A Heart Beats At Night

Chapter 18

Viktor considered what he knew.

First, Yuuri seemed genuinely interested in his research. It was something more than a means to an end (or rather, someone else's end) – there was a spark of passion. Second, the two hunters did not appear to actually be hunting, as such. They showed very little interest in searching for specific individuals, but instead focused on new threads of information to tug and worry. Third, this collection of knowledge would be the holy grail of amateur slayers, allowing them to learn to kill before nuance and compassion. Viktor shuddered to think of the inevitable bloodshed, driven by ignorance, fear, and hatred.

And fourth, that such a work, in the right hands, could as easily be a lifeline as a knife to the heart. The inherent danger of traveling, with its strange territory and unpredictable circumstances, was a deterrent that had heretofore successfully prevented most vampires from forming a community outside of their immediate area, leaving their collective knowledge fragmented, continually lost and rediscovered.

Some would view it as an unacceptable break from tradition, the passing down of information between generations – but many others would count their losses, the majority of their kind who never made it past the first few years, and take that chance.

No more kneeling beside fresh graves, fighting down a rising flood of uncertainty and tentative grief. Another shield against near misses (and worse), when experience failed.

A way to catch those who fell through the cracks when they woke up alone and bewildered in the cellar of an abandoned warehouse.

Katsuki Yuuri wanted to help people. To save them.

Maybe Viktor could stop him from doing just the opposite – or maybe, just maybe, he could convince Yuuri that there was a better way. A safer way.

Because, fifth, the life of a vampire hunter was to kill or be killed.

:: :: ::

Myshónok and Zoyenka sprawled across Otabek's lap. He matched his breaths to the steady tempo of their purrs and draped his arm loosely over Yuri's sleeping form.

He's okay, he's here, I can wake him up.

Not that he would have the heart to do so. A tiny scowl creased Yuri's forehead as Otabek carefully set the orange cat on the floor after Myshónok rolled over with a squeaky chirp. Not quite asleep yet, Otabek determined. He swung his legs up onto the couch. Zoyenka stretched out to take full advantage of the space, kicking Yuri in the process. He mumbled something unintelligible but obviously vulgar before relaxing again.

The movie played on. Otabek couldn't understand more than a word here and there – neither of them had noticed it defaulted to German – and the soothing drone began to lull him into a doze.

He thought about turning it off, so as to not disturb Yuri with the noise, but decided to let it play on. Yuri had always been able to sleep through anything, after all; once he was out, it would take an army to rouse him again.

The soundtrack rose and fell, just loud enough to let him forget the uncanny hush of Yuri's body as Otabek drifted into a muzzy drowse. He wouldn't sleep – the night was too pleasant to interrupt with the vivid dreams that would inevitably creep from the edges of his mind.

Otabek smiled down at Yuri through half-lidded eyes. His expression was peaceful once more, somehow miles away from the unnatural tranquility he'd worn in the moment that Otabek had, for years, thought of as the last time I'll ever see him.