Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel's "Black Panther." Or the "Avengers" series characters. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I was trying to get this up before Halloween but that didn't quite happen. This is a Ross x T'Challa story.
Warnings:vampires, vampire!Ross, blood drinking, violence and gore. Someone kidnaps T'Challa and Ross goes into rage mode, pre-relationship, romance, drama, pining.
Violent chemistry
Chapter Two
He waited until he was free of the facility, appearing on a random side street in Oahu, before jumping again. While he was sure that Mr. Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D had no way of tracking his movements – yet - he had always lived by the rule of 'better safe, than sorry.' Two jumps later, he arrived at one of his many safe houses. This one was a modest, nondescript apartment in Arlington and the only bolt-hole Wakanda was aware of. His nose twitched at the stale smell of old air and dust. Only pausing long enough to ensure there was no sign of unwelcome guests before he crossed into the living room, then the kitchen, stirring up dust motes from the plastic sheeting draped over the furniture.
It wasn't his favourite property, but it was convenient. He hadn't been here for more than a few days over the last year, but the dust build-up was around the same as last time. One of the pluses of living in an established urban setting, he supposed. He'd lived long enough to know two things for sure, always have at least a few closely kept secrets and second, learn how to invest. Living as long as he had, the second one was almost as important as the first. That and knowing when to buy. He'd purchased this particular apartment when it had first been built, close to sixty years ago. Eventually he'd sell for a tidy profit and buy elsewhere. Cycling through the highs and lows of real estate. His investors had to change quite regularly, of course. It was hard to explain why cashing out for retirement wasn't in his best interests.
Somewhere down the hall, the sudden taint of blood teased, catching him off guard as a quiet curse reached him next, quickly followed by the clatter of a paring knife. But even that small amount was enough to make him shift. To turn towards the door and think about seeking it out. To wonder how it would taste on his tongue as he closed his eyes and took it in. Middle aged. Male. Impending liver failure. Brined in Johnny Walker Blue and red meat. Delicious.
No!
The dusty air tasted like a flashburn on his tongue as he shrugged. Shaking his claws away as the red-tint threatened to flood over his vision. Rage peaking like blood-lust as he scented the air again. Instinctively searching for a vein. So far beyond a hair-trigger he felt like an exposed nerve.
Not now.
Not yet.
Not when there was so much to lose.
Because T'Challa was alive.
Alive.
He grabbed the communication bracelet and ear-piece he'd left in a hidden compartment in the kitchen and slipped it on his wrist. Clearing his throat with a rough sound that echoed like dread before he lifted the vibranium beads to his lips.
"Shuri? You there?"
There was a pause.
A hum of static.
An inhale of hesitation.
Then-
"Yes."
He closed his eyes. Slumping against the counter. Grateful in a way he couldn't explain as he recalled the way he'd left. Shuri had needed him. She'd been looking at him when the transmission came through. And he'd just left. He hadn't been able to handle it. Like a switch being flipped, red had flooded his vision and he'd stumbled out of the room, desperate for open air. Expression lost in a rictus snarl as he'd jumped without thinking. Appearing on the cliff edge where the wreckage of T'Challa's transport was strewn and smoking across the rocky hills.
He hadn't been able to find T'Challa's scent.
He just been gone.
Erased.
It wasn't until that moment, clothes whipping in the mountain wind, that he realized he'd done the one thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't do. Somehow, in spite of everything, he'd fallen for him. Loved him. And in that same moment, just like the first time, he'd lost it all.
"How much have you seen," he asked quietly. Knowing they'd been watching. Know that they knew. He'd avoided the scent of the Dora Milaje the few times they appeared. He'd even caught sight of General Okoye, though she didn't see him. He could have waited. They could have hunted together. He could have answered their questions or faced judgement for what he was. For the lie he'd let them believe. That he was normal- not a monster. But he hadn't.
He couldn't.
"Enough," Shuri answered unsteadily. Able to picture her bracing against the counter in her lab. Struggling to keep her voice even.
He hated it.
Every. Single. Inch.
He'd never wanted this.
Not any of it.
But when he thought T'Challa was dead, he'd snapped. Broke. Part of him wanting it to be over. Part of him wanting revenge. Vengeance. And maybe even a part that was determined to make the world a bit better as he left it.
He was so tired.
So tired of holding the monster back that even-
"Agent Ross?"
He let the backwash of every intrusive thought roll off him like water. Swallowing down the nausea that threatened to surge at the note of fear lurking in the back of her voice. Telling himself that he'd known this moment was coming. Eventually. He'd just been lucky not to disappoint the people he cared about until now.
"He's alive. T'Challa is alive. It was a set-up. I know where he is and I'm leaving for there now. I'll bring him back. I promise."
He forced himself to stay quiet as she inhaled sharply. The sudden absence of sound helping him pick up the hum of hurried orders in the background. He let it filter in. Catching phrases. Words. He'd still be working on picking up the language.
"I know, we've been watching," she answered. "Mr. Stark's security is not as strong as he believes. We found out the same time you did."
The corner of his mouth inched up.
Of course she had.
Good girl.
He closed his eyes, fangs shivering in his gums, eager go be let out.
"I am sorry I left," he told her quietly, voice rough in the softest way possible as he swallowed hard. "You didn't deserve that- especially from me. You needed me and I left. I couldn't tell you."
"You could have," she retorted. Quick on the mark and maybe even a bit angry. Voice slightly distorted, like she'd was moving. Making him wonder if even now she was boarding a ship to T'Challa's location.
Yes. He probably could have told her.
He could have told T'Challa.
He should have told T'Challa.
"I'm not good at this," he admitted, running a hand down his face as he looked through the kitchen window into the pathetic little courtyard that never had any visitors. It had been perfect when he'd purchased it, but now it just seemed to stand for everything he'd been trying to avoid. Like how lonely he'd been until T'Challa had forced his way into his life somehow. "For what it's worth, it's been a long time...for a lot of things."
It had been a long time since he'd lost control.
A long time since he'd shown himself, willingly.
A long time since he'd tasted red, fresh and tapped right from the vein.
A long time since he'd had to fight the craving. The addiction.
A long time since he'd felt the way he did whenever T'Challa looked at him and grinned. When T'Challa would seek him out at the end of the day, just to talk. And the way he'd started to do the same. Spending long hours together until it was hard to tell where the job ended and his personal life began. He'd even started to think that maybe-
"Everett?"
He wrenched himself away from the window with a vicious snap. Joints aching. Already feeling the thirst filter through him like a sudden low. Just like an addict.
His lip curled.
"Everett?" Shuri repeated, acting like she was going to say more before trailing off. Surprising him by using his given name for the first time.
"I'm here," he assured quietly. Swallowing around a lead weight lodged in his throat. "Just tell the Dora Milaje to stay out of my way."
The connection crackled slightly, like she was shaking her head.
"You try telling them that," Shuri returned darkly.
"I mean it," he warned. Leaving the rest unsaid. Unsure of how to say that if things got bad, really bad, he might not be in control. He might not be able to stop himself from-
"I know," she returned simply. Not adding anything she couldn't claim to mean a hundred percent. Not telling him she trusted him. Or that he would do the right thing. Only respecting that he knew his own mind and limitations.
He exhaled, shuddering. Shoulders hunching like he was trying to ward off a chill. Feeling the warm high of the blood start to dull - fading like light in his veins. He hated this part. The part that ate at him no matter how many times he'd gone through the process. Already feeling lesser. Less strong. Less angry. Less alive. The only thing that made it bearable was knowing it wouldn't last. That soon enough he'd be sinking his teeth into another throat and drinking his fill. Getting his strength back so that he could get T'Challa out safely.
He hadn't thought past that.
He couldn't.
There was only one thing left to do.
He took a deep breath, then willingly fell.
"Shuri. I need you to promise me something. There is a gravestone in Sussex. It's old world, but the headstone is new. Would you make sure it's maintained if I don't make it back? You should be able to find it through the records, under the surname "Leer."
Because that was the thing, even if it all ended well, he'd probably still loose.
He'd lose T'Challa.
Lose Wakanda.
Lose himself.
Maybe he'd even find a way to end it after all.
Maybe.
"Of course," Shuri responded, out of breath and uneven as the sound of ship thrusters crackled across the connection. "But… Everett there's something you should know. You need to come back. He never got around to telling you, but T'Challa lov-"
He cut off the communication there. Too scared to hear it as he let the ear-piece fall to the floor with an electric hiss.
After that there was only blood.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be another chapter, please stay tuned.
