The thunderous beat of heavy rock music thumped against the walls and windows of his penthouse. Despite the fact that he could have heard it from the other side of the building even at its lowest setting, he craved the raw loudness of the music. As sensitive as his hearing had become, he needed every other noise drowned out. He found it comforting when the outside world was blocked from his senses and enabled him to hide from his own thoughts.

Having fed so greedily, his body felt as strong and agile as it always had. He felt renewed energy pumping through his limbs, driving him to some sort of activity. The problem lay in his own mind, which was plagued by the haunting memory of the dead man’s face. After disposing of the body, he had slipped away from Seamus, needing time to himself.

Now, in what served as his bedroom and sanctuary, he looked in the full-length mirror against the wall, staring at himself. He’d thrown his dirt-stained clothes in the trash the moment he’d walked through the door. Only as an afterthought did he bother to throw on a loose pair of lounge pants. The vampiric blood his master had given him years ago had done its job, effectively locking him into the age he’d been on the night of his transformation. He was still too young for the process of his skin paling to have begun, and it still looked healthy and tanned. With his dark brown, almost black, eyes, and equally dark brown hair, he looked right at home in the desert city. The dark stubble along his well-formed jaw would always be there unless he shaved. Like his slightly too long hair, his stubble would always grow back by the next night. It was common to prepare a mortal before they were turned, but his sire hadn’t had time, locking Azrael into a slightly scruffy look for eternity, unless he spent the time and took the trouble to look otherwise.

His low singing, in time to the music, paused when something pinged at the edge of his senses. It was the faintest sensation of pulling power, like the edge of a gravity well. For a brief moment, the air in the penthouse seemed drawn toward a single, nearby point. Knowing that his sire had come unannounced, Azrael pushed to his feet with a sigh.

With movements that were both graceful and quiet, he walked along the single hallway of the penthouse. The space was meant to be his own private sanctuary, but it was not under his ownership. His sire had been kind enough to give him a choice of location and décor, but his sire was still the one footing the bill. Azrael loved the privacy of the space, even though most of the walls were thick-plate glass. It was wide and open, with only the one hallway leading to the completely sealed, private room that was his place to hide from the sun. The penthouse was tall enough to count as two stories, with a mezzanine floor he used to relax in as he gazed out on the twinkling lights of the city.

It was there he found his sire, Alexandre, waiting patiently for Azrael to show up. The vampire was far older than Azrael, both in terms of his time as a vampire and the number of human years he’d lived before being turned. He appeared to be a man in his mid-forties, but a mid-forties that held its appearance with more grace and dignity than someone twice his age. Alexandre’s coal-black hair was lined with streaks of gray, and there was the barest hint of wrinkles around his sharp, blue eyes. He was over six feet tall, making him a head taller than Azrael himself.

“I do have a phone, you know,” Azrael said, in way of greeting.

Alexandre’s voice was as cultured and dignified as his appearance. “Something you so very rarely deign to answer.”

Azrael grunted, not willing to admit his master was right. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my child?” Alexandre asked, raising his brow slightly.

Azrael flopped down in the nearby chaise with a graceless thump. “You don’t usually stop by without a reason. You’re not really a social call kind of guy.”

Alexandre’s gaze sharpened, and Azrael knew his sire was taking in Azrael’s tone of voice, body language, and probably his smell as well. His master had been alive for quite some time and had become exceptionally adept at reading other people. Azrael chalked it up to the fact that his sire didn’t have to conceal his actions behind subtlety and guile, as he did with vampires not belonging to his Camarilla. To outsiders, either vampires or humans, Alexandre looked like a charming, middle-aged gentleman in a custom fitted, modern suit of black and gray. To Azrael, his sire looked like he was searching for confirmation of his suspicions and was considering the best avenue of conversation to achieve that.

Azrael sighed, gesturing impatiently at Alexandre. “Just say whatever’s on your mind. I was enjoying my peace and quiet before you showed up, and I’d like to get back to it as soon as possible.”

