FREDDIE

"I quite hate it."

Freddie, Anthony, and Lillian stood facing the eight-story behemoth of glass and steel that was the Azarian Covenhouse. A fixture of the Upper West Side neighborhood, residents had long assumed it was a commercial space. The Azarians had run some sort of vague real estate business out of the first floor, but the rest of the structure filled with…well, Freddie wasn't certain.

"I know you do, honey," Anthony said, leaning over and kissing Freddie's pale, freckled neck. "But we can redecorate it however you want."

Freddie pressed his nose to Anthony's thick Italian hair, taking in his sweet scent of leather and citrus. "It doesn't need redecoration. It needs to be torn down."

"I rather like it." Lillian's sharp gaze took in the postmodern design, the setting sun giving her dark brown skin an amber glow. "It's commanding. The perfect statement for the new Grosvenor Coven to make."

"We're not calling it that." Freddie rolled his eyes. The fact that everyone had automatically started referring to the coven by his ancient surname was annoying. "That hasn't been my name in a century."

"Well, we're not calling it the Grey Coven," Anthony said. "That just sounds sad. And you don't have any real connection to the name Grey."

"We'll call it something else." Freddie stepped forward, walking toward the tall, glass front doors. He was tired of this conversation.

"Covens are named for the master," Lillian said, following down the short concrete path. "We shouldn't break with tradition."

Anthony arrived at the door first, but as he reached for the long, polished metal handle, Freddie held out his hand to stop him. Caution would serve them well here.

"Wait." Freddie turned to Lillian. "What did you find inside last trip?"

"We only explored the first two floors." She frowned. "We were short on time. All we found were some shady business documents. There was evidence that some vamps had fled, but it's possible there are others higher in the building."

Freddie squinted at Anthony. "Let me go first."

"What?" Anthony grinned. "I'm a vampire now, aren't I? I can take any stray Angels and Spikes."

Freddie grunted and stepped in front of him, opening the door. Even if his mate was now a vampire, he wasn't invincible. He was young still, and Freddie wasn't willing to risk his love's well-being.

"Angels? Spikes?" Lillian asked.

"Anthony loves 90s television," Freddie said, shrugging. He didn't understand his mate's taste in culture. For an opera singer, Anthony was certainly a nerd. Then again, Freddie had spent the first century of his life before the invention of the moving picture. For him, everything paled next to live performance.

"Those Azarian assholes were always in leather jackets," Anthony said as they stepped inside. "Straight out of the Buffyverse."

Lillian shook her head in confusion, but didn't say more as they entered the ransacked first floor. There were papers everywhere, and a faint smell of blood.

Freddie strode to the center of the large, open lobby, behind which were a series of upturned chairs and desks. He surveyed the disarray that surrounded him.

"This is ridiculous," Anthony said, taking in the entire room.

"What?" Freddie asked.

"Why would you have your office on the first floor?" Anthony's dark brown brows furrowed in confusion. "Most New York buildings have a small lobby with a front desk, and then an elevator. There isn't even a wall to separate the entrance from the workspace."

"Because it was all for show," Lillian answered. "And they wanted every inch of space upstairs, where they wouldn't be seen."

"I guess. Still."

Freddie kneeled down on the marble tile, running his thumb across a rusty brown stain and holding it to his nose. It was probably a week old.

"This is fresh blood. It was spilled after you came here," Freddie said.

Lillian nodded. "Yes. The place wasn't in such disarray last time. Someone must have been looking for something. Perhaps there was a fight."

Freddie stood and sighed. They had a long night in for them if they had seven more floors to investigate, but they couldn't afford to miss a vamp in hiding. They had no way of knowing if there were coven members unaccounted for.

A few members of the old Azarian coven had surrendered after the death of their master. They'd been staying at one of the other hideouts, and Lillian had told them not to return to the covenhouse until they'd cleared it out. Others had fled the city.

But that didn't mean the place was empty.

"Come on. Let's check the upper floors." Freddie made hard eye contact with his mate. "Anthony, be careful."

Anthony smirked. "I'm always careful. I've never gotten a single twink pregnant."

Freddie growled and took off for the stairwell, leaving Anthony and Lillian to follow in his wake.

"He's in a good mood," he heard Lillian say behind him.

"What can I say?" Anthony replied. "He loves being mated."

Frankie started up the steps in silence. The problem was, Anthony wasn't wrong. He did love being mated, and he loved Anthony, even if he could be a pain. And even if he liked to purposefully provoke Freddie's demon with comments about hookups from when he was human.

But despite that, Freddie couldn't be happier.

Well, he could be happier right now. Right now, he was frustrated and on the defensive. He wasn't used to doing dangerous jobs with a mate in tow. His demon found it hard to accept that Anthony was less breakable than before. He hoped more than anything that this would be an uneventful night.

For the first six floors, he got his wish. The covenhouse was a disaster, but it was an abandoned one. The vamps had been positively unhygienic with their feeding, leaving behind a disgusting mess, although Freddie knew that was likely because Charles Azarian had been starving them. There were empty blood bags with huge tears in them strewn about the place. The gray walls were stained yellow with brown-red stripes, and every so often they came across a vampire corpse.

