Eternal Darkness

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Author: Knight Rob | Tortuga B A | Michael Sean

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Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com Copyright ©2006 by Rob Knight First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2006 NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Table of contents Foreword by Rob Knight Love is Blindness by Sean Michael The Hit by Sara Bell Hunger for the Edge by Angel and Star A Light to His Darkness by Jennifer Joyce Blinded by the Light by Syd McGinley Guapo by BA Tortuga About our Contributors


Foreword By Rob Knight Vampires are steeped in the culture of almost every society on earth. From the old vampire tales of eastern Europe to the modern novels of well-known American authors, they capture our imagination. They're all but indestructible, eternal figures that bring us romance, mystery, and reminders of our own mortality. What if the vampire becomes vulnerable, though? That's the premise of Eternal Darkness. Wandering through the dark night of blindness for all time, the vampires of Eternal Darkness have to depend on skill, luck, and sometimes human companionship to stay alive. Whether the man was blind before he became a vampire or the blindness is a condition of vampirism, Eternal Darkness gives the vampire a sense of necessity, a sense of desperation. Survival becomes an issue, as does finding a lover that one can trust. Vampires are primal figures, and taking away one of their senses just makes them more alluring, not less. That hint of a crack in the armor gives them both the disadvantage and the edge. These stories thrilled and delighted me. I hope they do the same for you. Rob Knight, October 2006

Love is Blindness By Sean Michael One Latte in one hand, Kerouac in the other. Jamie and Lindsey arguing magical realism next to him, Ben sneaking a joint on the other side, periodically sneaking him long, quiet drags from Ben's sweet soft mouth. Man, Friday nights were the best. One of his students—some heavy-set chick with curly red hair and a whiskey-colored voice—was up at the mic, doing a damned good job of slamming. The subject matter was a little boring—how many premenstrual, blood-soaked pseudo-prayers to the joys of womanhood and Kali could any man appreciate? Still, the metaphors didn't suck. The doors opened, letting in the cold late fall air. It was unusual for anyone to show up mid-slam, so it couldn't be a regular. Three Goths came in, all girls with a tall man in the midst of them. He was dressed all in black with dark


hair and a pale, pale face. Still, there was something about him that set him apart from his black-clad, white-faced companions; as if they were playing dress-up and he wasn't. Kieran watched them move, the maryjane making everything a little ethereal, a little unreal. Fuck, it was sexy, though. Sweet. Sensual. Mmm ... Alliteration. They headed to a booth near the front, the tall guy stopping them about halfway there. They all listened intently to him, answered him, and then two continued on to the empty front table, the third girl coming back toward his table with the man. "God, Ben ... Look at him. He's fucking stunning.” His whisper just brushed Ben's ear. Benny chuckled. “And he's with three girls, Kier. Three. You're not that pretty. Have another hit." Ben blew sweet smoke into his lips and he took it in, letting it fill his lungs. They kept coming toward the grouping of chairs and sofa where he and his friends sat, stopping only when they were directly before the empty chair in front of him. "Excuse me,” murmured the man, voice low, words careful. “Is this chair taken?" He let the smoke go, shaking his head. “No. Go ahead." If he couldn't have, he could watch. Ogle. Fantasize. Whatever. "You gonna be okay, Luce?” the girl asked as the man sat gracefully. He had dark eyes, almost black. Luce waved a hand. “Go on, Nela, have your little lesbian hour. I'll order a cognac, sit with these gentlemen and enjoy a different show altogether." "'K." She touched Luce's knee, gave him a once-over and a half smile and then took off to join her friends down at the front. Kieran offered the guy a smile, nodding a little, trying not to stare. The guy didn't really respond, but a moment later spoke. “I'm Lucien. Thank you for sharing your area with me." "I'm Kieran. This is Ben and Lindsey and Jamie.” He held out one hand to shake. Lucien inclined his head and then slowly held his hand out, too far left before slowly veering right to his.


Wow. What was Lucien on? “Kieran. It's a lovely name. Suits your voice." "Thank you. I was named after my grandfather.” The man's hand was cool, strong. Felt good. "And you smell interesting as well. Is that also after your grandfather?" "Hmm? No. My grandfather never smoked.” He blushed, ducked his head for a second. “The owner's cool, so long as you stay in the shadows." Lucien chuckled, the sound deep, rich and very sexy. “I have an affinity for shadows myself." "God, you've got a fabulous voice.” His blush got even deeper as Ben laughed at him, tickled his belly. "Kier's shameless. Just ignore him." "Oh, I don't know about that,” murmured Lucien. “Shame is highly overrated.” Lucien's voice made what he was saying sound intimate, private. His cock perked right up and he dropped his book into his lap to hide it. “Shame is a pride's cloak, yes?" "Indeed. And do you soar often?” Lucien asked. He beamed over. Oh, he did love a man who knew his Blake. "I do, although I must admit to the temptation to soar too high." "And who defines ‘too high'?" "Oh, you are charming!” He grinned over, abandoning Blake for Pope. “Who knows but He, whose hand the lightning forms." "From pride our very reasoning springs. And is it not pride from where other things ‘spring’ as well?” Lucien was smiling, looking as pleased as he felt. His laughter was warm, bubbling out of him, sweet and pleased. “Indeed, Lucien. Indeed." "I like the way you say my name." "Lucien? It's a lovely name." He squeaked as Ben pinched him. “Flirt." "Truth. Quit pinching, you'll leave bruises, you ass. When's your lover supposed to show?” No reason to let Lucien think they were a couple, after all. "How does one acquire a cognac here?” Lucien asked him, leaning slightly toward him. "Al's the barrista. He'll get you want you need.” God, the man was lovely, a mixture of dark and light, luminous.


"Can you hook me up?” Lucien asked. "Of course...” He arched an eyebrow, a little confused. It wasn't until he stood and the dark eyes didn't blink, didn't notice his motion that he clued in. Oh. Oh, thank God he hadn't said anything stupid. “I'll be right back." Lucien inclined his head, a warm smile painting the red lips. “Thank you, Kieran." He went and got Lucien his drink, getting his coffee warmed while he was there. Poor man, so beautiful, so perfect, but blind. It was a shame. Although, Lucien seemed to be dealing just fine and, as Ben had pointed out—three girls. Somehow Lucien was ready for him when he returned and he wondered if Ben had said something as a graceful, long-fingered hand reached up, waiting for the glass of cognac. He placed it in Lucien's hand. “There you go. Sorry for the wait, Al needed to make more coffee." "Thank you, Kieran.” Lucien took the glass, cupping it and swirling the liquid inside. A deep breath and a soft hum and then Lucien drank. “Very nice." Bill showed up about then, teasing Ben farther back into the shadows to smoke and neck and Kieran had the couch to himself. Cozy. "I've never seen you here before..." "No, I've never been. I'm fairly new to the city and the girls are showing me around. They're indulging themselves tonight. I just followed the food." "The food?” Oh, he could so nibble on something, damned munchies. “They've got a decent cheesecake here, but nothing substantial." Lucien smiled, chuckled. “The girls promised me something a little richer after the lesbians finish torturing poetry." He laughed softly, trying not to be too disappointed. Seemed like every guy he got a hard-on for was straight or taken. “Well, make sure they feed you well. You know how girls are." "They do their best.” Lucien shrugged. “They have a very limited palate." "Oh, that's a shame. There are so many wonderful places to eat around here..." Indian. Thai. Mmm ... Curry... "Perhaps I need a new guide." He chuckled. “A little fresh blood to show you around town?" Lucien licked his lips, the unseeing eyes seeming to stare right through him. “Yes, exactly."