His sire’s brow wrinkled faintly. “You call this peace and quiet?”

Azrael took the hint, using the remote in his pocket to lower the music with a sigh. “It’s peace and quiet to me. Sometimes those things aren’t literal.”

Alexandre nodded. “I suppose for a child of the modern age, more noise would equate to peace.”

“Is that a jab at the twenty-first century?” Azrael asked.

“No, simply an observation. For humans of the modern age, particularly the younger generations, you have all been surrounded by so much noise for the bulk of your lives. To your generation, what would be the solution to unwanted noise? Why, noise that you enjoy, but loud enough to drown everything else out,” Alexandre said in his clipped manner.

“But it’s just not palatable enough for you though, is it?” Azrael asked.

“I’ll admit, I understand the reasoning behind it, but I don’t share the same preference for it, no. In my time, peace and quiet simply meant finding a quiet place and gaining a measure of peace. We did not need to fill the void with noise,” Alexandre replied.

It wasn’t the first time his sire had alluded to his past as a human. Alexandre never spoke openly of his younger years, and rarely at all of his time as a human. He refused to answer any and all questions that he deemed too probing, preferring to speak of thoughts and theories than of past events. Azrael didn’t even know how old Alexandre really was, only that he was at least a few centuries old and hadn’t originally lived in the United States. He didn’t know what happened in his sire’s past to bring him from somewhere in Europe across the globe to the American southwest.

“Well the void has returned, so what brings you to my humble abode?” Azrael asked.

Alexandre, true to form, ignored his irreverent sarcasm. “I spoke with Seamus earlier.”

Azrael groaned loudly, cutting his master off. He hadn’t had a family for years before becoming a vampire. Along with having to learn all the strengths and weaknesses of being a vampire, he also had to adjust to family life. The old term still thrown around for a group of younger vampires led by one or more older vampires was Camarilla, but the younger vampires preferred ‘family’ or something similar. Azrael had already begun to think of it as a hassle, especially when he had to deal with members of his ‘family’ tattling on him.

“He’s such a little gossip queen sometimes,” Azrael muttered.

Alexandre shook his head. “No, he has done well. If a member of my Camarilla, particularly a child of mine, is struggling to adjust, then it’s vital I’m informed. I would be a poor caretaker if I were ignorant of the struggles of my own kind.”

“I’m not struggling. I don’t know why everyone seems to think I’m struggling all the damn time. I’m having the time of my life with all this shit and it doesn’t look like that’s going to stop anytime soon,” Azrael shot back stubbornly.

“So you weren’t distraught at having pushed yourself too far and taking a human life tonight?” Alexandre asked quietly.

Azrael glared at his master. “Everyone likes to tell me I’ll stop caring about it one day, but no one wants to wait until it happens. I got a little annoyed that I went too far, and suddenly I’ve got Seamus telling on me and you make a house call. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“If it wasn’t an issue, you wouldn’t feel the need to insist that it wasn’t ‘a big deal’,” Alexandre said.

Azrael flicked at the tag of one of the pillows on the chaise, refusing to look at Alexandre. “I’m fine.”

Alexandre sighed, easing gently into his chair. “I had hoped that perhaps one day, the blood might bring those walls of yours down.”

“I came out of my mama stubborn; at least that’s what they always told me,” Azrael grunted.

“Others have wondered just what it was that led me to bring you into our world. You do so little when it comes to our kind. You avoid all social functions, you refuse to meet with visiting Camarillas, and you stick to your own little world,” Alexandre listed.

Azrael rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who worries about what other people think. But ya know, I have to ask, what do you tell them?”

Alexandre smiled at that. “I tell them my reasons are my own.”

There was nothing to say to that other than to give another disinterested grunt. His sire had never told him why he’d chosen to turn Azrael into a vampire. Alexandre had been a part of his life for almost three years before he’d finally turned him in a moment of desperation. Azrael was quite sure the circumstances of his turning were well-known by now, and there were plenty of vampires out there who wondered if Alexandre shouldn’t have just left Azrael to die instead.

