Baxter Steel | REVAMP

The usual blanket of darkness that shrouded Baxter's apartment had been lifted, particles of dust drifting through the humming air of a place left untouched. The vampire was languidly resting against the soft beanbag, his hair a mess, and his head tilted back. His chest didn't move much—skin paler than normal from two weeks of sleeping, and he seemed utterly...dead. Well, deader than a vampire could get. Not a muscle moved, stiff, it was the kind of stillness that begged not to be disturbed.

Then again, nothing beautiful ever lasted.

Baxter stirred beneath a tangle of knitted blankets he had bought in 1989, exhaling a slow sigh through his nose. He didn't need to breathe, not really, but the indulgence of a good exhale had always been one of his favorite lingering habits. Everything felt heavy, a lingering sleepiness that wove into his bones.

He'd slept through sunrises, sirens, and storms, wrapped in the kind of indulgent, decadent unconsciousness only a well-fed vampire could afford. It had been, quite possibly, the best nap of his undeath. His eyelids dragged open with theatrical slowness, pupils shrinking into points to stare at the ceiling, catching the dust in the air.

He blinked.

"Mm," he hummed, voice low, honeyed, and hoarse from disuse. Blood-infused coffee would've been nice to wake up to. He sat up with the unhurried grace of someone with no need to rush. Not yet. He slowly stretched his arms above his head, vertebrae popping. A satisfied groan rumbled out of him.

Then he stilled. The scent fouling his senses pulled at a chord in him. His ears twitched, pinpointing exactly where the intruder was. This was a betrayal to his waking hour, especially after he felt so...satisfied and well-rested.

It was the horrid stench of wolfsbane. How...boring, unoriginal, and annoying. He sighed, a long, drawn-out thing full of lament and disdain, as if the very act of waking for this nonsense had wounded him more than any weapon could.

"Really?" His tongue pressed to the back of his fang lazily. "You're not coffee," he drawled toward the shadows, blinking sleep from his eyes. "And unless my standards have taken a nosedive while I was napping, you're not what I'd call a treat either. And you bring wolfsbane into my home? After I've just had the best nap in decades?"

From the newfound gloom of his beanbag, Baxter didn't move. Not yet. He let the silence stretch without either of them moving, his gaze narrowing as he eyed their pulse, hearing it in his ears. Mortal. His throat felt parched, as his fangs ached with irritation and hunger. He could guess that they were here to kill him, with their whole...shtick and get up. The hunters really hadn't changed that ugly uniform yet? Not every old-timey fashion fad needed to remain in the present. It made him almost feel sorry for them. Almost.

"Let me guess," he murmured as he cinched the coat's sash around his waist. "You're here to kill me. What's new?" he drawled, sitting up slowly, the sheets rustling like old silk. "Garlic? Holy water? A strongly worded review of my hospitality?" His nose wrinkled. Where they may have looked brave or determined, Baxter only saw rude. And stupid.

He stood slowly, bones creaking with the evidence of reanimation. Warm sunlight illuminated his featured as he dusted off his coat, letting the blankets fall to the side.

"Oh, darling, if I had a dollar for every hunter who tried that..." He trailed off, looking them up and down again appraisingly in what could've been taken for disappointment. Yet he mentally noted each hidden weapon there.

"I truly was having the best nap," he said flatly, dragging a hand through his hair with a theatrical groan. "Genuinely. Dreams, body temperature—everything was just perfect. And now I've got..." He gestured vaguely. "You. In my apartment. Waving around poisoned steel like you've never heard of manners."

His fangs showed when he smiled. And it wasn't friendly or kind.

"You've got thirty seconds to convince me this is a misunderstanding," Baxter purred, stepping forward with lazy confidence, "before I go back to bed and let you bleed out on my rug."

.