"Well, I teach Monday through Thursday during the day, but I'm usually free in the evenings, if you ever want to go play..." Straight or not, the man was eye candy. "What are you doing now?" "Your harem won't miss you?" "I'm sure they'll find something else to amuse themselves with. Or someone else.” Lucien took another sip of his drink. "Oh, in that case...” He smiled, cock jerking again, watching the pale throat move. “What would you like to eat?" Lucien reached out, finding his arm, fingers stroking. “What's on the menu?" "Oh...” He moaned softly, moving closer. “Are we still talking about food, Lucien?" "We're talking about sustenance. Succor. Is that the same thing as food?” Lucien's voice seemed deeper, quieter, for his ears alone. "No.” He shook his head, desire moving through him. “Not at all. My loft is three blocks away." "Are you inviting me over?” Lucien's voice stroked him as much as the long fingers that continued to move on his arm. "Yes.” He nodded, one hand reaching out to stroke Lucien's knee. Lucien hummed softly. “Excellent.” The sound made him shiver, his cock hard and throbbing. “Shall we go now or are you enamored of this particular ... poet?" "She'll come back next week. They always do." "She has a dreadful voice. You reading poetry; now that would be something.” Lucien's hand found his, slid over his skin. "I'm more of a teacher than a performer, but I manage.” He found himself leaning forward, almost toppling into Lucien's space. Lucien's nostrils flared. “I'll bet you do." Oh, God. So sexy. He moaned, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "Can we get out of here, Kieran? Now?" "Yes. God, yes.” He stood, took Lucien's hand. Lucien grabbed his overcoat and shrugged it on, hand sliding to his elbow as if it were the most natural thing in the world.


"My loft is just north of campus. A nice little place.” He led Lucien through the room, the act surprisingly easy. "So we don't have far to go,” murmured Lucien, fingers stroking his arm. "Not far at all. Up Washington and over across Hemlock." "Now why would you name a street after a poison?” asked Lucien, voice teasing. "I think it just sounds lovely. Hemlock Lane. Playful, but a little dangerous.” His heart was pounding, his steps light. "Oh, then I take my question back, it's the perfect name.” Graceful and tall, Lucien had no trouble keeping up with him. He laughed, leaning against Lucien just a little. “Tell me about yourself, Lucien. What do you do besides listen to bad feminist poetry?" "You mean there's something else?” Lucien laughed, the sound sexy. He chuckled, putting on his official Dr. Loughlin voice. “Indeed, my friend. There is bad graduate student poetry, atrocious freshman comp poetry..." That sexy laughter sounded again, Lucien's hand tightening on his arm. They made the loft in good time, laughing and teasing gently. It was like being surrounded in a warm haze, the mixture of the drugs and the caffeine and this man. “There are six steps and then we'll head to the elevator." "Mm ... Thank you. You're good at this—have you done it before?" "Hmm? Done what?” He helped Lucien up the stairs, admiring the long line of the man's belly, the dark shirt accentuating it. "Guided a blind man." "No. No, you make it easy.” He opened the door and led Lucien down the hall. Lucien's head was up slightly, nostrils flaring. "Everything okay?" Lucien nodded. “Just getting to know the place." "Does it smell bad?” He pressed the button for the elevator, sniffing, trying to smell. Lucien chuckled. “Not at all. It smells like you." He blushed, grinning. “Sandalwood and leather?"


They stepped into the elevator and headed for the fourth floor. "And weed and books and something quite intoxicating that I suspect is you." "You know how to make a man feel very sexy.” He reached out, stroking Lucien's belly, humming at the feel of silk. "Oh, likewise, Kieran." The temptation to lean up, lean in and take a long, sweet kiss was strong, but the elevator dinged and the doors opened, and he led Lucien to his door, unlocking it. “Come on in." "Thank you for inviting me in,” Lucien murmured. "There's no sofa or anything. Lots of cushions on the floor. Books all along the walls. How can I make it easier for you?" Lucien pulled him around and lowered his head, bringing their mouths together. Oh. He opened his lips, tongue lapping gently at Lucien's lips. Lucien hummed, mouth opening for him. Hot. Wet. Sweet. Hungry. Lucien tasted good, made him press closer. Another sweet hum sounded, Lucien's lips wrapping around his tongue, sucking. His hips started rocking in time with the suction, rubbing against Lucien's surprisingly firm form. Lucien's hands slid down his back, settling on his ass. They were hot, even through his jeans. "Mmm...” He pushed back into the touch, Dockers rasping on Lucien's palms. Lucien's tongue slid into his mouth, moving over his teeth. He nipped playfully, careful not to hurt, to bite. Lucien moaned, hips pushing a large, hot bulge against him. Humming he repeated the tease, enjoying Lucien's passion. Lucien moaned for him again, lips curling back, teeth scraping at his lips. The sensation tingled, exciting, and he shivered, stepping closer. Lucien's hands moved over him, slowly making their way to the bottom of his sweater, tugging it up. His hands went up, letting him pull the shirt free, lips parting only long enough to be rid of the shirt. Fuck, it was ... He pushed into the touches, skin rejoicing at the sensations. "You're warm,” murmured Lucien. “Skin's so soft." "Is it?" He leaned in, licking Lucien's throat, working the buttons of the silk shirt open. Lucien groaned, head going back, exposing a long neck. "Beautiful.” He whispered the word against Lucien's skin. “So beautiful."


