Disclaimer: This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

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A special Thank You to Kt for beta reading.

Blood Ties

Chapter 37

From the outside the "Green Harvest" headquarter didn't look much different than any other legitimate business in the commercial district near the Orange County airport; a tall, modern building with large windows, dozens of offices and its own secure parking garage. In fact, it was no different from any other business to a degree… a very small degree, but nevertheless.

A very attractive, and very efficient receptionist manned the large desk in the lobby, smiling politely and business like at any visitor, while making sure that only those who actually had 'appointments' got to see Sergio Ventuno. Two of Ventuno's bodyguard, far less polite and definitely not smiling, lingered around near the elevator on the second floor, ready to take care of anyone, who for some reason or another made it past her by mistake.

Eyes glued to the screen of his smart phone, Ventuno left his office about a quarter to three. Without looking up he motioned for his men to follow as he stepped into the elevator to make his way downstairs. One of the bodyguards pushed some buttons and the door closed with a swoosh.

The first thing Ventuno saw when the doors opened again half a minute or so later, was a lanky guy in his mid 30s walking past the reception desk.

"Sir, I've told you, you can't…" the receptionist protested as she moved around her desk in an attempt to physically stop him.

The two bodyguards, moving in unison, put themselves in front of their boss, hands moving toward their guns.

"Is there a problem, Miss Catalano?" Ventuno's voice thundered through the lobby.

"Sir?! I tried to tell him you don't see visitors without prior appointments. But he just won't listen." The receptionist's voice sounded half apologetic half accusing as she glared at the stranger.

The man, dark haired and dressed like some yuppie lawyer, never even held his step. If the two bodyguards and their unmistakably threatening postures alarmed him, he didn't show it. Instead he put on a smile that was both polite and somewhat apologetic.

"Mister Ventuno, I presume?"

"And you are?" the Italian gave his men a hidden sign to stand down, as he looked his visitor over.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

The man's smile never faltered as he did something rather odd. He patted the pockets off his suit, as though he was looking for something, causing the bodyguards to tense up again. Finally he pulled out, not some kind of weapon, but his wallet. He opened it to check the driver's license inside before looking up at Ventuno again.

"Jonathan Ells," he declared firmly. "The name is Jonathan Ells. And I really think we need to talk."

"Unfortunately, I'm rather busy." Ventuno tried to brush him off as politely as possible. "Speak to my receptionist and set up an appointment. Perhaps she can squeeze you in sometime next week."

"As I already told her, that just won't do," Ells replied persistently. "Time is of the essence, you see. For you, more so then for me."

Ventuno's jaw's tightened slightly. The man's stubbornness was wearing on his patience.

"From what I understand," his visitor continued. "You have hit a streak of bad luck of late. One of your warehouses going up in flames… another building you wished to acquire sold to a third party… And unless I'm very much mistaken it will only get worse from here on."

Eyes narrowed dangerously, the Italian glared at the younger man.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" he asked, his voice as sharp as a scalpel.

"A threat?" Ells echoed, sounding more amused than offended by the accusation. "By no means. I'm not your enemy, Mister Ventuno; more like a friend really. But perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere a little more private?"

Ventuno checked his watch, a big black and gold Rolex. "Very well," he announced graciously, "I suppose I can give you a few minutes."

###

The moment Quincy Ortega walked into the lobby of the "Green Harvest" office building he felt a strange sensation that he could not quite explain. The air seemed to be heavy with some sort of power, a feeling that put his teeth on edge and set off that little warning voice in the back of his mind telling him to tread with caution .

Sergio Ventuno was standing near the elevator, talking to a man he, Quincy, didn't know.

"…I suppose I can give you a few minutes." he heard his boss say. "Let's step into my office."

"Very much appreciated." The other man replied with a polite nod. He then turned his head looking straight at Ortega.

A cold shiver ran down the Latino's back as he studied the stranger. He looked like any up-and-coming businessman, young and confident. But when he really concentrated, Ortega could see something else; something dark, terrifying, ancient and extremely powerful behind that human façade. He swallowed, mouth gone dry.

As the strange man looked at him he suddenly froze. For just a moment or two his image seemed to flicker violently and the Latino could have sworn his eyes briefly changed from steel gray to green and looked at him in a pleading manner. Then the man blinked and his eyes turned back to normal… as did his appearance.

