Chapter 3

He prowled through the mansion grounds, crouched and ready to attack. Dressed in black from head to toe; t-shirt, gloves, jeans and athletic shoes for the more dangerous maneuvers. Not that he anticipated danger; he just liked to be prepared. A peeking five o'clock shadow and shaggy, dark brown hair, added to his shadowy appearance.

Cautiously, he monitored the security cameras, making sure the timing was just right for his next move. He slid into position, next to the hedges growing just below a large balcony, surveying the outside for an easy point of entry. He was considering breaking in the old fashioned way when he saw that a second story window was cracked. Granted, it was a fifteen feet jump from the balcony, but he'd make it.

With a final glance towards the cameras, he crept into position.

Nowhere near the security a place this big needs.

Stealthily, he inched closer darting to another bush, when he heard footsteps. He crouched low to the ground and stilled his movements. His breathing calmed and his heart rate slowed. He didn't want to give away his position or the element of surprise. A guard passed by at a leisurely pace, pausing to receive a radio transmission.

"Clint." The squawk of the radio was deafeningly loud in the silent night air.

"Yeah boss?"

"Your wife called. Get your ass back to the command post so we don't have to hear her voice any longer than necessary."

"Roger that." The guard took off at almost a run.

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and watched as the guard disappeared from sight. Slowly extending to his full height, he eyed the distance between his position and the balcony above. He could make it. With merely a four-step run, he landed the two-story jump.

He latched onto the railing, using it as an anchor to pull himself up and over, and land lightly on the other side. Standing, he flattened his back against the wall and moved noiselessly down its length. Barely more than a shadow to anyone who cared to look.

Slowly, he twisted the door handles lining the balcony. To his surprise, a door slid open on the third attempt. Covertly he moved to just the right angle before peering inside. It was a security room, filled with men and computers. It didn't get better than that. Reaching back he pulled the pistol from his jeans, his fingers sliding expertly over the trigger. He exhaled softly to loosen his nerves, before he moved forward.

He took out three people before anyone noticed; the scream drew their attention to the doorway. It didn't take the guards long to act and pull a gun but he took it in stride, effortlessly nailing each person before moving on to the next. When he looked up, there was only one man left who possessed a look of shock across his face. He moved up close, staring him in the eye before pulling the trigger. Turning, he examined the victims of his attack. His face broke into a grin as he announced, "You're all dead." Then whirled around, and continued to fire into the face of the chief of security with the water pistol.

The stunning hazel of his eyes glittered as he let loose a good-natured laugh. Several of the soaked guards were making it back to their feet. Some flashing glares; others smiling and shaking their heads. The head of security fumed at Ethan, but he just smiled wide and slipped the barrel of the gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger a few times. "It's not funny, Ethan. We were all ready to kill you, until we recognized your face. I should have at least shot you for ruining my suit."

Ethan sighed, his expression turning serious. "No, William. What's not funny is that one man was able to penetrate the grounds undetected, let alone make it all the way to the security room." William squirmed under Ethan's gaze, "You, my friend, need to upgrade. There should be motion sensors, at least at the top of the fences; more security cameras, and a lock down policy for door and windows. If I had been armed tonight with a real gun, you'd all really be dead."

Ethan left the room; satisfied his point had been made. He threw the water pistol on a passing end table and pulled off his gloves, pressing them into his back pocket. He descended the stairs expecting to see more people.

I must be missing something. Oh well.

At the bottom of the stairs he turned left to head toward the kitchen.

The kitchen, like the rest of the mansion, was a statement of wealth. The tile flooring and granite countertops fell in line with the latest styles and showed little-to-no signs of use. Top-of-the-line appliances graced the walls like showroom pieces.

And it would be so easy to mistake this for a showroom.

A frown flickered across his face, leaving when he spotted a man happily stocking the fridges behind the bar.

"Mark! Just the man I wanted to see," Ethan said in a friendly but cool tone as he walked over. "Restocking again? Don't you ever get a break?"

Mark smiled at his companion, "Not when you're in charge of providing blood for a mansion full of vampires. What can I get you, buddy?" Ethan shifted over the bar, leaning in to inspect the goods.

"Is it still fresh?"

"Of course! Who do you think I am?" The insulted tone of Mark voice was broken by the smile on his face.

"Kill or blood bank?"

"Blood drive. " Mark's tone was nonchalant, emphasizing the last word, before turning back to his duties. There was a moment of silence as Mark rifled through the bins contents and refilled the empty shelves.

Ethan couldn't hide the surprise in his voice when he spoke "But it's not the fifteenth!"

"The fifteenth fell in the middle of the week. I decided to bump the day up to this weekend, considering we always get a better crowd on the weekends. And how fast the lot of you go through blood." He added with a roll of his eyes, "you'd think it was candy."

Ethan glanced at the empty space around him, "Seeing how there isn't the normal line up and down the hall, I take it no one remembered?"

Mark flashed a wry smile, pushing the black hair off his face. He lowered his head down and started to sort through the packets "Didn't really tell anyone. Besides I'm head of the blood department, and what I say goes. If they don't like it they can go hunt for themselves; or find a willing human." his reply was muffled at best.

Ethan's smile doubled in size and his voice became enthusiastic when he realized everything that Mark was implying. "So you mean; I've got first pick on fresh blood? You've got to be kidding me!"

Mark smirked and turned around "Well, not exactly, I'm trying to find this girl's blood I met today at the donation clinic. Great little brunette, full of life and sweet, I'm thinking that maybe I should ask her out."

Ethan's mood turned sour, as he scuffed. "You're going on date with a human? You know how badly that could end?"

Mark grinned profusely at his friend, "So I want to date her." Mark shrugged, "It's not like I professed my undying love for the girl and decided to turn her to save my soul. I've got a while yet before my soul mate clock runs out of time, thank you very much." Ethan looked at him skeptically, before reaching forward and snatching the bin away.

"Hey that's not fair man! I get first pick, I worked all day." He glared at Ethan, before rolling his eyes and moving to stand beside him.

Haphazardly, the two men dug through the blood bags. To an outsider the labels would bear little relevance to the apparent cause of a drive. Each one listed the donor's age, blood type, gender and name. Ethan's stomach growled at the sight of the crimson liquid. The clear plastic withheld its luscious scent from the world, from him. The life it held left those who consumed it near physical perfection, with a similarity to their appearance.

It wasn't long before Ethan's famous impatience reared its head. He simply grabbed a few bags from the top, a glass, and stomped out the kitchen not even pausing to say good-bye.

Two flights of stairs later, Ethan pushed the door open to his room. The room itself resembled more of a large apartment. The windows were draped in velvet of a rich jade green, matching the rug in front of the fireplace. The dark blue armchairs begged to be lounged in. The four-poster bed was made of a dark mahogany with a matching antique armoire and bedside tables. While the room was beautiful, it was void of all signs of life. Clean and polished, not a book out of place, or a speck of dust on the fireplace.