"You like what you see?” Lucien asked. “I like what I feel." "I do. You're stunning. Have ... have you always been blind?” Do you know how beautiful you are? "For more than three quarters of my life.” Those long fingers were moving again, moving over his skin. "Well, you're a beautiful man. You steal my breath.” Oh, Lucien must have been a child ... He licked and nuzzled, hands sliding around Lucien's belly. "Thank you, Kieran.” Lucien's hands slid to his belt, tugging a little. “Could we sit? Or lie down?" "Sure. Follow me.” He took four or five steps back to the biggest softest futon mats littering the floor. “Here. Come down.” Lucien dropped down gracefully, hands finding him again. He pushed into the touches, letting their bodies slide together. “Are you a dancer?" "I've danced some." "You're the most graceful man I've ever seen." "Thank you." Lucien's hands moved down his chest, finding his belt buckle and slowly undoing it. He sucked in his belly, giving Lucien's hands room to work. "You have a lovely belly,” murmured Lucien, fingertips stroking. “Do you have any tattoos?" "Mmm ... No. No, I never found something I would wear forever.” He arched and moaned, toes curling. “One day, I will." "I do, right here.” Lucien stroked his belly, tracing something around his navel. "Oh? What is it?” His belly shivered. “God, your hands..." "A cat climbing my belly. It is to warn people that I'm a danger,” murmured Lucien, hands still working on his stomach. "Are you a danger, Lucien?” He smiled, one hand sliding through the long black hair. Lucien smiled at him, nuzzling into his touch. “I am, Kieran." "Should I be frightened?” Because he wasn't. Not even a bit. "No. I'm dangerous, not scary.” Lucien's nose moved just above his face, as if scenting him. "Do I smell good to you?” He licked at Lucien's jaw, humming at the flavor. "Yes, Kieran. You do." "I'm glad.” He nuzzled, lips sliding in a long, lazy motion. Lucien purred, tongue licking his teeth, fingers sliding up to tease his nipples. He moaned, moving in slow


undulations, cock hard as stone. "You're a very sensual man, Kieran. I like that.” Lucien's fingers returned to his jeans, popping the top button open. "What else do you like, Lucien?” His lips found Lucien's ear, tracing the outside lightly. "Biting,” Lucien murmured, nibbling at his shoulder. He chuckled, skin tingling. “Do you leave marks?" "If you like.” Gentle teeth grazed his collarbone. "Mmm ... Tingles.” Oh, he was having fun. "You want more?” Lucien asked, slowly undoing his zipper. "Hmm? Yes, please.” Of course he wanted more. He didn't invite Lucien here just to snuggle. "Excellent. So do I.” Lucien's hands slid his pants down off his hips, mouth moving to his neck. Those teeth scraped harder now, up and down, making his skin supersensitive. He shuddered, eyes rolling, throat working hard. His fingers were tangled in Lucien's hair, caught in the silk of it. "Undress me, Kieran.” Lucien's hand stroked his cock. "Oh ... Sorry. You distracted me.” He blushed, grinned a little. “You're very seductive.” He started working at Lucien's clothes, embarrassed. He wasn't a selfish lover, hewasn't . He'd just gotten ... distracted. Lucien chuckled, teeth on his neck again. “You're forgiven, Kieran." "Oh, good.” He grinned, hands sliding down to work Lucien's pants open. “I'd hate to screw things up so soon." "You aren't screwing anything up, Kieran.” Lucien stepped out of his pants. He reached out, tracing the dark tattoo with a light touch, in awe. “You're stunning." Lucien's belly rippled, the black cat moving on the pale skin. He leaned closer, licking the shape, breathing in the scent of male and want and need. "Yes,” murmured Lucien, one hand on his ass, pulling him in, the other sliding around, holding his head still for that wicked mouth at his neck. He purred, stretching, moaning at the sensation of their skin sliding together. Lucien's cock was hard, full, hot, pressing against his, moving like fire on his skin. "Oh. You ... You're a flame.” His hand curled around Lucien's ass, holding them tight together. "Yes. Are you a moth, Kieran?"


"I hadn't thought so..." "No? I can feel your heart beating like wings against my lips." "Such a poet.” He shook, gasping, hands gripping Lucien. Lucien moved against him, touches burning. The scraping was back, making his skin tingle in the wake of Lucien's teeth. It made him ache, made him gasp and twist, made his cock weep. "Yes,” muttered Lucien, purring, moaning, teeth biting, sharp, nearly breaking the skin. "Oh! Careful...” Diseases and shit. Have to be careful. Oh, God, the man was hot. "Don't worry, Kieran, I know what I'm doing.” Lucien's hand moved his ass, slid them together, the man's other hand still holding his head. Lucien's teeth bit into his neck again, hard and sharp, the pain bright as Lucien's teeth sank into his skin. "Fuck!” His head slammed back against the pillows, hands going to push against Lucien's shoulders. Lucien purred, or maybe growled, the sound vibrating along his neck, radiating from the bite. Hot lips stayed glued onto him, Lucien sucking from the bite. He shook his head, pushing harder, heart pounding wildly. As much as he struggled to get away, though, his cock seemed fine just rubbing, still hard. Lucien's hand slid around his prick, tugging in time with the sucks to his neck. A low noise pushed from his throat, heels digging into the mattress. “Not being safe..." "Let it go,” Lucien murmured, mouth wrapping around his neck again as soon as the words were spoken. Lucien's heat drove against his hip. "Sweet fuck.” He bucked up, hips moving furiously, need sliding down his spine. "Come for me, Kieran, let me taste your pleasure." He moaned, eyes rolling as his hips rolled, coming hard, seed spraying between them. Lucien sucked hard on his neck, more heat splashing between them. Murmuring, Lucien licked at the wound on his neck, tongue hot, sliding. It made Kieran shiver, made his cock jerk and he purposefully didn't think about what he'd just done. Man, weed had never made him so stupid with a man before. Lucien lay heavy against him, nuzzling and licking, hands sliding along his skin. “I know you now, Kieran." He frowned, distracted by the touches. “Hmm?" "I know you from the inside out.” Lucien purred, cock hardening against him, lean hips sliding them together.


Damn, that was an amazing recovery period. He stretched, moaning low. “You're something else." "One of a kind,” murmured Lucien. The long fingers were exploring, sliding over him. He nodded, one leg lifting to slide up against Lucien's, his own prick trying to fill. "You're beautiful. Your skin is smooth and warm, the shape of you calls my fingers." "Flatterer.” His throat was throbbing, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Truth, Kieran. My fingers don't lie to me." He blushed, unaccountably flushed and pleased. Christ. He was a grown man, a man who'd fucked a dozen lovers in the last year, and here he was, getting seduced. Lucien's nostrils were flaring again. “I love the smell of you when you blush." "I ... You can tell?” He blushed darker, breath hitching. "I can,” Lucien purred. “Oh, delicious, Kieran. You tempt me so." "You're the temptation, so seductive.” He reached out, started touching, trying to get himself on equal ground. That prompted more purrs, Lucien pushing gracefully into his touches. “Such gentle fingers." He smiled, beginning to relax, to feel more in control. "Do you like my snake?” Lucien asked, voice teasing. His fingers trailed around the dark shape inked into Lucien's upper arm, chuckling. “Oh, yes. Quite ... slinky." "Oh, that's a nice word, Kieran. Slinky. Mmmm...” Lucien's fingers slid over his belly. His muscles jumped, twitching under the soft touch. “Mmmm ... you like that, Kieran. What else do you like?" "I like touching, like fucking in the shower. Like slow morning sex." Lucien purred. “Should I ask instead what don't you like?" He chuckled, thinking. “I don't like having my balls squeezed and my feet are ticklish, not erogenous." "Stay away from the feet, got it.” Lucien nuzzled his neck, nose stroking where the bite mark was. “Will you let me ‘see’ them at least, once so I know?" "Oh, of course. Yes, please.” The bite mark throbbed, aching. "Will you let me touch you all over, Kieran? Let me discover what I already know in my blood?"


