her out into the moonlight. Jesse recognises her, but cannot remember her name; her face is twisted in terror as she looks up at the man who has her by the shoulders.
"Let go of her!" Jesse yells, finding his voice.
The stranger lets out an unnatural snarl, and to Jesse's horror, he flings the woman roughly down to the ground, where she lies still. The man turns around. His black eyes are set in an ivory face. His chin is smudged with blood. An eerie smile twists his lips, revealing elongated fangs.
"Fuck," Jesse mumbles, thinking suddenly of Hanzo. This is a vampire, and Jesse is not armed.
The creature leaps nimbly from the carriage, closing the distance between them with ease. It is wearing a ragged shirt and black trousers with no jacket. Jesse thinks ridiculously for a moment that it must be freezing before long, lethally strong fingers wrap around his throat. The creature is shorter than McCree, but that is clearly not going to make a difference.
"You should have kept walking," it growls, with that terrifying smile.
Jesse chances a punch to the stomach. The creature grunts but its grip does not waver, and with its free hand it strikes Jesse across the face. The punishing blow makes Jesse see stars, and he feels the broken skin left by the thing's brutal nails.
"Let go of him!" The woman has dragged herself to her feet. The creature turns to face her, its fingers still cruelly crushing McCree's throat. Her green evening dress is filthy from the ground, and there is blood on her lip from her collision with the ground. Some of her yellow hair has come loose and is framing her face. "You wanted me," she continues, her voice shaking. "You wanted my… my jewels, I presume, or…"
Surely it has to be obvious to her that it isn't jewels this thing wants; it wants blood.
"Get out of here, you little fool!" Jesse grinds out, the words painful and costing precious air.
The creature laughs then, and it is the worst sound Jesse has ever heard. Those black eyes glitter gleefully, first at the woman, and then at Jesse. The fingers around his throat loosen suddenly and Jesse takes a deep, delicious breath of the frozen air before there is white hot pain.
The vampire has bitten him. Its jaws are locked onto his throat, those fangs lodged into his flesh. He is horribly aware of the blood being drained, and he pushes uselessly against the monster.
The woman throws herself at it, shrieking. Her arms wrap around its shoulders as she tries to drag it off Jesse's throat. The vampire releases its jaw, and Jesse lets out a grateful whimper he will be ashamed of later. The vampire grabs the woman by her hair and throws her, face-first, against the side of the carriage. There is a horribly loud crunch and the woman is still.
"Don't…" Jesse grinds out, and he takes a step towards her. His legs are weak and he stumbles to his knees. Helplessly, he reaches for her body, only for the creature to grab him by his hair and jerk him backwards, back towards those teeth…
"Wrexford!" A new voice fills the air. It is strong, loud and powerful. McCree struggles to see over his shoulder and makes out a dark-haired figure in a black cloak.
"Hanzo…" Jesse mumbles.
The vampire lets out a growl, and releases Jesse. The newcomer and the vampire are on each other, a blur of motion and blood. The vampire is thrown over the carriage, and the man leaps agilely over it, tackling the creature.
As the sound of their fight rages on, a symphony of growling and tearing, Jesse crawls over to the woman. She is small as he lifts her gently and feels for a pulse in her delicate throat. She is alive, but the pulse is weak. There is blood and the beginnings of a black bruise on her temple. A bloody gash crosses down one cheek, cutting across her eyelid.
The sound of fighting stops and there are brisk footsteps. The newcomer appears and squats down before them. It isn't Hanzo, but this man has more than a passing resemblance to him. He has intense green eyes. Jesse, finally coming back to his senses, realises with an uncomfortable shiver that the fight with the vampire hasn't even creased this man's shirt.
"Does she live?" the man asks.
"Yes… but she is badly hurt," Jesse replies, and the words come out weakly.
"As are you," the man responds seriously, cocking his head and looking at the wounds on Jesse's throat. "It is not wise for either of you to seek a doctor, although I won't try to stop you if you wish it. I can help you."
Something- some important knowledge about this man- is lurking on the edge's of Jesse's mind, but in his weakened state he cannot reach for it. All he can think of is Hanzo, and how this man reminds him of the nobleman. He finds himself nodding.
"My rooms are near here," he manages to say. "We could go there."
"An excellent idea, my dear fellow," the man says, standing up lightly. "Can you walk?"
Even if he had lost a leg, Jesse would be far too proud to ask for help. He nods. "Of course. Yes. She cannot, though."
The man bends down and lifts the woman in his arms, holding her bridal-style. He looks down at her ruined face for a moment and his eyes close briefly. Then he looks back at Jesse, who is pushing himself to his feet.
"Follow me," Jesse says.
They make the short journey in silence, Jesse concentrating fully on not collapsing. Luckily, they do not encounter a soul in the street. They must make a grim tableau; an immaculately-dressed, handsome gentleman clutching a bloodied, unconscious lady in his arms, following a limping and injured newspaper editor. Jesse can feel blood flowing down from his throat. It is hot and sticky.
The building Jesse lives in is run-down and enormous. There are four floors, but nobody lives here apart from Jesse, who rents the top floor. He unlocks the door to the back staircase with trembling hands and they climb the stairs.
At the top, Jesse clutches onto the wall. The climb has taken the last of his energy, and he is ashamed when he stumbles to the floor. The gentleman sweeps past him into Jesse's home. There is a soft thump as he places the woman down on the bed and comes back out for Jesse, lifting him with a strength that cannot be human.
Jesse is placed upon an armchair and allows his eyes to close for a moment. He hears the man muttering to himself.
"Please don't hurt her," Jesse says. He knows he doesn't have the ability to protect her- or himself.
"You have my word as a gentleman," the man responds. Jesse opens his eyes to see the man bending down by the fire. He moves his long fingers across the dry wood in the stove and a flame suddenly ignites there.
