Alright, next chapter! As in the first one warnings for blood/gore, mentions of abuse and some swearing.

And again thanks to Sailor Onyx Pluto for betareading this. 3

Deacon Frost is no gentleman. He doesn't care about any correct vampire behavior, like respecting the pure bloods or holding himself a human pet, for that matter. When Anton put that pitiful creature in front of his feet to be drained by him, he had felt nothing but disgust. Humans are already at the end of the food chain, so why would some of them want to degrade themselves even more?
The pet had been pretty though, a young man with soft features. There had been nothing threatening about him and Deacon sadly knew that Anton favored those. It wouldn't be the last time the vampire would offer him one of his pets in a derisive gesture, but it certainly would be the last time he saw this particular pet. The particular tasty one, as Anton had called him.

His taste wouldn't save him that is for sure. Deacon ignores the screaming and begging as he reaches the top of the stairs and peevishly pushes the curtain aside. He keeps his sensible ears shut and focuses on the wide doors to his exit when the vampires he walks past hiss and whisper cheap insults at him.

"Half-breed."

"A disgrace of the whole vampire race."

"Someone should show him the light."

To show someone the light means to simply let a vampire get burned away by the deathly sun. No one talks about it but this mafia like behavior happened from time to time, even though it is a betrayal of the own race. Deacon knows a lot of vampires he would like to see bristle and burst in the rising morning sun. Her light is most beautiful at dawn.

They reach the doors and Deacon holds in a sigh of relief when he finally escapes the waving whispers of his fellow vampires. Mercury snarls and throws one of the bodyguards a glare as she walks past them. As soon as they leave the mansion and sit back down in the waiting limousine, she crouches down next to him, brushes the hair on his neck aside and nibbles the spot where once his pulse beat steadily against his skin. Now the pulse was gone and his heart was cold and dead.

"I hate him", she hisses and places a soft kiss on Deacon's temple. He closes his eyes and slightly leans into the touch. "Why can't we just kill him?"

"Yeah", Quinn joined in and scratches his bulky head. "I mean he's an annoying little fuck, Deac. We'd be better off without him."

Deacon looks at him, unblinking and thinks if the broken knuckles are worth the hit. Sometimes he wondered why exactly he had turned Quinn back then. Maybe just to have a playfellow for Mercury, she gets bored quite easily.

"Don't you think I feel the same way?" he growls and rather ruggedly pushes Mercury's wandering hands aside. For this, he earns a pout that he would like to wipe off her face.

"Anton MacHorvath is the most spoiled vampire brat I have ever seen, but he enjoys a high affirmation from the pure bloods. I don't even know why. Probably because he isn't afraid to get his rotten claws dirty…"

Deacon rubs his temples and stares out of the blackened window. It is still night. It's always night when he's out for business. Sometimes he missed the sun but only for a brief moment before he reminds himself that she is now his enemy.

xXxXx

Scud can't tell whether it's day or night. There are no windows in the room and the only light comes from a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling that is slowly swinging back and forth in one of the corners. Scud's condition isn't any better: His arms are bound over his head and chained to a hook in the ceiling so his toes are barely touching the cold concrete floor. There is no feeling in his arms or legs anymore, which means he must have been here for some time now.

He carefully lifts his head and takes a look around. His vision is blurry, probably from the blood loss and his stomach is doing flip-flops, which would make him throw up if he wasn't in this disadvantageous position.

Suddenly there is a cold hand on his lower back and Scud flinches which makes a sharp pain shoot up his arms.

"I see my pet is awake," Anton says darkly and rests is hands on the small of Scud's back. Elongated nails are lightly scraping over the soft skin there and draw thin bleeding lines. "You have disappointed me tonight, pet. Frost didn't want you."

"But," Scud splutters and coughs. His throat is dry which makes his voice sound hoarse and pathetically helpless, "you said he doesn't…"

The nails which were just lightly touching his flesh are now drawing into his skin and Scud yelps in surprise.

"That's not the point!" Anton growls and grabs a fistful of the human's dark tousled hair. Scud whimpers. Tears begin to collect in the corners of his eyes and he bites back a plea. If Anton were going to kill him he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of begging for his life. That bastard could suck it, but he can't hold back the tremble that slowly takes hold of his whole body. Anton notices this. A cruel smile spreads on his bearded face and he lets his hand wander over Scud's neck down to his tailbone.

"Maybe I should have tattooed you there," he muses and rubs at the beginning of Scud's crack. "You were such a good little slut, it would have fitted you."

Scud closes his eyes. He tries to regain some of his more comfortable memories while his master rants on with his dirty talk to get himself in the mood for the last joyride with his favorite pet. He remembers the face of his mother and how her eyes had shined when she had laughed or hugged him. As a child he had always shoved his hand through her thick blonde curls and enjoyed how soft they felt against his fingertips. The vampire who had raped and drained her had had his hand in her hair too, but he practically impaled her and suddenly the shining blond turned to a stinging red.
Scud's eyes fly open when he hears the sound of a zipper pulled down and just seconds after, he gets impaled by his master's hard cock.

