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They were fighting, of course. In the three years that they’d known each other, and long before the pair had fallen into a relationship, Geoffrey and Jonathan had taken to hunting the various vampires and other beasts that threatened the citizens of London. It was after weeks of these hunts, of saving each other’s lives and learning to turn their backs while trusting a blade won’t be run through it, of Reid patching McCullum’s wounds after a particularly rough fight, and—in one notable instance—Geoffrey covering Reid when a hunt in the sewers left him stranded during the day, that they realized the bond they forged went further than shared fights. Things progressed quickly after that, even if both had their missteps and moments of distrust.
Still, the fighting never changed. They moved so smoothly around each other, covering the other’s weaknesses and decimating anyone who stood in their way.
Jonathan cut the head off his last opponent with prejudice. He straightened, satisfaction rolling off him as he turned to check on the progress of his hunter. The sounds of battle had died off, the two of them initially back-to-back, but splitting off as their combatants realized that–even in greater numbers–they couldn’t overwhelm the pair. The few Ekons remaining began to run, and Jonathan was more than happy to give chase.
“Jon.” He heard behind him. The call was quiet, but razor-wire taut. He turned. The final Ekon had one hand clasped tight on Geoffrey’s shoulder, the other hidden somewhere behind the hunter’s back. His hands were spread open by his sides and weaponless. Jonathan could smell the blood from his various wounds, still so distinct beneath all the other scents of guts and grime from the battleground. Geoffrey’s eyes were wide, seeming to say “I’m out of tricks”.
The air stilled.
Jonathan forced down the rising fear in his throat. He licked his lips, watching the tense rise and fall of Geoffrey’s chest, still heaving from the fight. “Geoffrey!” He started towards him.
“Don’t– come any closer.” His voice was shrill as he gripped his hostage tighter.
He froze where he stood, not wanting to put Geoffrey’s life any more at risk. Jonathan forced himself to stay steady, breathing in once, twice. “If you let him go, I’ll let you live,” he said. The bargain was delivered in a remarkably level voice, only the barest hint of the shaky pleading leaking through.
The Ekon’s dark eyes were wild, unseeing. “You killed my family,” he hissed. “This one is precious to you, yes? I can tell.” He ran one clawed nail across McCullum’s jaw. Geoffrey attempted to headbutt the man, but he could not gain the leverage he needed, not with dagger-like nails against his carotid and pressing into his back.
Jonathan resisted the urge to rip the beast off of him. He wouldn’t be able to get there in time– not when the Ekon could kill Geoffrey before he could take a single step. He raised a hand, stopping when the motion resulted in claws poised against his love’s throat.
“Let him go,” he ordered. “Let him go and I swear it that you can safely leave.”
The vampire tilted his head, seeming to consider the offer. “Where would you expect me to go?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jonathan said quickly, eyes glued to Geoffrey’s, whose Adam’s apple bobbed from the pressure. “But I can offer you safe passage out of London, and a guarantee not to follow. Your life for his, this is a promise.” If he were human, his heart would be pounding out of his body. But he wasn’t, and he hadn’t been for a long time, so his heart and his enemy’s beat at the same sluggish pace. Time stretched infinitely between them, measured solely in the rapid pulse of McCullum’s heart.
“Hmm,” he said, “No.” With a push, his claws punctured Geoffrey’s back. Then they twisted.
The scream didn’t come from Geoffrey, all he could manage was a cut-off gasp.
The Ekon was ripped to shreds before McCullum could hit the ground, Reid pouring all his rage and fear and desperation into one devastating attack. Jonathan didn’t bother with the body. He’d like to be able to kick the shreds, to have taken his time and make this vampire suffer for daring to hurt what was his. But he couldn’t, not when his hunter was hurt to an unknown degree.
He turned his attention to McCullum’s crumpled form, and what he saw carved horror into the depths of his chest. The always appealing scent of Geoffrey’s blood assaulted him, blasphemous in its beauty. Far too much of it was outside his body. Jonathan dropped to his knees, holding Geoffrey in a perfect mirror of how he cradled Mary all those years ago.
“Geoffrey, please, hold on,” he begged. “You’ll be alright, you’ll be alright.” But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. His hunter’s life was spilling out by the pint beneath his hands, and even if he could stem the bleeding, it would do nothing for the organs shredded by the vampire’s claws.
He pressed his forehead to Geoffrey’s, still muttering reassurances. The man looked at him, eyes hazy with pain but still beautiful. Jonathan couldn’t lose him, couldn’t lose another person he loved to the ravages of mortality.
“I can save you,” he whispered.
Geoffrey’s breath hitched, whether with pain or fear of Jonathan’s offer, he didn’t know. “Don’t,” he said, low with urgency.
“Geoffrey, please,” he hissed, the fear of being alone and the crushing tide of blood pushing him to the edge.
“Please, Reid.” He hadn’t been “Reid” to Geoffrey in some time, the stiffer name fading away with the harsher epithets over time. McCullum coughed, and tried to speak again. “Jonathan, I love you, but you knew this would happen eventually.” He smiled, red seeping between his teeth.
He pressed his forehead more desperately against the hunter’s. “I’m sorry,” he said, “But I’m selfish and I’m cruel and I’m not ready to lose you.” Watching the man he loved choke on his own lifeblood, he couldn’t bear to imagine a life without him.
“No,” Geoffrey said weakly. He tried to push Jonathan away with bloodied hands, but could barely manage to raise his arms at all. “I’ll hate you if you do this.” He gasped.
That urged a broken laugh out of Jonathan. “Yes, but you’ll be alive to hate me.”
McCullum groaned, “I won’t. It’s not right, I can’t—”
But he had already bitten down, the taste of his own blood bursting onto his tongue for a moment before he pressed his wrist to Geoffrey’s lips, the hunter fading fast, but still trying to writhe away, mouth pressed resolutely shut. Geoffrey twisted, and the agony of movement forced his mouth open in a silent gasp. Jonathan seized the opportunity, the same fingers that usually carded through Geoffrey’s hair so tenderly digging into his own wrist, forcing the same poison down McCullum’s throat. When he was sure enough blood was consumed, he removed his wrist, now fully cradling the man dying in his arms. His hunter was still gasping— cut-off prayers and curses and promises of revenge.
Jonathan ran his thumb across McCullum’s face, fully aware this may be the last time he would be allowed to hold the man. “You’ll be so much better than I was, I’ll make sure of it.”
“I hate you,” he whispered, the last embers of light fading from his eyes.
“I know,” Jonathan said.
And Geoffrey McCullum went still.