He nodded, then caught himself. “Yes. Surely. How would you like me?" Lucien purred. “Let's start with your back." Kieran stretched, then turned, offering Lucien his back and ass, cock snuggled into the sheets. Lucien's fingers were long and warm, sliding up his arm to his head. His hair was pushed out off his shoulders, Lucien's touch a little firmer as it traced his skull. "Oh ... That feels delicious.” He shivered, moaned a little. "Mm ... touching should." His neck was traced and then the top of his shoulders, his arms all the way down to his hands. Kieran twined their fingers together for just a second, relaxing, letting Lucien see him was incredibly intimate, erotic. Lucien kissed the back of his hand and then those long fingers trailed their way back up, starting down again along his back. Sometimes butterfly-soft, sometimes with far more pressure, Lucien touched him. His spine was traced, revisited again and again, his shoulder blades tested, the small of his back had Lucien's fingertips dragged across it. His toes curled at the touches to his lower back, ass clenching, thighs parting a little as he blushed. Damned hot spot. Lucien moaned, fingers staying there, trying different touches—hard, soft, scraping, pressing, and lips coming to kiss him there as well. "Lucien...” He moaned, hips starting to shift, sliding his cock on the sheets. He could feel Lucien's smile against his skin, the long fingered hands exploring his ass now, moving with him. "I ... You're learning things about me that lovers I had for months missed." "When you're blind, you see things others don't." "What do you see in me?" "You're a sensual one. Your erogenous zone is your skin, which can be enjoyed like a fine wine, played like a master's instrument,” Lucien purred, teeth nipping at his ass. “You like to be touched gently, touched roughly, bitten, licked, scratched . Variety makes you hard." "I...” He jerked, ass shifting. “You sound very sure.” He was going to die of advanced seduction. Beautiful, wicked man. "I can smell how much you want me, Kieran. I can feel the way you move beneath my touch. I am sure." Lucien's long hair suddenly fell against him, sliding over his back. "Oh...” He closed his eyes, knees drawing up beneath him. Cool, slick, soft.


"You see? I'm right." Lucien's hair slid along his skin as those fingers continued exploring, hands cupping his ass before each finger slid along his crease. "You're very convincing...” His thighs spread, hips pressing back towards the touch. "Isn't that why you brought me here?” Lucien asked, hair trailing over the small of his back and down off his buttocks as a wicked tongue teased his hole. "I ... Lucien!” Never. He'd never ... It wasn't safe and oh, God it felt hot, good. Lucien groaned, sending vibrations up through his ass, into him. Then the teasing tongue pressed in. "Lucien!” His voice rang out and he shifted forward, eyes open wide. “You can't..." "Why not?” Lucien's voice was rich and heavy, the chuckle husky and then he was being licked inside again. "Oh, sweet fuck. I ... Safe sex. I've never. Oh fuck, it's good.” His head was spinning, he wasso stoned and flying. "Dangerous but safe, Kieran,” murmured Lucien. “That's me.” Lucien's tongue kept working his ass, making him wet, making him shake. "I ... Oh...” He dropped his head into his hands, sensation pouring over him in a wave. Lucien's hands slid down his thighs, tracing the muscles, sliding over his skin as that hot tongue kept him flying. He spread, hips rocking, body begging obscenely and he was pleased for a heartbeat that Lucien couldn't see it. Lucien's fingers slid down over his calves, a harder touch, digging in until they hit his heels. The touches there weren't as hard, but they were too firm to tickle, Lucien “looking” at all of him, even his toes, and still Lucien tongue-fucked him, hums making him vibrate. Kieran was flying, soaring, completely focused on Lucien's touch, Lucien's tongue. Lucien's hands slid up his legs again, circling at his hips. One slid around his cock, the other fondled his balls—not squeezing, but cupping, feeling. He keened, so close, the sweet touch to his balls driving him mad. Lucien's teeth suddenly scraped alongside his hole, the sensation sharp and startling, a marked contrast to the soft tongue that impaled him. Lights flashed behind his eyes and he screamed as he came, cock throbbing in Lucien's hand. That amazing tongue slid from his ass, moving up to lap at the small of his back, making the sensations vibrate within him. Kieran fought to catch his breath, put himself back together. "You are beautiful from behind, Kieran. I cannot wait to see your front.” The words slid, whispers along his skin. "Thank you.” He closed his eyes, panting. Seeing him from the front was going to kill him.


**** Lucien was floating on sensation. Nothing aroused his senses, his needs, as much as someone new, and it had been far, far too long since that someone had been as sensuous and abandoned as Kieran. Oh, he realized the drug had probably helped Kieran in that abandonment, made it easier for the man to overlook his usually careful ways. Not that there was such a thing as unsafe sex for Lucien, but he thought, perhaps, high or not, Kieran was not quite ready to hear about his secrets just yet. The man was a bright presence to him. Lucien could feel his shape by the heat of him, could smell Kieran's skin, his seed, his blood pumping within the long track of veins beneath the lovely warm skin. Now that he had tasted from Kieran, he would be able to find the man in the densest crowd, the pull of that fine body like a magnet. He curled around Kieran's heat, the soft pillows beneath him not nearly as silky and fine as the skin his fingers were eager to continue exploring. Groaning softly, he ignored the way his cock throbbed, the way his need urged him to take the hot, tight hole he'd tasted. Instead he encouraged Kieran to turn onto his back so he could finish the picture in his mind. The scents enflamed him, rich and varied but still somehow complementary, reminding him of a fine wine, the scent before grapes burst upon the tongue. The curls on Kieran's legs were soft, tickling his palms, one shinbone marred with the tiniest lump and shift. "You are beautiful,” he told Kieran softly. He bent to kiss Kieran's hip, his teeth scraping over the bone. The blood that pumped just beneath the surface called to him, begged for his bite. He held back though, the taste he'd already taken still warming in his belly, still thrumming through his own veins "What do you like best?” he asked, wanting to hear the lovely voice wash over him again. His fingers pushed into the muscles of Kieran's thighs, stimulating the nerves as he tilted his head to catch Kieran's answer. "Best? In which way?” Those lean thighs parted, Kieran spreading easily for him. “Sexually, I like anything that feels good." He smiled against Kieran's inner thigh. He'd felt the man buck against him when he'd bitten down. Anything that felt good and some things that stung. He tested that theory again, teeth nipping, just enough to break through, a single drop spilling onto the fine skin. His tongue snaked out and gathered it up, the true flavor of Kieran exploding in him. It made everything sharper, each sense almost overwhelmed. Kieran arched, heels digging into the futon mattress, hips pumping once. He heard the slap of Kieran's cock against the flat belly, heard the low moan. He hummed softly, rubbing his cheek along the soft, soft skin of Kieran's inner thigh. Such a quick recovery—it only worked that way when there was more to the mating than sex, when this was not just food, but something deeper, something necessary, and so rare. Lucien nuzzled Kieran's balls, his fingers exploring the sweet belly, teasing the tip of Kieran's cock before dancing up to find the man's nipples. His fingers were distracted by a bump along Kieran's ribcage, the bit of flesh filling slightly as he touched it. "Third nipple.” Kieran's voice was husky, a touch self-conscious. “It's a great conversation starter."