Ortega's breath caught in his throat as the stranger studied him for a second or two longer, as though to determine whether or not he had noticed the incident. He managed to keep his face blank, as though he either hadn't noticed or didn't care, which probably saved his life.

"Quincy Ortega, am I right?" the man addressed him. "I'd hoped you would show up. You must join us."

He turned toward Ventuno with an almost apologetic smile. "If that's alright with you, of course?"

The older man waved impatiently. "Fine, fine. Come along, Señor Ortega."

They all, bodyguards included, piled into the elevator for the short ride upstairs.

"Stay here." Ventuno told his men outside his office, as he punched some numbers into the security lock by the door.

Somewhat reluctant, the Latino followed his boss and the other man into the office. His feeling of unease around the strange visitor hadn't yet subsided.

"Now tell me, Señor Ells…" Ventuno gestured for his guest to have a seat while he walked around the large mahogany desk in the center of the room. "what is it I can do for you? You have five minutes."

"Actually," the other man corrected as he settled down in the comfortable leather chair. "It's more about what I can do for you… or maybe perhaps what we can do for each other."

"Oh?" Ventuno asked as he slipped into his own seat.

Ortega remained standing somewhere near the door, folding his arms in front of his chest.

"Yes. You see, you and I are dealing with the very same problem."

"Oh?" the Italian repeated, sounding more bored than interested. "And what is this problem you're speaking of?"

"Not as much 'what', as 'who'. Treize Khushrenada!"

"I did not realize that he was a problem," Ventuno replied self-confident. "But if he turns out to be one. I think I'll be able to take care of it, myself. I have dealt with such 'problems' before."

Ells smiled a cold smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Not with his sort, I'm quite certain."

"And what is that supposed to mean? I do realize that he is somewhat of an 'icon' in these parts; his name has been in the newspaper almost as often as some movie star's, but even that doesn't make him untouchable."

"Icon?" the visitor pondered, almost amused. "Perhaps that too, but I don't think that's your biggest problem. I can tell you don't have the slightest idea who… what he really is, do you?"

"What he is?" Ventuno echoed as he exchanged a look with Ortega. "What exactly do you mean by that? Does he work for the law, undercover perhaps?"

Ells let out a short burst of laughter. "Forgive me for saying this, but you are quite naïve for someone in your position, Mister Ventuno. Didn't you do your homework before you decided to come here and take over this town?"

The Italian just glared.

"You see there are already those who consider this place their own. They are not into sharing and the only laws they are concerned with are their own. Treize Khushrenada is one of them. He has allies; hell, he has his own personal army from what I have seen. And in case you have not noticed," Ells looked over his shoulder at Ortega. "your little band of vampire mercenaries are ill fitted against him and his men."

Ventuno's frown deepened. "Are you saying that he is responsible for killing those… those creatures and blowing up my warehouse?!"

Slowly Ells turned his attention back to the Italian. "That's exactly what I am saying. In addition, I'm pretty sure that at this very moment he has people working on finding out where the rest of your vampires are hiding out. When he finds them he will eradicate them, and then… he will turn his attention toward the people who controlled them. He will come after you. He will kill you. And he won't lose any sleep over it."

Jaw tightening Ventuno straightened up. An icy sparkle in his eyes, his voice underlined with steel he spoke. "I haven't survived this long by playing nice, either, Señor Ells. And I don't respond well to threats."

"Trust me, Mister Ventuno, this is not a threat. I'm merely pointing out facts. Khushrenada is the threat; one you will sooner or later have to deal with if you're planning to establish and expand your business here. I can help you with that."

Ells paused to let the words sink in, then looked at his watch. "Oops. Looks like my five minutes are up." He rose to his feet, deliberately slow. "Thank you for your time, Mister Ventuno. Think about what I said for a few days. I will be in touch. Oh, don't trouble yourself," he added as the Italian started to get up as well. "I will find my own way out."

###

"Good movie!" Treize Khushrenada remarked as the ending credits rolled across the TV screen. "I don't think I had seen that one before."

Against his shoulder, Milliardo stirred with an affirmative grunt. "Yeah, not bad."

"And how would you know?" the incubus prince teased gently. "You slept through all the best parts."

"Sorry," the younger man yawned. "But whose fault is that? You kept me up way past my bedtime last night."