Not dead from injury, but from lack of food. Freddie's gut churned with rage at the horror of it. Blood starvation was a gruesome way to die.

"If I hadn't killed him already," Anthony said, his voice shaking with anger, "I'd kill Charles Azarian again."

Their journey was upsetting, but quiet. Until they reached the seventh floor.

They were steps away from the door when Freddie caught the scent of something. He gestured for Lillian and Anthony to stop. They stood motionless in the dark concrete stairwell as he took in the odor. Someone had tried to cover it with air fresheners, but it still lingered.

"Vamp," he said. "Faint, but there. At least one."

Lillian nodded, squaring herself.

"What do we do?" Anthony whispered, so soft a human wouldn't even register the sound.

"I'll go first—"

"Freddie," Anthony said, "it's not your job to protect me anymore."

Freddie knew, of course, that Anthony was wrong. It would always be his job to protect his mate. Anthony saying otherwise didn't change that fact.

"Lillian behind me," he said, "and you behind Lillian. Hang back a few feet until it's clear."

Anthony grumbled under his breath, something about "not a damned damsel in distress," but got into position anyway. Freddie's demon calmed somewhat as he did. It didn't matter how strong Anthony became, Freddie was his mate. If Anthony was in danger, his inner beast would be restless.

Freddie took a breath and opened the door.

The pain was intense, a hot, eviscerating burn across the chest that took Freddie by surprise. Of all the attacks he'd expected, fire was near the bottom of the list. It could be dangerous for a vampire. Enough sustained flame could do some damage, even kill.

That being said, a string connecting the doorknob to a cigarette lighter perched in front of a can of hairspray would not be the thing that did Freddie in. With a swift kick, he sent the offending grooming product flying. It hit the wall of the hallway and tumbled to the carpeted beige floor.

"Are you okay?" Anthony's hand was on him, gripping his shoulder. A warmness spread in his chest at the gesture. He had a mate now, someone who cared for his well-being. Someone who would be sad if he were hurt. It was something he never thought he'd have.

"I'm fine," Freddie replied. "Not much of a burn. It's healing already. Be careful, though. It's crude, but it could have done some damage."

Lillian nodded. "Let's find these vamps."

The hallway held ten doors, five on either side. It had been condominiums at some point, although the modern style mixed with the stains and general dirtiness made it seem more like some kind of warehouse. Lillian went to the first door on the left, and Freddie went to the right. Anthony stayed where he was, watching the two of them. Through their mate bond, Freddie could tell that he wanted to knock down some doors himself, but Freddie's demon wasn't willing to tolerate that level of risk. Anthony had only been a vampire for about a few weeks, after all, and had no experience in combat, as a human or a vampire.

One after the other, the apartments were revealed to be empty, although it hadn't been long since vampires were living there. Evidence of old human blood was everywhere, and from the scratches on the wall and the broken furniture, the vamps had been fighting over the food.

By the time Freddie kicked down the condo, they'd begun to hope that the hairspray trap was an old one, and that everyone was long gone.

As the lock cracked and the door flew off its hinges, a metal clank and a faint whoosh as an object flew through the air were the only sign that they were wrong.

Anthony yelped in pain and Freddie spun around. Sticking out of Anthony's bicep was a narrow wooden stake, blood trickling from the wound trickling down his forearm.

Instantly, Freddie transformed into a fiend, his fangs dropping as he flitted from room to room with inhuman speed, searching for whoever hurt his mate. Freddie found him peeking out from the doorway of one of the bedrooms, a tall, thin vampire, dressed in annoyingly stylish clothing with a colorful paisley scarf wrapped around his neck.

A neck that was now in Freddie's grip.

"Please…" the man grunted through his closed airway.

"Why should I show you mercy? You attacked my mate."

The man's eyes went wide, and he wriggled, kicking his legs and attempting to dislodge himself from Freddie's grasp, but to no avail. Freddie clamped down harder. He would enjoy killing this malicious little twerp. It would be nothing to remove his head, just a few quick swipes with his claws. He couldn't wait.

A growl filled his chest at the thought, but as he went to take his revenge, he rested on the nape of his neck.

"Freddie, stop. I'm fine."

It was Anthony, his voice like a soothing balm to Freddie's demon. His mate was okay. He still wanted to murder the guy, though.

"Freddie, put him down." Anthony stepped into his line of vision, compassion on his face. Sometimes, Freddie chafed at Anthony's tendency toward generosity.

"Freddie," Anthony continued, "he was protecting them." He gestured inside the bedroom, where Freddie saw the unconscious forms of three young vampires. They were starving, their gaunt bodies wasted away to skin and bones, too weak to move.

Freddie sighed, and released the man in his grasp, who tumbled to the floor, gasping, his long brown hair dark against the hardwood.

"Please…I thought you were the coven master…" The vampire rubbed at his neck as if assuring himself that it was still whole.

Freddie crossed his arms, looming over the man. "I am. Who are you?"

The vamp stared at Freddie, dazed. "I'm Owen Acosta. I'm…I think we're the only ones left."