Oh, howfascinating . He teased his fingers across it, circled it, as he found one of Kieran's other nipples to compare the shape and size, the textures. “It is not conversation that it makes me want to start,” he murmured. About half the size, but hardening for his touch, the skin about it tightening up, it was a delicious anomaly. "No? What do you like, Lucien? Does it turn you on?" "It does, Kieran. I have never known anyone with such uniqueness." He moved up, abandoning the soft skin and strong, musky scents between Kieran's legs in favor of playing with the extra nipple, of tasting it under his tongue. “Is it sensitive? Does it feel good if I do this?” He bit the hard little bit of flesh between his teeth, and then between his lips, and then licked it, tongue flicking across. "It does. It can be tender, but I mostly forget about it.” He licked again, then scraped his teeth over the tiny bump, and Kieran groaned. “It'll remember you tomorrow." "I hope it won't be the only thing.” He kept tonguing the little bud, his fingers moving up to stroke over Kieran's face. Toreally feel each contour, to know the shape by heart. "I sincerely doubt anyone could forget you." Kieran was strong and quick, given to bouts of self-loathing and sorrow. Lucien could feel it in the lean face, in the lines and planes. “Maybe you won't be given the opportunity,” he murmured, tongue sliding up along the lovely body to find Kieran's mouth. He lost himself in it, in the heat and the flavor, the soft licks as their tongues moved together. He'd long been searching for a true companion, someone whose nature was as hedonistic as his own; someone who would not see his blindness as a weakness that must be eradicated. With a snarl he banished the memory of Vanier, the beauty made to live eternally at his side, only to be struck down when Vanier had decided that a blind vampire needed to be put out of his misery, even if said vampire was his lover, his sire. His kiss grew hard, his teeth scraping across Kieran's lower lip. "Easy. Easy!” Soft hands stroked over his face, through his hair. “Are you here with me now? I know I didn't make you that pissed off." He growled a little and shook his head before turning his face to place a soft kiss in Kieran's palm. “I apologize, Kieran. A stray memory that has no place here between us..." "Ah. Some exes deserve boiling in oil." Oh, now that was a deliciously pleasant thought... "Indeed. But they have no place in the thoughts of someone with such a feast as you in front of them.” He bent and brought their mouths together, the heat of Kieran's body allowing him to judge exactly where the man's lips were as surely as if he could see them.


He could feel Kieran's heartbeat beneath the thin flesh, the scent of the man's skin and the sweetness of his blood teasing him terribly. The kisses went deep, Kieran open and eager beneath him, hands slowly touching him, tracing his skin, his tattoos,him . He lost himself in the sensations. In the smells and tastes and touches and sounds they made together. Nothing else mattered but here and now and this warm, giving man. His prick rubbed against Kieran's hip and he moaned into the swollen lips. “I want you, Kieran. I want to take you.” To be buried inside Kieran as he fed of the sweet, lovely blood... "Mmm. Let me grab a condom and some lube.” Kieran stretched, half-rolling from beneath him. He tried hard not to growl. The condom was not necessary—he would not receive or give any diseases. He could not. The lube, however, would be useful, so he didn't argue, merely touched and stroked whatever skin he could reach. Kieran wriggled from under him, steps padding across the room. A drawer was opened and then the footsteps came closer again. He lay back on the pillows, feeling the heat of his lover coming closer, hearing the blood singing in Kieran's veins, the scent of the man filling his nostrils. “Will you get yourself ready for me, Kieran?" "I can do that.” He heard the lube pop open and the wet sploot of the slick lube squirting out, smelled the faint, clean scent. He undulated, feeling the different fabrics of the pillows on his back, his hands reaching. “Come closer so I can feel.” He didn't want to miss a moment. Kieran knelt down beside him, heart pounding audibly, heat pouring off the man's skin. He slid one hand down the lean back, stopping a moment to feel how Kieran's hips rocked. His own hips rolled, finding the same rhythm, anticipating their coupling. He licked his lips, moaning softly as the heat rolled to him, the air redolent with their scent. Then he let his hand drop over Kieran's ass, feeling the firm, round globe he'd explored before, and moving to where the man's own fingers breached his body. He added one finger to Kieran's two, the moan he got for his actions sweet and addictive. "You are beautiful,” he told Kieran. Beauty went far deeper than what could be seen, though he knew from having touched Kieran's skin the man was beautiful in the conventional sense as well. “I cannot wait too long, Kieran. I need you.” His cock thrummed with it, his mouth almost watering. "Here's the glove.” A small square package was pushed into his hand, Kieran settling, waiting for him. He turned it again and again in his hand. He hated these. Hated the scent of them, the feeling of them tight around his prick, and each loss of sensation was mourned. “This isn't necessary, you know. I will not make you sick." "How do you know I won't make you sick, though? You don't know me." "You won't.” He shook his head, let his finger wriggle inside Kieran's body. So tight and hot, the scent of the two of them together, of sex and heat and need rose on the air, filled his head.