He tries to keep his mouth shut, die with what was left of his grace and decency, but when Anton takes hold of his shaking hips and draws a clawed hand over his stomach, tearing flesh apart and spilling his blood over his thighs and onto the concrete floor, Scud begins to scream and tears mix with the dried blood on his cheek.

'Mom, I'm sorry,' he thinks as he tears at his chains and screams as loud as his tired lungs would allow it.

xXxXx

The next night when Deacon returns to Anton MacHorvath's mansion, his mood is ruined before he even climbs the steps towards the dark wooden entrance door, but then again, this kind of business is never combined with a good mood and he stopped caring about it long ago, so he just rearranges his plain white shirt and dark leather jacket and walks past a dozen bodyguards. Anton greets him with the usually cocky attitude of his, saying something sarcastic about his way of dressing and leads him down to the same room they sat in yesterday and discussed this particular job.

"It's good you check on your requests yourself, Deacon," Anton says cheerily as he slides down onto one of the expensive leather armchairs and gestures his guest to take a seat on the couch in front of him. There is no sign of the shattered table anymore.

"Well, you can't trust anyone, right?" Frost replies and this time, it's an open provocation from his side. Anton's smile falters for a moment before his mug contorts into a big fake grin which exposes his long and thick fangs.

"You're right and I'm glad you brought that up."

Anton crosses his legs as Deacon sits down on the couch, his eyes never leaving those of the other vampire. Suddenly his fake grin turns into a downright smug smile. Deacon stills and waits for any sign of an assault, but nothing happens, no hunter with a silver knife or a bodyguard who tries to give him a garlic essence injection. It wouldn't be the first time this happened and Deacon would make sure it wasn't the last.
Instead the ugly bastard just sits there and smiles at Deacon like he is some goddamned naïve child whose about to get his head washed for something by his sadistic father.
His brows furrow in confusion and anger when a tensed silence settles between them and the flesh around his fangs starts to tingle in anticipation.

"What is it, Anton?" he snarls, not able to stand the silent smile of the vampire anymore. "Have you swallowed your damned tongue?"

Anton chuckles and folds his hands on his lap.

He had to be fucking kidding.

"Do you remember our little appointment from yesterday? Sure you do, I mean, you're not here for the food, right? Well, it turned out that the vampire you wanted erased enjoys certain… amenities." Anton stops and looks up from his own folded fingers. "He's a pure blood, did you know that?"

Deacon clenches his jaw in frustration. Of course he knew about the vampire's origin but he didn't care. In fact, no one should care about whether a vampire is a pure blood or a non-pure blood. It doesn't change a thing, it's just the imitation of the human need to have a system, a hierarchy to rule a certain group of existences and give another group the feeling of being superior.
But this situation is more dangerous than he likes to admit and so he tilts his head, smiles and answers: "No, I didn't know that. I'm sorry for the wasted effort then."

Anton nods and rests his head against the armchair as if in deep thought.

"You know", he starts to muse, "if someone found out that you wanted to have the fangs of a pure blood, it could get quite uncomfortable for you."

He looks at Deacon and there it is again, that smug smile that tears at every urge in Deacon to just jump up and rip the skin off the vampire's face.

"That's right", Deacon says calmly and fixates Anton's gaze. "It would be a more than disadvantageous situation for me."

"How about this?" Anton moves forward in his armchair until he sits on the edge and rubs his cold claw-like hands. "I won't tell Dragonetti that it was you who gave me that request and you will stay the fuck away from me and my business. This way we both can use this… certain situation to our advantage."

If Deacon were still a human, his heart would pound angrily in his chest, ready to burst out and splatter hot blood all over Anton and his puckered mug. But he is a vampire and for a vampire it is impossible to just vanish when times are getting too dicey. So he has to use all of his charm and false compliance to save his damned existence.

"Well," he says and presents Anton his brightest and most teeth showing smile. "It's a deal then."

Anton nods in satisfaction and rises from his sitting place. He looks down on Deacon and his eyes speak pure, unhidden disdain.

"I will leave you for a moment, Deacon. There's a call that needs to be done otherwise you might find your home covered in your companion's guts."

With that he leaves the vampire alone in the dimly lit room.

Deacon raises his hands, which he had kept as tight fists on his knees the whole time. The insides of his hands are bloody and torn where his elongated fingernails had burrowed themselves in the pale cold flesh. He stares at his blood and smears some of it between his fingertips. It's cold but it doesn't congeal, just one of the odd things of vampiric physics that can't be explained by normal human science.
Most humans still don't know about the actual existence of the hominess nocturne. Just like Deacon when he was on his way back late at night and had encountered this beautiful pale woman…

Suddenly a strange smell hits his nose. He tilts his head and sniffs. It isn't as strange as it is weirdly familiar.