Jesse cries out. The man stands up and looks at him with inscrutable green eyes. He unfastens his cloak and drapes it across the cluttered desk before heading back to the bed. The orange glow from the fire casts a sickly light on the woman.
The man feels her throat, closing his eyes briefly.
"Don't bite her," Jesse says. He is losing a lot of blood. He touches his coat and his hand comes away wet. "Don't make her take your blood." He can't remember where the words are coming from. Everything is hazy.
The man looks at him suddenly. His dark eyebrows are raised. "How do you know-?"
"You're Genji Shimada," Jesse manages. "You're a vampire."
Then he loses consciousness.
"How could you be so careless?" The quiet, angry words are hissed in a familiar voice.
Jesse opens his eyes. He is still in the chair, but his coat has been removed. He reaches up to his neck gingerly to feel a thick bandage on the wound. Whoever cleaned it- Genji Shimada, he supposes- has removed his shirt as well. It is probably ruined.
"I hardly had a choice," Genji snaps. The voices are coming from the hallway just beyond the door to Jesse's home. "Wrexford slipped away from me. By the time I caught him with him, he had killed her horses and her coachman."
"He would have killed her, too, if not for this man you apparently came home with."
"I saved them both," Genji replies, and the words are petulant.
"She can be convinced that the truth isn't what she believes it to be. This man, on the other hand- your note said he knows what you are? Impossible. He was bitten. What are we to do about that, brother?"
There are footsteps and then, cast in the golden light of the fading fire, Hanzo Shimada steps into Jesse's room. His dark eyes widen at the sight of the newspaper editor, who raises his hand in welcome.
"Jesse," Hanzo breathes. He crosses the room and falls to his knees before the editor, reaching for his throat in a familiar way. One gloved hand curls around Jesse's chin, tilting it out of the way, while the other one inspects the bandage.
"Lord Shimada," Jesse says. He is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is sitting shirtless. He breathes in the scent of the nobleman, who is looking now into his eyes.
"I'm so sorry," Hanzo whispers.
"Hardly your fault," Jesse replies, then pauses. "Is it?"
Hanzo's brow furrows, but he doesn't respond.
"You know this man?" Genji asks, and Hanzo lets go of Jesse, springing to his feet.
"This is Jesse McCree, the newspaper editor to whom we both owe thanks."
"Let's skip these formalities," Jesse says, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily. "I was bitten by a vampire. What is going to happen to me?"
"Nothing. You must take their blood, remember?" Hanzo replies gently. "You merely need to rest."
"What about the girl?" Jesse asks, looking towards the bed.
She is lying beneath his threadbare quilt, half her face completely covered in white bandage. She is still unconscious. Her silky blonde hair fans out in a puddle on Jesse's pillows.
"She will live," Genji says in a thick voice, and Hanzo looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "The injuries she has on her face, though… I am uncertain if they will heal well."
"This is not your fault," Hanzo says, but there is a lack of conviction in his words.
"Dawn approaches," Genji sighs.
"You must take her to her home. Leave her where she will be quickly found. Press a memory into her- alter the truth. She was mugged. Badly injured. She cannot remember what happened after that."
"You can do that?" Jesse asks, mouth agape as he stares at Genji. "Influence people's minds?"
The young vampire doesn't smile. "Did it not strike you as odd that you were so acquiescent last night? You led me home despite the fact I was clearly a dangerous man."
McCree frowns, an icy sensation settling in his stomach. "Do you know where this woman lives?"
"This is Miss Angela Ziegler," Hanzo says.
Jesse finally knows how he is aware of her; she is a debutante. The newspaper has mentioned her a couple of times.
"I will take her," Genji says gently. He crosses the room and lifts her again. She doesn't stir. Genji crosses to the desk and lifts his discarded cloak, which he drapes over the delicate woman. He walks over to the door before pausing and looking back at Jesse. "Mister McCree, I am in your debt," he says, then vanishes into the darkness.
Jesse is painfully aware that he is now alone with Hanzo Shimada. His rooms look shabby and untidy in the firelight, and he blushes as he looks around. He has never invited anyone up here.
"I confess I am very relieved you are not more badly injured," Hanzo says suddenly. Jesse looks back at him to see those dark eyes fixed on him, not on the state of Jesse's living conditions. "I am so sorry you have been caught up in this."
There are a thousand things Jesse wants to say, wants to ask, but all that comes tumbling out his mouth is, "I need a rum."
"Yes- of course."
Hanzo sweeps over the dusty sideboard and lifts a smeared bottle of rum, opening it and pouring a measure into a chipped glass. Jesse watches in agonising discomfort, unable to believe that this nobleman is serving him in his own home.
"You don't have to- Lord Shimada-"
"We are past that, surely?" Hanzo smiles, offering the glass to Jesse.
Jesse looks down at the glass. His fingers tremble as he takes it from Hanzo. He feels like his world has been turned on its head, but standing in front of this man, he isn't sure he minds.
"I'm glad to see you again," he says honestly.
"I intended to visit you before now, I promise," Hanzo replies. "It has been busy, though… they are testing me at the moment. Genji and I have had a lot to do."
Jesse drains the rum in one mouthful. He is suddenly exhausted. Hanzo reaches out and places his hands on Jesse's shoulders, steering him towards the bed.
"You must rest, Jesse," he says.
"I have so many questions-"
"Of course you do," Hanzo replies softly. "But you must sleep. I shall return this evening, if you wish? We can discuss everything then."
"This evening. Yes."
Jesse lies down, sleep already tugging him into blessed oblivion. Hanzo squeezes his hand and smiles down at him. Words bubble up in Jesse's throat but he is too tired to speak, and he closes his eyes.