How could he explain without having Kieran either laugh or call him a freak? He dropped the little package and slid his hand over Kieran's shoulder, to his neck, finding the little bite mark he'd left earlier. He poked and pushed, knowing it would still be tender. “I have already tasted your blood, Kieran. Having you tight around me will do me no more harm than that did." He leaned in, finger working inside the tight heat of Kieran's body now, nose buried in Kieran's neck as he breathed in the delicious scent of the man. “Please. Do not take away from me the sensation of your body wrapped tight and hot around my cock." "I...” Kieran arched, hips rolling against him, pure need heady on the air. "You want it, too, I can tell.” He licked at the place he'd bitten, the blood so close to the surface calling to him. But he wanted to be buried inside Kieran the next time he tasted the sweet elixir. He lay back, let his finger slide from Kieran's body so he could draw Kieran to him. “Impale yourself upon me. Give us both what we so desire.” He put his will behind the suggestion, encouraging Kieran to hand himself over fully. "I ... Oh, yes." The tight heat surrounded him, squeezing and grasping him in a desperate grip. The pleasure was immediate, intense, and he cried out, feeling it not just on his cock, but in his balls, and all through his body. His hands reached and found Kieran's thighs. He squeezed them, and then slid his hands upward, slowly touching the lovely body. Smooth and heated, he could read pleasure in every line of Kieran's form. His own need was telegraphed to the man, driving them both before it. "Move. Oh, please, move,” he murmured, his hips pushing, trying to bury his prick even deeper inside the tight heat. The lean muscles bunched up, then Kieran groaned and began bobbing. Kieran's body gripped his shaft, the tight ring of muscles sliding up and down along his prick. His hands moved up, one settling in the middle of Kieran's chest where he could feel the solid, wondrous beat of the man's heart. The other moved to Kieran's face, exploring it, learning how its shape changed with pleasure. Kieran licked and sucked at his fingers, mouth ravenous against him. Lucien moaned, delighted. He could appreciate a man who was oral. It was not often he found someone as ravenous as he himself was. He tugged Kieran down, hips rolling to keep them together as their lips met in a hard, hungry kiss. Kieran jerked, cried out into his lips as his cock pressed deep. “Again!" "And again, and again.” Each of his words were accompanied by a thrust, and then their mouths fused again, one of his teeth pressing into Kieran's lower lip, sweet drops of blood welling from the cut and into his mouth. He lapped at the spot, and then pushed his tongue into Kieran's mouth, imitating the movements of his hips. Kieran turned frantic and wild above him, riding him as if he were a prize mount, deep groans


pushing into his lips. The need to feed properly rose in him, the little drops of blood from Kieran's lips only enough to tease, to increase his hunger. Their lips parted, Kieran's groans freed and loud as he slid his mouth over the strong jaw, and down along Kieran's neck. "H ... hungry. Your lips are...” Kieran's chin lifted, the fine-grained skin soft under his lips. "You have no idea.” He licked and nibbled, the touches soft and slow, at odds with his hips, which continued to drive his need deep into Kieran's body. He groaned as his lips passed over the bite mark again. Oh, yes. Yes, he needed this. Growling, he bit again, Kieran's lifeblood flowing into him. Kieran went still, a shocked cry sounding, hands tight on his shoulders. His own hips didn't stop, couldn't now that the feeding and the fucking were linked. He ran his tongue across the deep bites, soothing where he'd bitten, even as he drew more of the blood into himself. His fingers bit into Kieran's hips, bruising in their intensity as he brought Kieran's body in to meet his every thrust. He felt when Kieran's shock faded, when instinct overtook uncertainty and the man moved again. Yes. Yes, that was it. Kieran had such lovely instincts, such beautiful hunger. Lucien flipped them suddenly, putting Kieran beneath him as he drove into the delicious body over and over again, his hand wrapping around Kieran's cock. Heat sprayed over his fingers as Kieran's ass clenched, holding him tight as a fist. That tightness, and the way Kieran's blood changed its flavor with the orgasm, spurred him to his own. His cry filled the room as he pumped heat into Kieran's ass. The man went limp beneath him, heavy and boneless, heart pounding furiously. It would take Kieran a moment or two to recover from both coming and losing blood. It was an irony that his own energy and vigor increased as his lover's decreased. He placed kisses over Kieran's face, humming softly. “Such a lovely man." Kieran hummed, face turning toward his kisses. He brought their mouths together, Kieran's lips pliable and sweet beneath his own. He knew there would be questions, Kieran was too curious, too smart not to have questions, but for these moments Kieran was as his own. And he savored them, as he savored the taste of sated pleasure in Kieran's mouth. "Stay for a while?” Kieran sounded almost surprised to have asked. "I would love to sleep with you in my arms, Kieran, and to wake again to find myself with you.” He cried out as his prick slid from Kieran's body, the lack of heat and silken tightness around him a loss. "Such a poet...” Kieran stayed close, cheek nuzzling his shoulder, the bare stubble just rasping. A ripple of delight moved through him. Kieran offered one sensation after another to him. It truly was lovely. “You bring it out in me."


"It's my job, encouraging poets." Oh, that made him laugh, just delighted. “And do you encourage them all in this manner?" "Only the good ones." "I have found those to be few and far between.” One could wait decades for a good poet, a good lover to come by. Of course, he had all the time in the world. Lucien licked at the corner of Kieran's mouth, and then at his lips. Kieran was so sensual, and curious—he would make an excellent companion through time. He chuckled at himself. It had been a long time since he had been so taken with a man. "You look happy.” Kieran hummed, eyelashes tickling his skin as the man blinked. He ran a hand along Kieran's spine, and smiled. “I do believe I am, Kieran.” His other hand came up, fingers tracing over features already familiar from the evening's lovemaking, from looking so often with his fingertips. “And are you?" "Yes. Most definitely.” Kieran spoke the truth, the deep lines beside the man's eyes faded beneath his fingers. "Then it was a good night for both of us." A night well-spent, the heaviness of a soon-coming dawn pulling him toward sleep, despite his recent feeding. "Are there curtains on your windows, Kieran?" "Hmm? Yes. Yes, I'm not an early-morning fan." Not an early-morning fan ... how wonderful. “The more I learn of you, Kieran, the more I realize how well-suited we are to one another.” He allowed himself a nibble of the swollen lips. “Mornings give me hives." "We can't have that, Lucien. I'll keep them closed." He hummed softly, pleased beyond measure. “Thank you, Kieran, you have my eternal gratitude." "Mmm ... Eternity is an extremely long time." He was very well versed in how long eternity was. Or at least a small portion of it, the knowledge that the many years he'd lived were but a drop in the bucket. “It is indeed." He dared wonder if Kieran might not be willing to share it with him.

