The Missing Chronicles of Section One
The Missing Chronicles of Section One
It all happened when I found the diary in a box of old books, secreted in a cache in one of the sub-basements of Section One. Section One is the most covert anti-terrorist organization in the known universe and then some. Their ends are just, but their means are ruthless. The relationship between Section and its, Jesus, I hesitate to call us employees when the word "victims" springs to mind, is very simple and easy for anyone to grasp. If you don't play by their rules…you die. As you can guess, it's not a place you wander into. You end up here. Sorta like trash ends up in the dumpster. We are the flotsam and jetsam of the world. Dead to those who might have cared. But never missed.
My name is Birkoff. I'm twenty-five years old. I'm no virgin, but I might as well be. I've never been in love.
Till now.
The diary was very old. I was almost afraid to touch it. It looked fragile. The edges of the paper were thin, as if they'd been worn through by constant handling.
The ink wasn't so faded as to be indecipherable. It just wasn't the kind of thing I usually read. Or expected to find in a sub-basement of a place like Section One. There were rumors that Section One had been built over the ruins of a castle, but that didn't mean anything. In Europe, castles, along with their attendant titles, could be bought and sold for the price of a not-so-fine wine.
There was an inscription. "To my most beloved Donovan, my own Dark Warrior, Write what you will, and always, always keep our secrets close to your heart, as I am, Yours, Aleksei."
For some reason, it sent a chill over my entire body. At first, I thought, that's odd, a guy declaring what seemed to be undying love for another guy. What did that have to do with me?
That's when I realized that there was a story there. *Their* story. I cast furtive glances up and down the long dark corridor. No one ever came down this far but me. But an urgent need for safety and a rampant instinct for self-preservation led me to hide the diary inside my bulky sweatshirt.
I took it to my quarters where I locked the door and sat cross-legged on my bed.
That was just the beginning.
The first entry was dated March 2, 1800.
I was but a poor Irish boy with little chance of living to see tomorrow when I saw France for the first time. You would have thought I'd seen Heaven. Shanghaied by a ruthless band of cutthroats, I cursed my luck six ways to Sunday, only to find myself strangely grateful for the looks God had seen fit to give me.
With no money for a hair cut and more dirt than clothing covering my too-slender frame, they mistook me for a girl. Thinking to sell me to white slavers, no doubt. They never expected me to jump ship.
When I got to the docks, it was almost dusk. I was in a strange country. I didn't speak the language. And there was absolutely nowhere for me to go.
That was when I saw him.
Alucard. Or more precisely, Le Comte de Alucard.
He was dressed in fine clothes. Black silk. Black leather. Head to toe. I had no time to wonder what a gentleman would be doing on the quai at such an hour. In what seemed like moments, he was at my side.
"Are you hungry?"
I heard his words and some part of me knew that he was speaking French, but I could understand every single thing he said. How was that possible?
"I can…feed you."
I blinked and shook back my unruly red curls, wondering if he too had mistaken me for a girl. He stared at me, obviously waiting expectantly for something. Didn't he have any experience at all with poor wretches and sons-of-bitches like me? I had no manners. Manners were something I could ill afford. But I could thieve and con and run a good game. And be charming at the same time.
"What's your name, boy?"
Ah, so he did recognize my gender. I could feel my eyebrows raise in surprise. What protective coloration I had suddenly vanished.
"Donovan."
"How old are you, Donovan?"
My eyes narrowed. Not as young as you think. Not as old as you'd like.
"Sixteen," I lied, subtracting eight years from my real age.
That was when I found out that it was impossible to lie to Alucard. His eyes had some hypnotic power that drew you in and held you there, dangling, like a puppet whose strings had been cut and didn't have the sense to know that he should fall.
He reached out a finger to play with my hair and I flinched. His touch was rough and mean and not at all gentlemanly. "Shall I teach you what I know, Donovan?"
I shrugged. I had no idea what he knew.
That was my downfall.
The next entry was from the same date. I was transfixed. I didn't know how long I had been reading. Or even that I *was* reading. It felt so real.
But then, it was. For *them*.
What an arrogant young sod I was. To think I could take on a gentleman like Alucard. I saw a chance to get a hot meal. But more than that, I saw a chance to make money, the likes of which I would never see otherwise.
I wasn't so young that I didn't know what some men did with other men. As I said, I was as comely as a maiden with my long red hair, my silver-grey eyes, and my porcelain-like skin. I'd had my share of overtures. But that's all they were. Overtures.
