Tilling My Own Grave
A vampy revamp of Power Rangers Ninja Storm
By foggynite

Shane woke up late the next morning, since Dustin hadn't been on time, so Cam didn't have the chance to ask him about the night before. Instead, they made tentative plans to discuss it when Shane showed up for training.

Thoughts of the previous night plagued Cam throughout the day, though, despite his best efforts to concentrate on his paying students. For all that his nights were filled with rangers and hunting and magic, his days were filled with trying to pay the bills the nights entailed. He had a continuous stream of classes starting with a short half-hour Tai Chi session at seven, then three forty-five minute Tae Kwon Do classes on the hour starting at eight, two karate classes in the early afternoon, and another two Tae Kwon Do classes in the evening.

Before his father was cursed, Cam would have just handled the TKD sessions, but he couldn't afford to hire on another teacher to help him with the work load now and had to do as many as possible. The ninja classes his father had taught at night exclusively for witches were no longer an option, since Cam didn't have the stamina to run the dojo the entire day then switch to using magic and the more intense ninja training. He had already lost over fifteen pounds in the six months since the curse, and, having been in shape before, it was weight he couldn't afford to shed. It had gotten to the point that he sometimes forgot to eat for an entire day, subsisting mostly off water until he felt dizzy and remembered food. Every time it happened he berated himself, because he needed to be in his best condition if he was going to keep the team running. The rangers policed the supernatural elements of the cities, and he would rather cut his arm off than deal with the Council's version of 'help,' ie: sending in some psychotic zealots as back up, resulting in more tension and death around the city.

No, he needed to stay in control. And maybe part of that was his childish hope that he could save his father, even if the man appeared to have little concern for his own predicament.

With Lothor in town, things would only get worse, if they ever got better again, and the rangers just didn't have enough experience. He needed some way to prepare them better because these enemies weren't like the scattered gangs they had been dealing with since his father had been de-commissioned. Zurgane was a beast and a fool, but he followed Lothor's orders. If his uncle wanted the rangers dead, the werewolf was the most logical assassin to be sent, and Cam had warded Tori's house and the cesspit of an apartment Shane and Dustin shared. He just worried that the wards wouldn't be enough to deter the werewolf, or that Kapri and Marah would find a way to disarm them. Or that Lothor would, like he did before, but Cam and his father had devised stronger ones since then.

The ninja with Zurgane was another source of distress, if only because Cam had absolutely no information on him-- or her—and that made it very dangerous indeed. Zurgane relied heavily on his brawn to fight, Marah ran from physical conflict, and Kapri wielded a sword with enough knowledge to be a nuisance. But none of them had any in-depth ninja training, and that had been an edge Cam depended on to keep the rangers ahead. Adding this new player to the game would only cause trouble. From what Dustin had said, the ninja had magical training, too.

His stomach roiled painfully as he bowed to his second class of the day, dismissing them. He had already gone through half a roll of antacids by that point, and he hadn't even let himself think on the fact that they had allowed Blake Bradley inside the building. Depending on the younger man's knowledge of wards, he could be a security threat.

With a sigh, he started gathering the sparring pads into orderly piles for the next class.

"Hey."

Tossing the last of the pads, Cam turned to the unfamiliar voice. Hunter Bradley stood at the edge of the mats, hands shoved in his pockets as he watched the students leave. Arching an eyebrow, Cam walked over.

"Hello." He didn't offer more than that, intent on making Hunter be the one to reveal anything. The elder Bradley gave him the ghost of a smirk, recognizing the tactic, and shifted uncomfortably in place.

"Look, is there somewhere we can talk?" He asked in a quiet voice. Noticing that students were beginning to file in, though, he frowned. "If now is a good time?"

Cam hesitated a beat before answering. "I have another class in fifteen minutes, but we can talk in my office."

Without waiting to see if Hunter agreed, Cam slipped on the tatami he had left at the edge of the mat and grabbed his water bottle, heading to the door set in the far wall. His office wasn't that big-- it had just enough room for his desk and a few chairs and filing cabinets-- but it offered him a view of the main floor through a one-way mirror set in the wall. Since all of his new customers were brought into the office to sign up, his students knew he could see them and it enabled him to keep observing the class if he had to answer the phone during drills.

When they entered the office, Cam shut the door carefully behind them. Taking his seat behind the desk, he motioned for Hunter to choose one of the two chairs available.

