Fucking vampires. The stench of them of nearly unbearable. They were all surrounded by death and bullshit and money. Tyler had yet to meet a poor vampire. He was pretty certain there were no such things as poverty-stricken vampires, or if there were they were probably murdered by the rich ones. Couldn’t have a vampire begging for money on the street corners making all the others look bad.

“So you’ve brought your watchdog,” spoke the cultured voice of some bloodsucker that Tyler had even bothered to learn the name of. He stood next to Jean-Baptiste Trencavel, probably the only one of the needle fanged arseholes that Tyler could tolerate, much less actually consider himself ‘friends’ with. Tyler was here in this den of holier than thou, or was it more damned than thou vampires for Jean-Baptiste. Tyler had a colorful mouth and usually had little kindness to say about any vampire. However Jean-Baptiste had been the one who had saved his own furry hide and though werewolves did not have a life debt as far as Tyler knew, he decided that if Jean needed his help, Tyler would do whatever he could.

Jean waved a hand in front of Tyler. He hadn’t realized that he was growling, and though he was completely human in appearance at the moment, the sound from his throat was all wolf. Tyler stopped and crossed his arms over his well-muscled chest. He barely grasped vampire politics, it was ridiculously complicated, and even tiny infractions could get you beheaded. In truth, probably it was just to keep the vampire population down. Still all he knew was that he was in his trailer watching TV when Jean-Baptiste called, saying he had a meeting with the Regent of the City and he needed Tyler’s protection.