Alucard was a man who rarely, if ever, denied himself. There were no overtures. There was only need.
That he wanted to fuck me didn't come as a surprise. I even expected to enjoy it. But he had other ideas.
When he gave me a warm bed, I knew there would be more than sleeping involved. He came to me in the middle of the night, under cover of almost total darkness, and whispered my name.
"Donovan…"
I opened my eyes with a start and there he was, his face not an inch away from mine. I should have been frightened. But I wanted him. I was rock-hard with the wanting, and I shook all over, like I had the ague.
His lips grazed mine, slowly, seductively, but at the last possible moment, something sharp tore at my mouth, making it bleed. He hissed and claimed the droplets that fell with his tongue.
"Yessss…"
That was the last coherent thought I had. He swooped down upon me, his naked body a strangely welcome weight on mine. I had no choice but to accept his will.
He was God and Satan all rolled into one.
It wasn't a pretty fuck, like I'd had with a few girls. It was hard and rough and fair to punishing, if truth be told. He came inside me with a wet heat that drove my climax from me with a wail.
That alone would have been enough to make him memorable. But no…there was more.
He seemed inordinately fond of my mouth, especially the place where the blood still trickled weakly. Slowly but steadily, he started to fuck me again. I was too far gone to know whether I was even able to come one more time.
As it turned out, it didn't matter.
His balls drew up and tightened in anticipation of orgasm, his cock an ardent spear that repeatedly pierced my tender opening. He licked lazily up and down the side of my neck, as if he were waiting for exactly the right moment to pounce.
He was.
His teeth, which were far longer and sharper than I had any right to believe they might be, sank deeply into my flesh. He howled his satisfaction as he came, drinking deep of the blood that poured forth from the wound he'd made.
I gasped as I felt my vision grow dim, my hearing grow faint. He was killing me.
"St-stop," I tried to cry out. But it was no use. I knew that.
Just as I suddenly knew what he was.
But as luck would have it, he was not yet done with me. He could have drained me dry. I was already dead. Already damned. But he didn't.
Instead he turned me. Awakened me to an unnatural thirst that could never be slaked by any human means and a deepening hunger that went beyond the flesh.
There were no words of love. This was an unearthly coupling that had its roots in Hell.
He wasn't kind. He wasn't mean. He simply was.
I stayed with him for three years. Traveling. Fucking. It never got deeper than that with us. I wasn't his Consort. His Chosen One. No, that privilege was reserved for someone far more refined than me.
But damned if he didn't teach me manners somewhere along the way.
It dimly occurred to me that someone *might* miss me if I didn't show up for my tour in Comm. But it was with great reluctance that I put away the diary.
The hours passed slowly, even though I was running Tactical Oversight on two live missions. No one died. Nothing eventful happened. Nothing remarkable turned up. I could hardly wait to break away.
I gingerly ran my fingers over the pages that *he* touched. Donovan. I said his name out loud and startled myself into a fit of the giggles. I suppose if there were any kind of logic in the universe I would have been attracted to Alucard. But no…there was something far more intriguing about Donovan. A young man of no means standing up to an older man of considerable wealth, not to mention ill repute?
I wished I could meet him.
With a sigh, I opened the diary to the page where I left off. I couldn't believe I was hopelessly infatuated with a man who stopped being available over two hundred years ago.
I was never an ambitious sort. I suppose that was how I ended up thieving for a living rather than earning an honest day's wage as a laborer. Then again, living by your wits was never as easy as it sounded. Perhaps I just liked a challenge.
My new life certainly gave me that. Alucard was a member of the aristocracy, though decadence had clearly taken its toll over the years, and he demanded blind obedience. I, on the other hand, had never taken any man's orders before, and I saw no reason to start.
However, I soon discovered that the bond between Sire and Childe was an unequal one. He could, and often did, compel me to do things. Horrible things. Things I could never have contemplated doing in my former life. Tis a shame that my imagination was so vivid that my memory seldom failed me.
Still, as I grew stronger, I did not openly seek to confront him. I wanted only my freedom. Freedom to become a Master vampire in my own right. Freedom to find some like spirit, I could hardly call it soulmate, and spend my nights as *I* wished.
On the surface, our parting seemed amicable. We went our separate ways and for a year, I concentrated on amassing enough power to make my dream a reality.
Alucard, forced to acknowledge that I was now a Master, made pretty speeches that his eyes declared to be lies, and I suddenly knew that he did not want me to succeed. He could have stopped me. He was still the stronger.
But he didn't. Probably to his eternal regret.
It was time to go to bed. But I couldn't sleep, not without reading more about Donovan's fate. I did all the stuff I normally did: brushed my teeth, washed my face, went to the bathroom. But when I got ready for bed, I slid naked under the bed linens, shivering at the feel of the rough cotton sheets abrading my bare skin.
I turned off all the lights except one. The one on my bedside table. Then I rolled onto my stomach to press my aching dick against the mattress.
While I continued to read…
I never turned my back on him. But I did lose sight of him. From what I heard, Alucard went to America, searching for, you should pardon the expression, fresh blood. He came back even more powerful than before. Flanked by new minions who hastened to assuage his magnificent ego.
But I scarcely noticed.
For the first time in my entire wretched life, or death, as the case seemed to be, I found someone who understood me so completely that it frightened me.
Aleksei.
I first met Aleksei at Versailles. By that time, I had crafted a reputation of my own as a bon vivant. There was a certain irony in that I alone could appreciate. I surrounded myself with the usual entourage of hopeless sycophants and beautiful women, but the reality was that my interests lay elsewhere. Still, though society showed an alarming tendency to overlook the most aberrant behavior, I kept those interests to myself.
We were formally introduced at the beginning of the evening. Prince Aleksandr Kuryakin was one of a veritable procession of royalty and our hosts had thoughtfully provided an appropriate receiving line. He was younger than I expected. About my age. Or, to be more accurate, the same age I was when I was brought across. His looks were quite striking. Hair the color of fine cognac falling in waves to his shoulders. Eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate kissed by the sun. His skin was so pale and smooth, I might have mistaken him for one of *us*, but for the pulse that beat restively at the side of his neck.
I bowed, but I could not prevent myself from taking the most outrageous of liberties. I grasped his hands in mine, as though he were a woman, and kissed the back of them. His gasp opened that delicious mouth and I wanted to kiss it, right then and there, in front of everyone. Somehow only the strongest instinct for self-preservation saved me from doing just that.
I knew that my eyes were glowing, but I fervently hoped that the light was bad enoug h that no one would notice. He did, though.
"What is your name, Sir?"
"Donovan McLaren, your Highness."
"Ah, you're Scottish?"
"No, your Highness. Only a misbegotten Irishman whose father was a bit confused." This I said with tongue in cheek, hoping to see the Prince smile again. I was rewarded with dancing eyes, if not an outright grin.
"There will be dancing later."
"So there will."
"Shall I see you there then?" he asked, his husky voice covering me like melted caramel.
"Aye, you can count on it, Aleksei." At his raised eyebrow, I quickly added, "Your Highness," as well as another bow.
Tugging my forelock, I said, "Begging your pardon, your Highness."
"Only if you answer my question."
"Surely."
"Why do you call me Aleksei? Do you consider yourself my equal?"
"Oh, no, Sire," I apologized. I could, and would, have stood up to anyone who challenged me this way, no matter if they be royalty. But I could not, and would not, offend this sweet young man whose lips called to me as though they were meant to be kissed by me, and only me.
"Friend then, perhaps. I have need of a…friend."
His voice was like a caress that spun me wildly out of control, and I found myself reading all manner of things into that word. Friend. If my heart still beat, it would have left my chest.
His eyes met mine and everything around us faded away.
"The Hall of Mirrors," he whispered. "At 8."
My whole body tingled with excitement. Despite the lateness of the hour, I was no closer to sleep now than I was earlier. Aleksei! That was the other name inscribed on the inside cover of the diary. So…he was a Russian Prince. I was raised in Section One. I couldn't remember anything about my parents or my childhood so I made up stories. One of my favorites just happened to be about being descended from royalty. *Russian* royalty. I mean, Birkoff *was* a Russian name. But suddenly it struck me as one hell of a weird coincidence. Even if I had no idea what it meant.
I sighed heavily. Probably just wishful thinking.
He was waiting for me in the Hall of Mirrors. It was a good place for a first meeting. There were enough people exploring it and its environs for the young royal to feel comfortable without his guards if he so desired. I couldn't blame him for being careful. What did he really know about me? Only what I told him. While I could certainly be charming, I wouldn't characterize myself as *reliable*. Merely dangerous.
Still he sent them away, frowning and muttering what had to be swear words in Russian.
"You came."
"You sound surprised, Sire."
"If I am, tis myself I'm surprised by, not you, Mr. McLaren."
"Please, call me Donovan. If we're to be…friends." I gave the word the same pregnant pause that he did when we met, wondering if he would notice.
He did.
"I have had…friends…before, Donovan. Sometimes…they could not be trusted."
"With your safety, your Highness?"
"With my heart, Donovan," he said boldly, making certain there could be no mistaking his meaning.
"But we have just met, your Highness. I can assure you that if I *did* wish to play with a part of your body, it would not be your *heart*."
Dark eyelashes the color of soot swept down to cover his expressive eyes. "I fear you are too forward, Donovan. We should not be having this conversation."
"What better reason to have it, Sire?"
His eyes opened and my being was flooded with a torment I had never known. "You play at things I want so badly," he whispered. "Please…"
He was so close, our bodies were mere inches away from touching. How could he call this play?
We were so preoccupied with each other, neither one of us noticed that we had stopped walking. People continued to move around us on both sides, but no one gave us more than a cursory glance. The Prince stared into the mirror behind me, his eyes suddenly widening. He had discovered that I could not cast a reflection. Using this to my advantage, I put my hands on his shoulders and spun him around to face me. "You're looking in the wrong direction. I'm over here."
Tilting his head as though he were momentarily confused, Prince Aleksandr presented me with a temptation I could not resist. That mouth that begged for me to kiss it.
"'Leksei," I breathed, shortening his name affectionately.
It caught him off-balance, enough so that I could claim that plump lower lip, possessively tugging it into my mouth.
"Donovan!" He melted in my arms like the sweet confection that he was.
"I want to show you the Gardens," I entreated, knowing I could use my now-considerable power as a vampire to hypnotize him into submitting. But that wasn't what I wanted. What I needed.
I needed him to come willingly. And he *would* come.
Despite rampant curiosity as well as a raging hard-on, I fell into a restless sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I didn't remember anything but bits and pieces of what seemed to be a surrealistic dream. I felt odd. It was sort of like I knew I was supposed to remember something, only I couldn't for the life of me recall what it was.
I know I was preoccupied. Enough for other people to notice. Walter grabbed me the first chance he got and let me have it, right between the eyes.
"You trying to get yourself cancelled?"
I could feel his hand on my arm, but it didn't register. All I could do was look at him helplessly while I tried to quell the overwhelming urge to run back to my quarters and read more of Donovan's diary.
"What's wrong with you, Seymour?"
"Seymour? My name's not Seymour, it's—" I froze, unable to utter another word.
Walter looked scared. But he didn't want to call attention to us. He pulled me into the back of Munitions.
"If you're not Seymour, who are you?"
"I don't know."
I started to laugh, tears literally exploding from my eyes and rolling down both cheeks. Until Walter grabbed hold of me and shook me.
"This isn't funny, Birkoff."
"You're telling me," I said, laughter dying in my throat.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
I slid out of his grasp and backed away, shaking my head slowly. Walter didn't try to stop me this time. I didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened.
I finished out my tour, but the next thing I knew, I was back in my quarters, curled up with the diary. Great, I thought, now I don't even have sense enough to be scared.
The Gardens at Versailles were truly beautiful. At night, even more so. But that wasn't what riveted my attention. It was my companion.
"Aleksei…"
The breeze blew a few waving tendrils of his hair across his face and it was all I could do not to brush them away with my fingertips.
"I'm glad you showed me this."
"I'm glad you sent your guards away for the night," I said in an equally husky tone. "Does it mean what I hope it means?"
"That we won't be disturbed?"
"That there'll *be* something to disturb," I replied quickly, daring to speak my mind. I could feel hope swelling in what passed for my heart. I wanted it to be true.
His eyes were so unfathomably dark, but then…that was why I had brought him to the Gardens at night. My vampiric senses were attuned to all the various sounds of the night, and I could easily hear ardent lovers of both sexes, well hidden as they were behind a mountainous wall of hedge.
"What do my eyes tell you?" he whispered.
My breath caught in my throat. I didn't think I had ever heard such an openly romantic overture before. I wasn't sure what to do. I knew what he was offering me. It was what I wanted. Even needed. But this…this heartbreakingly beautiful young man was upping the stakes.
This wasn't just about sex anymore.
And if it wasn't, I wasn't sure I could play.
He laced his fingers through mine. He wore no jewelry save for a huge signet ring that bore his family crest on his right hand. "Come upstairs with me."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm inviting you to my private chambers, Donovan. I trust you."
"Perhaps your trust is misplaced, Sire."
"Sire? What happened to Aleksei?"
"I don't know if I can give you what you deserve." I dropped my gaze to my feet. I had never felt so uncertain in my life and beyond.
He tugged gently on my hands and I eventually yielded, following him blindly back to the palace. When we reached his rooms, he dispersed his staff with an imperious wave and a terse order in what I assumed to be Russian.
I hung back, whether out of fear or a sudden attack of conscience, I didn't know. I was unaccustomed to being led. But all at once I realized that I had crossed a line somewhere and there could be no going back for me. For us.
His bedchamber was magnificent. I should have felt offended by its relentlessly white motif, but instead I felt uplifted. As if someone like me could be made pure again. Tears stung my eyes for a moment, though I didn't dare reveal them to him. I couldn't bear to look at him. My very touch was desecration to that body.
"Donovan?"
"After all the disappointment and the heartbreak that you've had, how do you dare?"
"Dare what?"
"Bring someone like me into your midst. I am so un—"
He put his fingers to my lips in an effort to silence me and I could not help but kiss them. "I am not worthy," I whispered when he allowed me to speak.
"I believe you are," he whispered back.
"You don't know me."
"Oh, but I do," he said, with such feeling that I *had* to pay attention.
"You still believe in love."
"I have to. I have no other words for what I feel for you."
It struck me full force. His indirect declaration of love buoyed my spirit, awakening emotions that I thought were buried long ago. But I didn't trust them. My feelings were like the insubstantial things I surrounded myself with, easily indulged and of little consequence later. I didn't want that for Aleksei. If I broke his heart, he might never heal. And the thought of him, all alone in the world, with no one to love him, made me sad.
Another thought followed on the heels of that one and gave me pause. What if he *did* find someone else? What if he took me at my word and found someone who *could* love him?
I didn't want Aleksei to be with anyone else. I wanted him to be mine. *My* Aleksei.
But if I put that into words…wasn't I as crazy as he was? Dreaming that this could work?
"There's something I have to tell you—" The urgency in my tone must have alerted him that this was no ordinary secret.
"Will it change how I feel about you?"
"Probably. Yes." But there was no way that I could take him *without* telling him. Alucard brought me across without telling *me*. But what choices did I truly have? This was different. *Aleksei* was different.
He looked fearful, but I knew instinctively that his fear was not of me, but of what I might say to alter his feelings. "Then I don't want to know."
I admired his bravery, but this wasn't a secret that *could* be kept. "You'll know anyway."
I traced a finger over his mouth, wondering if I was attempting to talk him out of going to bed with me or loving me. For him, they were the same thing. For me…well, it had been an unconscionably long time since I explored my own feelings.
"You think I'm going to feel betrayed."
"I know you will."
"What if I told you that I already know your secret and it makes no difference to me *what* you are?"
I thrust my hands into his hair and claimed his mouth in a blatant act of possession. My fangs scraped over his lower lip as I broke off the kiss.
It was as close to a declaration of love as I could get.
"Take me, Donovan," he exhorted in a whisper that traveled the length of my body.
"You'll belong to me," I warned. "You'll be mine. Forever."
A strange light kindled in those dark eyes, and not for the first time, I thought, who's leading who? "Will you belong to me? Forever?"
I could honestly say that I never knew what I wanted till that moment. "Yes." It was more than an affirmation; it was a bloody vow. It gave him a power over me that I had given no one, including Alucard.
Without speaking a word, we undressed each other with shaking hands. We spoke words of love in utter silence, and, in the end, we took each other.
I pressed him back into that exquisitely soft white mattress and bared his neck. I could sense the blood pulsing beneath the surface of that alabaster-like skin and licked a path from his jawline to the base of his throat.
When my lips drew back to expose my fangs, I could feel his heart pound. "Don't be afraid," I whispered.
"I'm not," he whispered back. "I love you."
I slid deep inside him, and it felt so much like coming home that it was all I could do not to cry. I wound my fingers through his hair and buried my face against his neck, breathing hard. I could hear the words in my head, over and over and over, and suddenly they had more power than I did.
"I love you," I murmured.
He came apart in my arms, spilling his seed between us, and I lost the battle with what passed for my conscience. I sank my teeth into his flesh as I came, my salty wetness pumping into his narrow channel. I tasted blood, freely offered, and drank.
And when he hovered near death, his lips quivered "Thank you," and I stroked his hair as I wept. Even the short time we would be apart would be too long. So I gathered him into my arms and watched over him as he fell into eternal sleep.
My tears would still be wet when he awakened.