Two Kieran headed into the club, nodding at the bartender as he headed for the sofa in the corner. Three


days after Lucien had turned him inside out, and he was just getting back to normal. He'd had muscles protesting that he was fairly sure he'd never used before. Still, those protesting muscles had kept him in a state of warm arousal during the day as he taught, as he wandered through campus. He sat and stretched, ordered a whiskey neat when the little waitress came by, his eyes sliding through the crowd. Not looking for Lucien, of course. Just... Looking. He was on his second one when he felt ... Lucien. It was the only way to describe it—all of a sudden the air felt rich, heavy, and when he looked toward the door, there was Lucien, on the arm of one of the same girls he'd come in with the last time. The regal face turned in his direction, as if Lucien was looking right at him, though he knew it was impossible. He didn't fight his smile, just spent a moment watching Lucien move. The long legs moved confidently, one elegant hand waving in his direction, Lucien smiling, laughing at something the girl said. The long black coat he wore made Lucien seem taller, set him apart from the crowd. Kieran waved for the waitress again, ordering a cognac for Lucien, pushing the chair across from him out so the man could sit. The girl with Lucien laughed as they approached. “It looks like your entertainment for the evening is ready for you, Luce." "Behave, Nadia, or I'll find someone else to accompany me next time.” Lucien's voice was a deep and seductive as he remembered. Nadia looked Kieran up and down and then laughed again. “I have a hunch you already have someone in mind.” She leaned up and kissed Lucien on the side of the mouth, leaving dark red lipstick behind, and put one long-fingered hand on the back of the chair Kieran had pushed out. "Have fun.” She gave him a little wave, patted Lucien on the ass and wandered off toward the bar. Lucien chuckled. “She is a brat." "She seems very fond, my friend. I ordered you a cognac.” He took up a napkin, wiped the lipstick from Lucien's cheek after the man sat. Lucien grabbed his hand, bringing it to the thin lips, and kissing his knuckles. “Thank you, Kieran.” Letting go of his hand, Lucien sat back, a small smile playing about his lips. “She is almost family. Like a ... favorite daughter." "Yes, if you were older or she were younger." Lucien chuckled, the sound sexy, sliding along his spine and lodging itself in his balls. “I imagine I'm a


little older than you think." "If you're as old as I am, I want the name of your plastic surgeon." "Flatterer,” Lucien accused. It hadn't been meant as flattery though. Lucien was tall and pale, his face unlined, with dark, thin lips. The unseeing eyes were dark, a blue not quite black he knew from their previous encounter, but in this light they definitely looked black. "Not so. You're beautiful. Here comes your cognac. Are you hungry?” They didn't offer much in the way of food here, but what appetizers they had were passable. Lucien held out his hand, the move seeming so imperious. The waitress must have known though, as she simply placed the glass in his hand. Lucien held out a bill for her, told her to keep the change. It was a huge tip. The man waited until she'd gone to reply to his question. “I'm hungry for you, Kieran." "Now, man cannot live on literature professors alone.” His voice would probably give his sudden arousal away, but Kieran figured he could live with that. "Are you sure about that?” Lucien asked, leaning toward him, making the words seem more intimate. He saw Lucien's nostrils flare, the man licking his lips before settling back in his chair again and taking a mouthful of his cognac. "Fairly sure.” He shivered, watching Lucien's throat work. "I think perhaps I'd like to put that to the test, Kieran." He wasn't sure what that meant, but his cock approved. “I am at your disposal, Lucien." "I like how that sounds.” Lucien's voice had become deeper, the thread of arousal clear. “What is your pleasure tonight?" "I don't have any classes until Monday morning.” He finished his whiskey, cheeks heating as he heard how needy he sounded. "So we can take our time. I like how that sounds, too.” Lucien swirled his glass, the amber liquid sliding along the sides, clinging to the glass. “Tell me, is it dark in here, Kieran?" "Hmm? Yes. The house lights are low, the spots are on the stage. There's a little folk band setting up." Lucien slid out of his chair and onto the sofa with him, voice dropping low. “And we're in a corner, yes? Almost private?" "Yes.” He slid the sofa back, closer to the wall. “Almost." "And are you really at my disposal, Kieran? If I have a need, will you assuage it for me?” Lucien's legs fell open, his need clearly outlined as it pushed at his slacks.


His eyes flew open, one hand moving up along Lucien's thigh. Lucien's legs spread further and a long-fingered hand slid across the top of his own, the touch soft, not quite tickling. "I just don't want to get us arrested. Will my hand work for you?” Lucien wouldn't make a great lookout. Long fingers slid up to cup his face, and Lucien's lips brushed briefly across his. “Whatever you want, Kieran." He couldn't help his smile, couldn't resist kissing those fingers. “I want you." "Ah, but you have me—I'm yours for the taking." He worked Lucien's pants open, slid his fingertips inside to touch and tease and feel. The low groan Lucien gave vibrated along his spine. “Kieran. Yes.” The long cock pushed against his hand, demanding his attention. Kieran shifted over, hiding that sweet prick with the flap of his jacket as his fingers started to shift and slide. Lucien's arm went across his shoulders, fingers firm as they wrapped around his far shoulder. "That touch has haunted my thoughts for days." "Has it? I've been feeling you inside me. Aching." "It's a sign,” Lucien told him softly, another moan coming from the man, his hips pushing the long prick through his fingers. "Mmhmm. Does it say ‘Lucien's a hottie'?” Wet-tipped and hot, slick and so hard—Kieran was captivated. Lucien's laughter sounded surprised, husky and aroused, too. “Maybe it does at that, Kieran." He couldn't fight his grin. He really had no desire to do so. Lucien warmed him through. “It would be the truth." Lucien's free hand reached out and found his cheek, stroking gently. “You'll make my head swell. Oops...” Lucien's hips pushed the hard prick through his hand again. “You already have." Kieran turned his head, dipped his chin to suck Lucien's thumb in time with the motion of his hand. "Kieran...” The low sound of his name was drawn out, making his cock jump. It was almost enough to make him forget where they were. "Mmhmm.” He started moving faster, needing this done, needing Lucien's pleasure so that they might leave. Lucien's fingers gripped his shoulder tight, the low gasp telling him it wouldn't be long. He bit down gently on the thumb in his mouth, thumbnail scraping along the wet tip of Lucien's cock. "Kieran!” His name hissed in the space between them, heat spraying up over his fingers.


The smell hit him, strong and sexy. He shuddered, panting as his own balls drew up tight, threatening to empty just from this. Lucien's thumb, wet from his mouth, slid across his lower lip, tugging it out into a pout. Then, with an ease that was uncanny, Lucien moved in, mouth covering his, taking his lower lip between sharp teeth. "Mmm.” He groaned, eyes rolling at the sting. The biting turned to sucking and then Lucien sat back again, bringing his come-covered hand up to the lovely thin lips. The dark eyes seemed to look right at him as Lucien's tongue slid over his skin, licking his hand clean. "You're going to make me come, right here.” Lucien made him feel almost young, untried. "Turnabout would only be fair,” murmured Lucien just before he tugged a finger in deep, sucking on it, tongue curling around his fingertip. "Lucien...” His hips bucked up, his groan almost too loud. His finger was released, the next one taken in, given the same treatment, only this time Lucien hummed, the vibrations moving over his finger. His eyes dropped closed, head rolling as the pleasure poured over him. "Yes,” whispered Lucien, letting his finger go and taking the next one in. Lucien's hand slid along his thigh, stroking. "Do you want to come to my place?” Please say yes. Please. "Yes." Lucien took a last kiss of his hand and then stood, hands subtly moving to zip his pants back up and then button up the long coat. Anyone seeing him would never guess what had just happened, but Kieran could see it, could see the two faint spots of color on Lucien's cheeks and the way the long, thin nose was flaring. He took Lucien's hand, the weight on his elbow increasingly familiar, warm. Right. "You're very good at that,” Lucien told him, walking confidently at his side. "Thank you. You make it quite easy.” Much easier than walking with his prick hard as diamonds. Lucien hummed as they left the bar, head tilting slightly. “The moon is full tonight. New beginnings." "Mmm. What a romantic thought...” He led Lucien toward the apartment, the street well-lit and shining. "It isn't only a thought, is it, Kieran? I would like to think we have a beginning here between us, do we not?"