A soft chuckle bubbled in Treize's chest. "My apologies. Would you like me to send out a memo to my enemies asking them to schedule any future assaults during daytime hours?"

"It's the least they can do, don't you think?" Milliardo's eyes sparkled with mirth. "I mean one would expect at least a bit of consideration from ones enemies."

"Absolutely." the tawny haired man confirmed in the same lighthearted tone.

He leaned forward to reach for the TV remote, and Milliardo groaned in protest. "Don't move. You make such a wonderful pillow."

Treize gave another laugh. "Maybe we should stay in for the night," he suggested. "You do look tired."

"I'm all for that," Milliardo purred in agreement. "Let's cancel dinner reservations and order in instead."

"Or I could just cook something for us."

Now it was the blonde's turn to laugh. Treize raised one eyebrow.

"Oh wait, you were being serious?"

"What made you think I wasn't? I don't cook very often, but if I find the time I rather enjoy it. And, I dare say I have picked up a few tricks and a number of good recipes over the years."

"I'm sorry." Milliardo apologized. "The thought just never occurred to me. You seem so busy all the time. I figured you just eat for convenience."

Waving the apology aside Treize turned off the TV and straightened. "So what should we make? I think we probably need to make a trip to the market. After last night I doubt there is anything edible left in the house."

The younger man pushed himself up with a slight frown. "You mean those… things raided your fridge during the attack?"

"Not the ghouls, no," Treize chuckled in quiet amusement as he leaned in to kiss Milliardo on the forehead. "Leigh, and a couple of brethren he called in, spent most of the night, and probably every ounce of their energy cleaning this place up and setting up extra wards that will make it more difficult to create portals on or near this property. A few bottles of beer and some cold cuts are a small price to pay."

Milliardo gave an affirmative grunt as a thought crossed his mind.

"Wufei told me about wards and protection spells and such things. He said it takes… special powers to set those up."

"You mean 'magic'!" Treize's lip quivered a little as though he was trying to keep from laughing.

"Very well, magic." the blonde confirmed with a glare. Alright, so that idea was still strange to him even after everything he had seen and learned of late. And someone making fun of him about that didn't help either. "Do all demons have those powers?"

"It depends. Most greater demons can use magic in one form or another. It's necessary in fact, like to create portals or use glamour. But even amongst the Houses of the White Court it differs greatly. The Keno clan has always been strong in magic - perhaps it was something introduced into their bloodline generations ago - and yet not every offspring has the same level of power. Take the Quadruplets… Leigh is a master with spells and charms, while his brother Liam could use the elements like no one else. Leslie was more like a jack of all trades, good in everything but perfect in none. And Luther… well unless you believe that his driving skills are linked to magic…" Treize shrugged.

Milliardo chuckled quietly. "After last night I'm almost inclined to accept that."

"Alright then" the incubus prince pushed himself slowly up. "Let's see what kind of meal choices we are left with."

"So," Milliardo asked as he stretched before following the other man's example. "What kind of recipes have you picked up over the years?"

"Different ones." Treize replied with a little shrug. "I like to try local food and find usually one or two dishes that I really enjoy."

"Ah, yes, I remember you mentioned living in Japan at one point. Where else have you lived?"

"Here and there. Sooner or later, Dear Milliardo, you too will discover the necessity of moving around frequently. Even in this day and age, with Botox and facelifts, in time your neighbors will begin to wonder why you are not aging at the same speed as them. Generally I don't stay longer than a decade or two at any one place."

"Hmm.." Milliardo gave a thoughtful sound. "What about China?"

"Beg your pardon?" Treize looked over his shoulder as he walked down the stairs.

"Have you ever lived in China?"

"And India… and Russia… and Belgium… Germany… France… You name it, I've probably been there."

The younger man paused briefly. "When?" he finally asked. "I mean when did you live in China?"

Another shrug as the incubus prince flipped on the light switch in the kitchen. "On and off," he replied somewhat evasively. Or maybe that's just how it seemed to Milliardo.

####

"Are you sure you will be alright on your own, Doctor Po?"

"Positive." Sally smiled softly at her technician. "Go home, get some rest. We have no more appointments scheduled for today. I'll just muck around in the lab for a bit longer before heading home myself."

"What if we get any more walk-in patients?" The young man asked.