“When you turned me, you knew damn well I wasn’t exactly the social type. I never was any good with that shit, and I’m even worse with it when it comes to socializing with vampires,” Azrael finally answered.

“We’re not that difficult to talk to,” Alexandre said.

Azrael scoffed. “Are you serious? If I thought humans always had something hidden behind their smiles, vampires have at least twenty things they’re hiding. Every meeting between Camarillas in this city is a way for someone to jockey for favors, gain the upper hand over someone else, or play their little games. I didn’t like that shit when I was human, and I’m not going to start liking it now just because I’m a vampire. I’ll do stuff for you guys, since I technically owe you, but you can’t make me enjoy all the vampire games. Let me do my own thing, and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

Alexandre smiled fondly. “You can count that as one of the reasons I’ve included you in our world, and as part of my Camarilla.”

“What, you like having me be a pain in the ass and all-around embarrassment?” Azrael asked.

“A Camarilla is equal parts a family and political group. The only way to survive in this world is to make sure those on your side are strong. You are strong, and you’re so very different from any other member of this Camarilla. You’re difficult, headstrong, and prone to fits of conscience that plague you at the worst moments, but you are a survivor. You were, and are, an excellent member of this Camarilla, with your own set of skills and viewpoints that enhance the survival of the Camarilla, and thus, yourself,” Alexandre explained.

“I’m apparently not that good a survivor, since I was dying and forced your hand when you found me,” Azrael said.

“Even survivors are known to make mistakes. If you weren’t a fighter, you wouldn’t have still been breathing when I found you in that alley, now would you?” Alexandre asked.

Azrael couldn’t claim his survival had anything to do with himself. The reason for his continued existence was sitting serenely in a chair a few feet from him. He didn’t feel like arguing with his master, shrugging his answer instead. It was apparent to Azrael that his sire had come to check on his mental state, and for business as well. Alexandre rarely visited Azrael personally unless he was either deeply concerned about him or wanted something.

“So is this just a social call with a bonus therapy session?” Azrael finally asked.

Alexandre looked amused. “I see you no longer wish to continue this discussion?”

Azrael finally sat up. “You know it.”

Alexandre inclined his head in a gesture of acceptance. “This task will require you to get your hands dirtier than usual.”

“You’ve already had me kill that gangbanger. What could be dirtier than that?” Azrael asked.

Alexandre smiled. “Because this one is a werewolf.”

Azrael sat up straight. “Wait, wait, you’re asking me to try and kill a werewolf? Big guys who can turn into even bigger wolf people, and are usually pretty prone to tearing us limb from limb on sight? The ones who like to move through places in packs?”

His sire nodded. “Correct, except one point: they don’t always move together. Werewolves, when checking out a new area, will often send in one of their own alone. You can see the logic, of course; one werewolf is less likely to attract the same attention an entire pack would. The scouts they send into new locations are generally subtle, by werewolf standards anyway, and they’re careful by nature. They enter a new area, assess the situation, and make frequent reports back to the rest of the werewolf pack. From there, they determine exactly how they will proceed, usually in a way that leads to yet another war.”

“And I take it you want me to find this lone werewolf and take care of him?” Azrael asked.

“There will be no need to search for him. We have already made sure to maneuver him into a position where you will find him quite easily. All you need to do is take care of him, preferably after figuring out what information he has already gathered. We need to know exactly what it was he discovered so we can plan accordingly. I have yet to have a war with the werewolves in my city, and I don’t plan on allowing the beasts the chance to change that,” Alexandre explained.

Azrael frowned. “As much as I love a challenge, that sounds like a tall order. I’m not exactly equipped to take on a werewolf by myself.”

His master stood up, gesturing lightly with two fingers. “Come with me, and I will see to it you are well-equipped.”