"I think we do.” A beginning. He wasn't one to keep a lover about, but Lucien ... Well, a beginning was a beginning, regardless of whether it lasted. "Then we should seal it with a kiss.” Lucien stopped, tugging him to a halt, and spun him up against the long chest. Their lips met, the kiss sharp and hard. It was enough to steal his breath away, the hands on his hips holding firm enough to bruise, nails digging in. He had spots dancing behind his eyes before Lucien's lips left his. “You are the most delicious man I've had in a long, long time, Kieran." "Thank you. Home. Bed.” Oh, yeah. That was ... literate and coherent. "Oh, yes. Delicious and knows what he wants. I like that.” Lucien's hand slid around his arm again, moving them forward, almost as if Lucien was leading him. He had a feeling it would be easy to forget Lucien was blind. They made it inside, into the apartment together, both laughing at themselves as they stumbled over the threshold. Then Lucien's mouth was on his again, their laughter filling the kiss. "I trust you haven't moved anything,” muttered Lucien. A moment later they tumbled to the floor, landing in the middle of a pile of pillows. "I like it like it is.” He pushed into Lucien's strength, rubbing his prick against the man's hip. "As do I. There's something very primal about rolling around on the floor.” Those sharp teeth tugged at his lower lip. "Bohemian.” He arched, his prick screaming for attention, for a touch. "I have been called worse, but I like hedonist best.” Lucien's long fingers moved over him, working the buttons of his shirt open, so slowly he thought he would die before he was bared. "I ... I was talking about the apartment.” His skin tingled, every inch awake and aware. Lucien threw his head back and laughed. “As you can see, my ego is in very good shape.” Lucien's fingertips slid beneath his open shirt to find his nipples. The nails dragged across them, not forgetting the extra one, the zing and tingle enough to make him arch and shift. Lucien's mouth found them next, teeth worrying them, tongue soothing them. First one and then the second and then the third: each sensation made the next one bigger, better. Kieran stretched out, hands reaching up over his head to give Lucien room to explore him. The intense touches he remembered from last time were back, Lucien's fingertips mapping every inch of him. "Lucien...” He couldn't stop moving, shifting and sliding under those fingers. “I need." "Yes. Yes, you do, don't you? I can smell it on you, even with your trousers covering you.” The long fingers slid down to rub over his cloth-covered prick. "You ... you're one orgasm ahead of me."


"And would you like to me rectify that, Kieran?” Lucien's mouth opened over his groin, breathing on him through his pants. "Oh...” Kieran's breath caught in his chest, so he nodded, realizing belatedly that Lucien couldn'tsee him. “Please." Lucien hummed and he swore he could feel it in his cock. It seemed to take forever before Lucien's careful fingers undid his belt, his button, his zipper. His cock throbbed, leaping out into Lucien's hands. Lucien moaned, nose sliding along his cock. “I could lose myself in the way you smell." "Anything.” Just push him over the edge. "You shouldn't make promises of anything when you're so desperate, Kieran.” Lucien chuckled and those thin lips slid along his prick, teasing. "No?” He could feel the drops leaking from him, sliding down his shaft, painting his skin. "No.” That tongue licked the pre-come from him. “I would hate to see you lose your soul just to come." Then, without warning, Lucien's mouth dropped over his prick, pulling him in deep. He shot without further ado, bucking up and pumping his seed deep into Lucien's throat. Lucien swallowed him down, tongue licking him clean. "Now we are even, yes?" "Mmmhmm.” Even. Yes. Good. Damn. Lucien slowly moved up his body, leaving kisses, some gentle, others stinging, along his skin. Lingering at his neck, Lucien hummed softly, licked and bit at the skin near his pulse point. "Oh, you tempt me so, Kieran..." "That's good, yes? Temptation?” He floated, lips open as he tried to catch his breath. "Yes, but giving into temptation is even better.” Lucien's tongue slid from the base of his neck to his ear. “I want to tempt you, Kieran. And I want you to give in.” The words were whispered, husky. "Tempt me to what, beautiful man?” A series of soft shudders rocked him, the mixture of afterglow and a slowly rising passion addictive. "To spending eternity with me, of course.” Lucien's teeth worried the skin of his neck, threatening. "Eternity...” That wasn't something he even began to understand, especially with that wonderful mouth on his skin. "Yes. A chance to try everything at least once.” One tooth grazed his skin. "Wouldn't that be amazing?"


"It would. It takes someone very unique to make me want such a thing.” This time that tooth nicked his skin, the pain sharp and sudden, and then soothed by the soft heat of Lucien's tongue. His gasp sounded loud in the room, the sound followed by his moan. So amazingly sensual. "I would have you taste me as thoroughly as I have tasted you, Kieran. You have no idea what it is to truly know the flavor of someone." "I...” Oh. Oh, he wasn't one to be unsafe. He just wasn't. He never had been. Until Lucien. Lucien looked down at him. Well, he supposed Lucien wasn't actually looking at him, but it certainly felt like it, those dark eyes on his, their faces close. “There is a way for us to try everything once, for us to know each other in a way you have never dreamed of. But you must be willing to give up the life you know to follow me.” Lucien's fingers slid across his lips. “Do not answer, yet, Kieran. Think about it as I make your body sing as no one else ever has.” Then Lucien's lips were on his, the kiss deep, sure. He obviously had missed something, somewhere. Good thing his mouth was too busy to ask questions, because he'd hate for Lucien to think he hadn't been paying attention. Lucien's fingers pinched his nipples, tugging on his skin, as the kiss continued, grew deeper and harder, leaving him breathless. Kieran went with it, moaning as his pleasure slowly grew and spread, filling him head to toe. His pants were pushed down, Lucien growling as his shoes proved to be an obstacle. Their kiss was broken, Lucien moving down his body to tug them and then his pants off. "When you are fully naked I cansee you by the heat of your body." "Honestly? Do you like what you see?” He didn't know why he asked; he wasn't the type to lack in ego. "Oh, yes, Kieran. The picture I have of you, made up from how you feel and smell and sound, is quite lovely. