William didn't care about his power or even the properties and money that he had hoped would go to his mortal heir, but there was one thing William didn't want Malcolm to claim. One very important thing he had to protect even if it was with his last breath. But he knew now that was lost as well. Knew it as clearly as he knew he was moments away from slipping out of existence.
He shuddered with the effort to pull in a breath deep enough to make his words heard, not caring if they sounded like a plea. “Don't make it hurt. Don't make him suffer, please."
Malcolm ran two fingertips down William's less damaged cheek, the touch sensuous and possessive, but with an element of hesitation.
"Why should I do that, William? What has earned him that privilege?"
Lying inches from Malcolm's handsome, angular face, with Malcolm's weight crushing down on him, William accepted the intimate touch in death that he had refused to accept in life.
He had always been attracted to the man physically, but Malcolm's sometimes brutally cruel warrior nature had been too great a barrier for William to ignore. It had even brought them to this closing chapter in their relationship. In the long run, Malcolm did not take rejection well.
"My dying request.” William shivered and gasped, life draining away alarmingly fast, but he found enough will to lock stares with Malcolm hovering over him. He watched as Malcolm's cold glare churned to something dark, heated, and unspoken. “If you ever loved me at all, show him mercy."
The dark look froze, quickly replaced with a bitter stare. “Mercy?” Malcolm chuckled and traced the outline of William's swollen lips. “What is that?"
"Yes, mercy.” Malcolm's fingers moved with William's mouth as he talked, and William didn't bother to shake them off, even going so far as to let his tongue flick against them as he moistened his lips between words, using all the weapons at his disposal to sway the vampire. “Have you lost touch so completely with humanity that you forget the meaning of the word? Isn't that one of the coveted traits of the finest of warriors? Mercy with victory?"
Malcolm's response was low, guttural, and cruel. “You know nothing of being a warrior nor of me!"
Now, even with nothing left to lose, the older vampire's ability to thrust paralyzing menace into mere words still made William cringe, but it didn't stop him from fighting back with more words of his own.
"I know you've won. I'm not sorry to leave this life. You've won this battle and, with it, everything I possess. If you're still are a true warrior, show him mercy. Don't lose touch with the human you once were, Malcolm. Don't lose yourself completely to this unholy existence. Please, don't make him suffer because of me."
"Always the altruist, even now when brute strength would have served you better.” Malcolm's sneer had lost some of its sharpness, the bitterness replaced by a glimmer of something William read as grudging respect or maybe veiled affection.
He used it to push home his point as his last breath escaped his crumbling body. “You are the most powerful, Malcolm, the winner. But what will show the better man? The brutal winner or the merciful one?"
Malcolm's nostrils flared, his cold eyes narrowed, and William's heart sank. “Brutal or merciful, the winner still takes all."
With a last defeated sigh, William's spark of unearthly life faded and his body turned to ash, dissolving under the weight of Malcolm's body, leaving the ancient vampire lying in the dust of the man who had once been his most steadfast detractor and his unachieved fondest desire.
His own hand was full of the ash that had once been William's left hand. Malcolm rolled the gold wedding band left behind in his palm. He read the inscription, then slipped it into his pocket as he rose to his feet. He didn't even try to brush the ash from his clothes.
* * * *
Malcolm couldn't believe the young man's name was actually Hunter. Hunter Pray. It was absurd and yet fitting at the same time. Since Hunter's father's demise five months ago by Malcolm's hand, the young freelance photographer had become the ancient vampire's hunted prey. Hunter was the last chip to be cashed in from the deadly high-stakes game that Malcolm and William had played and that William had lost. The twenty-four-year-old was the final acquisition for Malcolm. The one he had saved for last. The only remaining piece of his rival's most treasured possessions to claim. And the sweetest.
He had even begun entering Hunter's apartment while he slept, just to unnerve the human, play with him. He would enter by the perpetually open window and stand in the shadows until, even in sleep; the young man would sense a presence. Then he would vanish faster than Hunter's reactions could track him, always moving slow enough that the human's disoriented senses registered the flash of movement, the rustle of cloth, the swoosh of air as he departed out the sixth-floor window in the twenty-story apartment building. He knew from experience how unnerved it would leave his victims.
That was just the first three nights.
Now he came to marvel at how like the father the son was. William had had a small dimple in the corner of his mouth that never relaxed, not even in slumber. Hunter possessed the same dimple and the same full, deeply pink lips. So, entranced, Malcolm started watching Hunter from a distance during his waking hours as well.
When awake, the human's eyes shone with the familiar, intense, consuming interest in life that William's had held, and Hunter's physical mannerisms mimicked his father's—rapid, impatient, energetic, and impulsive. Malcolm almost regretted his decision to end the existence of a human so enamored with living. But then, that would make the prize all the more