Sitting so that he faced the mirror, Hunter seemed at a loss for words. His tall frame was hunched over, and his hair looked as though it had never seen a comb as he ran his hands nervously through it. There were lines of strain on his face and his blue eyes kept flickering around the room, to Cam then his desk then the shelves and back again.

"So I guess you know why I'm here?" He finally said, glancing at Cam and smiling ruefully. It made him seem young, yet far too old at the same time.

Cam shrugged. "I assume this is about Blake."

"Yeah. He, ah—He says thanks, by the way. Tori filled him in on what happened after he passed out."

"It was the least we could do," was all Cam could think to say.

"You didn't have to take him in, but you did. Most people we know would have left him on the curb." He grimaced. "After searching his pockets, of course."

Cam chose his next words delicately. "It's a nice city to live in, if you can survive the night-time activities. I'll admit that not everyone is as caring as Tori."

"And I wondered why the property values were so low..." Hunter muttered with a smirk, then his expression turned serious. "But still. Thank you. For me, too. I mean, he's my little brother, y'know? He's all I've got."

Thinking of his dad, Cam studied Hunter's profile. "I understand."

That earned him a searching glance, but the blonde returned to watching the students prepare. "Then maybe you can help me find who out did it. I'd really like to know."

There was a sharpness in Hunter's face during the statement that triggered a warning instinct in Cam. Nothing too obvious, just the set of his mouth and the predatory gleam in his eyes. It wasn't the passionate anger of a shapechanger, nor was it the murky power of a witch.

It was currently an extremely sunny day, one that Hunter had to have walked through to get to the dojo. Maybe it was bright enough to dull Hunter's powers until Cam couldn't pick up on them, masking him from detection. But what would a pureblooded vampire be doing with a warlock for a brother?

He realized his heart rate was increasing and tried to inconspicuously take a calming breath. Hunter looked over the desk at that moment, face neutral but with an amused glint. Cam didn't back down from his gaze, taking in every nuance just as he knew-- knew-- Hunter was doing the same to him. There was a great deal of anger in the other man's aura, what little of it Cam could read, but his ice-blue eyes were vibrant with frustration and an uneasy hate and... love? They both had people they were trying to protect.

But he was lamia. That automatically made him an enemy until proven otherwise beyond a single doubt. If then, even.

Cam finally cleared his throat, idly picking up a wooden pencil to twirl in his fingers. "I'll see if there's anything I can find out. This certainly isn't something we want happening again."

"I intend to make sure it won't," Hunter said with a closed smile. When he looked away, their connection was broken, but Cam could feel it like a physical presence in the room.

"Is that your dad?" Hunter asked suddenly, nodding at one of the award placards on the wall. A picture of a teenage Cam receiving the award, his father standing gravely behind him, was tucked next to it.

"Yes." He answered shortly, his expression discouraging. Hunter didn't seem to notice.

"Is he into martial arts, too?"

There was something lurking under the question that Cam couldn't read. Lifting one shoulder casually, Cam nodded. "He was."

Hunter glanced quickly at him, noting the past tense. "What happened?"

"He's on sabbatical at the moment." The well-rehearsed excuse fell easily from his lips. "I'm running the dojo while he's gone."

"Hm." Hunter nodded. "Cool. Even if you do teach Tae Kwon Do."

"Thanks," he responded dryly. Hunter flashed him a genuine smile, their eyes meeting again, and Cam fought down the flare of attraction that tried to kindle despite the awkwardness of the conversation. He didn't trust Hunter, and the feeling was obviously mutual. Physical desire had no place in their interactions. From the way Hunter shifted back, smiling dropping away, he had obviously reached the same conclusion.

"Well, I should let you get back to your class," the blonde said abruptly.

Cam just nodded his agreement and stood. Hunter rose from his chair with cat-like grace, incongruous to his height. They stared at each other for a moment, then Hunter headed for the door.

"I'll see you around," he said. It was a promise and a threat and an entreaty all at once.

"I'm sure," Cam replied, unconsciously gripping the pencil he still held tighter as the door shut behind his visitor.

He took a deep breath, fighting to regain his composure before facing his students. He glanced at the mirror, noting how they all seemed to be chatting or laughing together. There were only two witches in this class, and they stood to the side talking, relaxed and comfortable in a room full of humans.

The pencil snapped in his palm and he tossed the two ends at the trash can. He told himself he didn't envy his students. Their mundane lives weren't his concern, nor anything he could ever have.

End "Tilling My Own Grave"