He stands up from the couch and closes his eyes, trying to make out the direction the smell comes from. It leads him out of the room and down the darkened corridor which leads to a couple of metal doors, all having a small Judas hole which shows him the inside of the small chambers. Most of them seem to be empty, but the last one to his left is definitely the source of the strong smell. He leans his temple against the cool metal and inhales deeply. It's a mixture of blood, sweat and something indefinable… something peculiar.

His hands wander over the surface, feeling for a knob or a lock. Deacon frowns. Back in his head something tells him this was wrong and that Anton already had him on his shitlist but the curiosity quickly takes over and he wraps his long fingers around the small round doorknob and turns it slowly.

xXxXx

Scud's eyelids flutter but keep shut when the creaky sound of the opening door reaches them and makes his dulled senses tingle. His mouth is dry and his lips have small cuts that had previously bled. Now they are pale and cold from the blood loss and match the rest of his stiff body.

Scud doesn't feel the cold of the concrete floor; in fact he doesn't feel anything. His body is as cold as his surroundings and his mind clouded and slow. The slow steps that approach him don't even awake any fear in him. Everything is numb and dull and Scud is tired, so tired.

xXxXx

Deacon slowly steps to the quiescent pet. He's already half-dead. There is only a small pulse and Deacon knows the unstable rhythm all too well. His heart had pounded the same way before his creator had drained and turned him, but this pet won't turn. Deacon smells nothing besides Death on this human. As he bends down to sniff and inhale the familiar smell he stills and frowns. He knows this pet; it's the same from the previous night: the particular tasty one who had been offered to him by his master.
Deacon smiles without feeling any joy. It's a knowing smile; he had known this would happen. Poor thing, he looks like Anton had decided to have fun before he almost drained him.

His arms lay uselessly to his sides and the cuts and scratches match those on his thighs and his chest. The worst part is his stomach. Chunks of flesh hang around deep scratches and his whole lower body is covered in clotted blood.
He reaches down to brush some of the dirty strands of hair aside. They feel soft between his fingertips even though some of them stick together by dried sweat and something Deacon doesn't want to think of too closely.
The pet's eyes are closed but slightly flutter when Deacon moves or lets his fingertips dance over the cold body's surface. They had been of a full clear blue he remembers. Very pretty, for a human of course.
As his gaze wanders down the pet's body he makes out several bite wounds, some small and punctuated, other larger and torn. Deacon had met some coldhearted bastards in his life as a human and even more since he became a vampire but Anton MacHorvath is truly the most forbidding one.
He decided to kill his pet because Deacon had refused to drink from him out of his own belief. The human had to suffer for Deacon's decision.

He investigates the pet with utter callousness. Why should he feel bad for it? It had been the pet's decision in the very first place to become a vampire's slave. Everyone knows that a glyph doesn't protect them, even though it was meant to.

The glyph.

Deacon leaves the human's hair and searches for the small tattoo under the navel. It is the only part on his stomach which hadn't been completely torn apart. Deacon smiles and this time it's a smug smile caused by a sudden idea.

xXxXx

When his body is carefully lifted from the cold concrete floor Scud muses if this is his soul leaving his body. His mother had always told him that he would join his father in heaven when he died. Of course that was before Scud stabbed one of the watchdogs in the orphanage. That bastard had been a child molester and Scud almost had been one of his victims. Back then he had still cared who touched his body and took advantage of him and so he had fought and screamed until he was able to free himself and get help, leaving the freak to choke on his own blood.

But Scud wouldn't go to heaven. Not today.

xXxXx

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Frost?" Anton barks as he runs up the stairs to the upper floor and is at Deacon's side in three long strides. The vampire carries the limp body of the pet in his arms, his leather jacket draped around the bony shoulders.

"You put that back right where you got it from," he hisses and brings his face dangerously close to Deacon's. But the other one just smiles, one corner of his thin lips pulling up in a mocking way before he tilts his head and fixates Anton's furious stare.

"Why? It seems you don't want him anymore," he says and shifts the pet's weight in his arms. "And it would be a waste of some tasty blood. What did you feed him with? Mandarins, you said?"

Anton growls and waves two of his bodyguards near.

"You want to steal my pet, Frost? That's forbidden! I will stake you for this."

"He's not your pet anymore," Deacon snarls and his fangs draw out to the fullest. Anton backs away immediately.

"What-… of course he is."

Deacon huffs and looks down on the in dark blood covered glyph. The black ink still shines through the layers of clotted body liquid.

"This glyph means protection, not only from other vampires but also from the master," he says. His gaze wanders up until he meets the disbelieving look of Anton. "And you clearly failed at protecting him. As you know the respectful treating of humans is one of the pure bloods' spleens, so I'm sure they wouldn't be too happy to hear how Anton MacHorvath's kills his humans just for fun on a regular basis."

He takes a step back and throws the stunned vampire his most disgusted look. "And that's why he's not yours anymore. He's fair game and I will take him with me."

Deacon doesn't wait for a response, he turns around and paces out of the suddenly quiet room and heads straight for the exit. He needs to get home as quickly as possible and warn Mercury and Quinn to be more careful for the next couple of days.

And he needs to make a call himself. Maybe a certain person can save the dying man in his arms.