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I first read Those Who Hunt the Night by Barbara Hambly in High School
It is a great book and I have read it several times since then. I always thought it was a standalone novel, until a few weeks ago when I found Pale Guardian (released 2017) at the library. Needless to say I quickly requested all the books between them and read them in short order, giving me plenty of inspiration for this fic.
A Thin Line
"Well," Don Simon said in his habitual half whisper, sulfur eyes locked onto the edge of the horizon, a place that even now was lighting up with the brilliant pink and orange hues of sunrise. "At least I will not be required to listen to Lionel say I told you so."
The vampire had seen better nights to be sure. Blood coated his leg from thigh to ankle. The deep wounds carved near to the bone. Being of a mundane nature, they would heal quickly, but not quickly enough.
As ever, Ysidro was as inscrutable as a marble statue. The pale figure did not cringe, he did not tremble. But James Asher, seventeen year veteran of the Foreign Office knew the other was afraid. The light of the sun was final death to all those who hunted the night. A death of flame and agony.
With a skill borne of practice, James shoved away the haze of Don Simon's power, looking upon the vampire's true face. He was pale, far paler than any human; with sulfur eyes and fine cobweb-like hair. Scars crossed his face and neck, mementoes of a struggle against the former Master of Constantinople. And of course, the fangs and claws, features that marked the other as one of the Undead.
This man was a killer, the ex-spy knew. Thousands, tens of thousands had died at his hands over the centuries. This was something the vampire had never denied. Monster, James thought, not for the first time. Ysidro had also saved his life; not just tonight, but many times. He had saved Lydia's life. He had saved their daughter.
"If I could impose upon you James, for one final favor." Simon was no fledgling to sleep unfeeling at the first hint of dawn, even as his flesh burned around him. Obviously, he would prefer to continue his existence. But if pressed, a quick end of Hawthorne and silver was far preferable. He knew he could trust his companion to strike true.
For a moment, James stood nearly as still as the vampire, barely seeming to breathe as he imagined the future. A life without Don Simon Xavier Christian Morado de la Cadena-Ysidro; never hearing his soft, carefully chosen words. To never again glance his slight figure out of the corner of one eye; for the vampire's rare smile to become only a memory. Something within the scholar's chest clenched at the thought. Again, not for the first time.
Simon did not move as James reached for his coat, only calmly closing his eyes. He had outgrown such fallacies as looking death in the face to prove one's courage centuries before. Consequently, he was shocked as the thick fabric of his companion's overcoat settled over his head and shoulders. The yellow eyes flew back open. "James?"
James meanwhile was stripping off his gloves as well, ignoring the slight bite of the lingering night air. "Put these on as well."
"You jest."
The professor said nothing as he forced a cold unresisting hand into the oversized glove. Under different circumstances, the sight of the usually impeccably dressed vampire would have been humorous. Stripping off the thick silver chains he habitually wore around his wrists, James wrapped his arms around his dearest enemy. "You can make it," James said staring directly into the otherworldly eyes. "Just stay awake."
A task far easier said than done James knew. But Ysidro was nearly three hundred sixty years old. Like all ancient vampires, his power had only grown over time. As had his resistance to that which was poison for the Undead.
For a moment, the pair stared into each other's eyes. Then Simon nodded, a slight gesture, barely more than a dip of the chin. After all, he had nothing to lose. Still, the vampire's grip tightened to a painful degree as they took their first step into the light. Tight enough to leave bruises, but James said nothing. Just as he did not mention the gazes that slid past them unseeing; he knew well the other's power.
Even keeping to the shadows as much as possible, Simon's face was lined with pain by the time they reached their destination. His skin more red than white as faint wisps of smoke rose from his form. No fire though, not yet. The trip had only taken ten minutes. But to the vampire, it had seemed an eternity.
"Lydia!" James called out, practically dragging the other up the steps. He privately gave thanks the vampire was not a larger man. He could have never done this with Grippen, even if for some insane reason he had wanted to. "Lydia!"
A disheveled face popped out of one of the upper windows. "Jamie, what?" She gasped in shock, taking in the scene at once. "Simon!" The head disappeared, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.
The door burst open. "Simon!" Reaching out, the redhead helped haul the other inside, slamming the door behind him.
"Mistress."
Lydia had other things on her mind than social niceties. She raced ahead, closing wooden shutters and drawing curtains shut. Hurrying over to the huge walk in closet she had once called ridiculous, she yanked the door open. Gathering up a collection of fine dresses to dump carelessly on the floor outside. "Over here."
Simon's knees buckled as he was gently lowered to the ground. Eyes fluttering as even his iron will succumbed to the inevitable. "Thank you," he whispered. Truly, he had not believed they were going to succeed.
James paused in the act of unfolding a thick quilt before tucking it tightly around the vampire's form. "As you once said Simon, love and hatred are not mutually exclusive."
"Sleep," Lydia added, squeezing that deadly hand. "We will guard your rest."
Neither of them fully understood, even after all these years how they could love this man. This monster. But the fact remained, they did.
Finis
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