The winter's night air was sweet and crisp, releasing the smells of the end of the festival. Zuko was now sixteen. Officially an adult. The same biological age as Jet.

Tonight.

Tonight Jet would whisk him away and make him his. Tonight, one week after the Prince fully entered the spotlight and became a major player in court, he would disappear, never to be seen again. Tonight, Zuko would wake in pain, and his attacker would make all his dreams come true.

Ah, he could already practically taste Zuko's blood on his tongue, sweet and spicy and thick and hot and full of life. He'd struggle at first—they all did—but the flesh moving across his fangs would make it all the sweeter.

Jet would have to make sure no-one walked in on them. Humans judged so quickly, and they had no way to tell a hungry vampire from a benevolent one. If anyone interrupted the process and Jet couldn't feed him enough in three days, Zuko would die. Permanently.

That…that wouldn't be good.

But enough dallying. Zuko was waiting and the world was asleep; now was his chance. He rose, watching the spots of light on the wall to the Inner City moving, waiting for a dark spot to open up. The night watch on the wall was often inconsistent—one hundred years of peace and general satisfaction tended to do that.

Wait for it.

Wait.

There!

Coiling and springing from his place on the roof, he bounded from the cobbled pathway on the wall to another roof on the other side. This one was far richer than any in the Outer City; the aristocracy did so love to show off their wealth. Gold twinkled in the light of the crescent moon as Jet used his momentum to bound from rooftop to rooftop. His footsteps were silent, mostly. Those that weren't bothered no-one. The pools of light and wide streets posed no threat to Jet, who knew the paths and footholds from a year of investigation and intelligence gathering.

In what felt like no time, he was there. The palace towered over its gardens, the smells of many, many people, servants and nobles alike, wafting outwards on the breeze. Jet closed his eyes for a minute, safe in the shadow of an overhanging, and breathed in the scent, revelling in the feeling of life it gave him. Zuko's smell rode high above the others.

But where was it coming from…

There! Fourth story balcony on the west side, facing the sunset. This was too easy. For a moment, a part in the back of his brain worried over how easy it would be for assassins to take him, but he shut that train of thought down with an assurance that once Jet was done with him, he wouldn't have to worry about assassins ever again.

Only a couple leaps, and he was hanging onto a railing two floors below Zuko's room. That delicious spicy-sweet smell only got stronger. He sprung from the railing soundlessly, grabbing onto the one above it, and hauled himself up to the third, then fourth floor.

And there he was.

Jet could just see the glimmer of pale skin in the bed, beckoning him with its softness and the life that thrummed beneath it. He could smell the blood from here. The rug was soft and plush beneath his bare feet and made no sound as he crept towards his prey.

Zuko mumbled in his sleep, turning his face towards the moonlight. Jet froze, but he remained undiscovered—the Prince calmed only moments later.

His face was beautiful. Sleeping innocence shone from his features, the untroubled rest of the righteous and good on display for anyone brave enough to breach or bypass the palace's defenses. It stood in stark contrast to what he'd known of him from his preparations. Now, the bluster and intensity were gone, and soft peace wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

If Jet had his way, and he would have his way, his Zuko would look like that all the time.

Even with the angelic looks, though, the smell of food enticed him to slip across the floor and lean onto the soft pile of blankets and pillows heaped on the bed. The Prince's neck was bare. Tunnel vision narrowed Jet's focus until all he could even think about was soft flesh in his mouth and hot blood swamping his senses. His fangs slid out, practically dripping with venom and saliva, leaning slowly, achingly slowly, down to where his target lay—

And then he lost control and dropped his head, burying sharp fangs in a warm neck.

Zuko woke to a slicing pain.

There was a hand on his mouth, muffling the involuntary cry. Panic blinded his thoughts as he began to scrabble at the teeth in his neck, and some other hands pushed him down, immobilizing him. What was happening? Why would someone attack him like this? He couldn't scream loud enough past the hand—all that was coming out were muffled sounds that wouldn't alert the guards in time. Even more pain bloomed at the first shift of his neck. A tiny sob lodged itself in his throat at the intensity. The body on top of him shifted a little, and more shooting pain reached into his head and chest.

He wanted to black out. He never did.

The taste of bittersweet dark chocolate flooded Jet's mouth, and he shifted to better get at the humming life in the Prince's veins. A tiny sob broke from his prey, reminding him of the agony that being bitten entailed—but it was fine; the blessings later would far outweigh the pain of now. And he was a bit too caught up in the ecstasy of biting him.

The Prince began to struggle, sliding his neck over Jet's fangs. A slight moan escaped him as he shot venom into his bloodstream, which would start the transformation, letting him come back from the dead if he was fed soon enough, and acting as a numbing agent and sedative. Wonderful stuff. He began to idly rub slow circles into Zuko's arm, feeling the warm skin and flesh beneath his hand, wondering if that would be enough to soothe him if he turned out to have some unforeseen resistance to the venom.

Having Zuko as a sired would be wonderful, but right now, he never wanted this to end.

But end it did. The steady flow of warm, earthy liquid began to dry, and Jet made himself slide his fangs out, albeit slowly, and sit up to look at his soon-to-be-sired. The mild sedative had worked; Zuko now looked only sleepy and mildly confused, compared to the sheer panic that must have haunted him at the beginning. Ah, he was beautiful. Jet reached out to stroke his cheek, but the Prince scooted away at the last minute, a fighter to the end.

"Shhhhh," he whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you." He leaned in, his dramatic streak getting the better of him. "I've come to set you free."

A quick slice of his fangs against his own wrist, and dark red liquid began to ooze, matching the stains on the bedclothes. "Drink." Jet lay the wound to Zuko's lips, and they parted ever so slightly to make way for a wet tongue. Zuko's eyes flickered closed at the taste. He began to suck gently, hoping for succor in the arms of his attacker, and Jet obliged, drawing the cooling body onto his lap and stroking black silken hair. Times like now were, even more than the bite, what many vampires lived for–the giving in of a sired to the warm coolness of undeath, muscles relaxing into their first feeding, curling up in the safety of their sire's lap.

He'd forgotten just how cute new sires could be.

The fangs were sliding out of him. Zuko didn't know what to do with that. Some small, detached part of him snarked that maybe he shouldn't have ever had to know.

He ended up doing nothing but lying there, artificial calm and real exhaustion making his limbs like lead. Only his eyes moved, and it was then, looking at the shadowed figure that now sat up on his bed, that he realized that his attacker was a person, a human.

Well. Judging from the red running down their mouth and glistening in the moonlight, they weren't actually human.

The figure reached a hand toward him, and Zuko only barely managed to shift his uncooperative body away before they made contact. Confusion flitted across the dark face, followed by understanding.

"Shhhhh," the figure murmured, in what seemed an attempt to be soothing. "I'm not here to hurt you." It moved towards him, the moonlight finally illuminating a handsome face and wild, delirious eyes. "I've come to set you free."

Its (his?) fangs were still dripping with Zuko's blood, even as it used the sharp point to slice an opening into its wrist. The action didn't make sense until it put the wound to his mouth (!). Warm liquid wet his lips, and his tongue flicked out to get a taste before he could come to his senses and remind himself that it was probably his own blood.

–and by then it didn't matter, because it tasted like heaven.

His eyes drifted closed at the taste, a tiny moan building in the back of his throat. It slipped a cool hand beneath Zuko's head as he sucked at the wound, positioning it in its (his. It was a he.) lap, sliding it up to stroke his hair, whispering soft encouragements in the dead of night. Zuko shifted his body to better fit his head on the other's legs, which were comfortable despite their lack of body heat.

He didn't know how long he laid there, feeding off of blood of unknown origin and feeling his limbs chill as his heart slowed and his earlier blood loss took its toll. The pain of the bite had worn off, replaced by a cold numbness in his neck and the warmth of this strange assassin. He didn't know who the assassin was or why he'd chosen him, but whoever his assailant was, Zuko found himself oddly grateful.

He could feel the shift in his life, and he welcomed it.

Jet waited for Zuko to ease off on the pressure, gently stroking his thumb across Zuko's cheek, his muscles soft and his smile warm. No one yet had disturbed them–a stroke of luck that Jet knew was not to be taken lightly. But it wouldn't last. They hadn't alerted the guards, but a servant on the graveyard shift might come in to replace the wood on the fire or place breakfast on the nightstand and discover that their beloved Prince had been attacked and infected by a semi-mythological creature of the night, and who knows what would happen to them? Perhaps Zuko had fed enough, but young vampires needed their sires. Though he was known for his honor, he would most likely end up doing some…less than honorable things to satisfy his hunger.

The pressure on his wrist wound eased, and Zuko's breath stilled as he died. Jet slipped an arm under his cooling knees and another beneath his arms, lifting his precious sired from the bed and sauntering to the balcony. A little blood had dried on both their chins. The city stretched before them. Jet could see why Zuko would like something so high up and so exposed–the view here was wonderful. He could see for miles.

The door creaked.

Jet looked back to see two servants slip in, one preoccupied with the loads in their hands, one with one hand on the other and eyes closed in a way that suggested blindness. He paused, waiting for them to drop their load and leave before they noticed the figure backlit by the moonlight–and then remembered that he should probably go somewhere where he wouldn't cast such an obvious silhouette. Sliding back to the wall next to the balcony, he shifted Zuko's body so that it wouldn't stick out and give them away.

"Thanks for helping me with the load, Kohaku," the blind one breathed, setting the load in her right arm down and grabbing at the pole slung on her left shoulder. "You know it's hard for me to carry loads that need two hands when I'm in an unfamiliar environment."

"Anytime, Masumi," the one of (probably deliberately) indeterminate gender replied. "Sorry about Isao. He's been here a while, and he's old, and he's still kinda stuck with the Azulon mindset." There was history behind that, Jet was sure. "It wasn't anything you did." They both spoke quietly, presumably to not wake the hypothetically still-sleeping Prince.

They still hadn't noticed Jet in the corner.

"I didn't think so," Masumi said. "But thank you anyways."

Kohaku puts down their own load and begins to guide Masumi's hands over the table they'd set their small piles of food and amenities on. "Thankfully, Prince Zuko's very specific about where to place what, but he's also very forgiving. Towels go here, on the back left corner…" As they talked, they guided her hands to the table, letting her feel the corners and memorize the placement of each of the items. Hot towels, pomegranate seeds, dried mango slices, water bowl. He'd have to remember those things.

Their backs were to Jet, and he took the chance, moving slowly out to where he could feel the night breeze ruffling his hair. His boots made no sound on the carpet. Slowly, he turned around, listening closely to their conversation, making ready to leap out the window before Kohaku could turn around and see him. The back of his neck prickled with the phantom sensation of goosebumps. If he had needed to breathe, which he hadn't in centuries, he still wouldn't have dared.

He froze when Kohaku shifted, her face angled just slightly more towards Jet and his Zuko–but they didn't see him. Not yet. They were still safe.

"…and of course don't forget to keep away from the bed when you come in. The Prince has a habit of attacking whoever wakes him up."

"Good to know," the blind one–Masumi–chuckled. "Though where is his bed?"

"I'll show you in the morning. But over here is his–what!"

Now Kohaku had seen him.

"What–what's happening?" Masumi cried, stepping forward, pole rapping at the furniture. "What's going on?" Jet had frozen at the edge of the balcony–the only way to detect him would be to see him, or perhaps smell the blood on his and Zuko's clothes. No wonder she was so distressed. "Is the Prince–"

"Someone's got him!" Kohaku cried. "Or maybe he's got someone?"

Jet finally recovered his words. "First one, darling." He savors the horrified chill visibly running down both their spines. "And no, you can't have him back." He stepped onto the railing and jumped to the nearest rooftop, Zuko in his arms, in one fluid motion.

"Don't–" Kohaku yelled, but they were too late. The only thing left of the Prince were the blood-soaked sheets on the bed.