"What, curious? Me? No," he practically yelped. He could feel his cheeks heat up and knew he had turned red. Ryah shook his head. "I'm not a--a--fag," he insisted. He remembered how kids in high school had thrown that word around like confetti, shoving each other into lockers, he remembered wondering what it had meant. He remembered everyone calling Oliver that. Small, thin, effeminate little Oliver, with big grey eyes and pale, pale skin. Oliver, whose gaze had lingered on the other boys. It had been obvious back then, that his classmate had gay.<br/><br/>Ryah was nothing like that.<br/><br/>Not that there was anything wrong with being gay. Because there wasn't. Ryah just wasn't gay himself.<br/><br/>"We think there's a vampire," he finally answered. A gay vampire. That stalked its prey in nightclubs. And apparently didn't like tall, muscular blonds. When Ryah said it outloud, it, quite frankly, sounded a little ridiculous. But regardless of how it sounded, he had been tasked with taking care of the problem. Three men had gone missing so far. Most likely dead, or worse. Ryah had planned to go out that night, to the club.