"I told Gwen to refer all calls to the Northwood clinic, and if anyone walks in I'll deal with them myself," the doctor assured him.

"Alright then, I'll see you in the morning, Doc."

She nodded. "And thanks again for staying last night."

"No problem. The couch in the back isn't half bad, you know."

"I know." Sally laughed. She had slept quite frequently on that couch back when she just opened this clinic and spent many nights here doing paperwork and lab work, things now taken care off by her staff.

Zach walked away, saying goodbye to the receptionist on the way out, and a few moments later the door closed behind him. Sally contemplated for a brief moment whether or not to finish up the day's paperwork before anything else, but then decided it could wait until later and headed for the lab at the end of the hall.

She reached for a clean lab coat from the pile stacked on a little shelf near the door and slipped it on. While she buttoned the coat she frowned slightly as she walked further into the room and looked around. The blood samples she had planned on working on were nowhere to be seen. There had been three of them, two vials her old friend Kevin West had mailed to her via express carrier, and a sample she had taken the night before from snowball. She still wasn't sure what toxin had been used on the tiger, but if someone was going around breaking into houses and poisoning pets she wanted to give her colleagues a little heads up about it.

Blood samples don't just disappear. Did Zach or Hannah move those vials when they were tidying up the lab? She wondered as she started to check shelves and cabinets. I guess I'll have to ask them tomorrow morning.

With a sigh the young woman took off her coat again. Then paperwork it is, I suppose.

####

"I do not like him." Sergio Ventuno growled as soon as the door had closed behind his unexpected visitor.

Quincy Ortega could not have agreed more. But rather than voicing his opinion he threw a look back over his shoulder at the door and shuddered. That man… such power… such evil…

"He might be right, though," he had to admit.

"About?" the Italian asked.

"Khushrenada." Ortega dropped into the chair Ells had vacated and looked at his boss. "When I visited him at his business, I had a feeling that he might not be human… at least not fully."

Ventuno mumbled something in Italian that could have either been a curse or a prayer. "What kind of place is this? What do you mean by not fully human?"

"Some kind of demon probably, but I can't be sure. I could sense that he has powers, though."

The Italian gave a somewhat derisive snort, and Ortega could tell he didn't truly believe him. Ventuno, he got the feeling, didn't want to believe. As though he found it safer to stick his head in the sand and ignore the existence of the Other World and everything supernatural around him. For a moment Quincy wondered if his boss had even realized that their 'ever-so helpful' visitor wasn't mortal either.

"So you think he could be behind those attacks on my warehouse?" his boss asked.

"In hindsight, it wouldn't surprise me at all. His men, those that we met at the spa, were well trained."

"Then we will have to deal with him, in one way or another." Ventuno decided with a growl. "I'll handle it personally. You, I believe, have other things to take care of," he changed the subject. "What about that… wolf-man you were looking for? Have you found him yet?"

Ortega shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Sort of?"

"Sort of?" the Italian barked.

"I found out where he hangs out, but he wasn't there. A little bar called the Rainbow Pond. I actually know the owner."

"Oh, then make him help you." Ventuno suggested with a nonchalant hand gesture.

"He won't." Ortega shook his head. "You see, we aren't exactly on the best of terms. Besides, he is not the kind of guy to rat out a friend."

"Senor Ortega, as usual you are overcomplicating things. There are many ways to secure someone's cooperation, you just have to find the right button to push." The older man checked his watch. "Now I have a plane to catch. We will talk again after I get back tomorrow. Until then find out more about this Khushrenada person for me; anything that might be useful."

####

The sound of a car engine being shut off in front of the house caused the big black and white carpet in the middle of the kitchen to raise his head.

"He is back?!"

Treize Khushrenada was manning the stove wearing a dark blue apron over his shirt and slacks. It read: 'Many have eaten here, few have died!' A large pot with water was boiling over the fire, and the incubus prince was adding freshly squeezed lemon juice to the clam sauce simmering in a second, smaller pot.

"Go, let him in, will you?"

With a yawn Snowball stretched leisurely as he got onto his feet and strolled out of the room. Treize could hear the quiet buzz of the electric lock at the front door disengaging and then Milliardo's voice as he greeted the tiger.

Earlier, a quick inspection of the pantry had revealed several kinds of dry pasta, a number of soups, broths and a few cans of baby clams, along with a large bucket of lemons - one of the trees in the backyard unfortunately hadn't survived the attack the night before. After some deliberation they had decided that Treize would make Linguine with Clam Sauce - a dish he claimed to be famous for - while Milliardo volunteered to drive to the market to pick up some vegetables and desert.

"What did you get?" the incubus inquired when the younger man walked into the kitchen a few moments later, carrying two paper bags with the Trader Joe's logo.

"Just a salad kit, and some extra tomatoes and avocados to add," Milliardo started to unpack the shopping bags. "But I stopped and picked up a little ice-cream cake on the way back. Oh yeah, and I got some of those 'bake-and-serve' garlic bread sticks too. I thought…"

The blonde suddenly stopped himself.

"Oh!" he looked at Treize somewhat uncertain. "Is garlic bread okay with you? I mean…"

The older man blinked then started to chuckle. "Yes. Don't worry, garlic bread is fine. In fact I love garlic, if I can get away with it."

The younger man looked at him questioningly.

"I dare not indulge if I have to work," the incubus prince explained. "There is always the possibility of having to interact with one of the clients."

"Oh good then. For a moment there I worried." Milliardo replied a little sheepishly.

Treize's chuckle turned into bubbling laughter. "In case you have not noticed, we incubi don't share many of our vampire cousin's weaknesses. Garlic doesn't hurt us, neither does sunlight. And as far as I know we don't burst into flames when we enter a church or holy site either. But that, I have to admit, is just what I've heard. I never had the need to get close enough to a place of worship to test that theory."

He pulled a spoon from a drawer nearby, dipped it into the sauce and offered it to the younger man for tasting.

"Tell me what you think?"

Milliardo raised one approving eyebrow. "Very good. But what's that flavor in the background?"

"You don't like it? I always add a splash of Chardonnay; it enhances the taste." Treize explained.

"No, it's great. I like the flavor."

"But does it need anything else?"

"A little more lemon, maybe?!"

"Are you sure?" the incubus asked, even as he reached for the other half of the fruit he had cut earlier.

"I think so." Milliardo nodded. He finished unpacking his groceries, put the ice-cream cake into the freezer and pre-heated the oven for the breadsticks.

"So…" he asked after a few moments. "Incubi don't have any weaknesses at all?"

"Oh no, we do have our own Achilles' heel, too."

"But you can't tell me what it is?"

"I could," Treize looked at him, a sparkle in his eyes. "but then…"

"You would have to kill me afterward." Milliardo finished the sentence with a snort. "Oh man, that line is sooo old."

"Perhaps, but I invented it." the incubus prince grinned as he slowly added the linguine into the boiling water.

Silence fell over the kitchen as the two men carried on with their dinner preparations. At one point Snowball stuck his head in the door, as though to check on them.

Milliardo's eyes followed the large cat when he turned and retreated to his favorite spot by the fireplace. The fact that most of the room was still covered in plastic, and the walls were only half painted didn't seem to bother the tiger at all.

"His name, Lian, what does it mean?" The young man asked without taking his eyes of the large cat.

"I have no idea." Treize shrugged. "I didn't name him, remember?"

"Yeah, but you do speak Chinese. And amazingly well, from what I've heard." Milliardo pointed out, as he tossed the salad. "That must have taken practice and time. I remember Wufei trying to teach me for a while. Luckily he gave up," he laughed. "I felt like I was breaking my tongue every time I was trying to repeat a word or two. I bet you must have lived there quite some time to pick it up that well, have you?"

"Maybe I'm just good with languages." The incubus prince pulled some plates from one of the overhead cabinets.

"So which parts of China have you visited? North… south… It's such a big country, isn't it?"

Treize gave a little laugh. "Say, have you talked to a shrink about you obsession with China? Tell you what; I'll get you a tourists guide for Christmas; or better still, I'll take you there, some day."

"That would be nice." Milliardo grinned, just as the oven beeped to let him know that the breadsticks were ready.

T.B.C.

Author's Note: I'm looking for someone who might be interested in creating a cover image for this story.
Blood Ties will be written in the 'books' : 'Turf Wars', 'Family Feuds' and "Last Stands', After finishing each book I'm planning on putting it in ebook format; for free download only not publication or anything. I thought it would be nice to include a cover image. If you are interested PM me for more information.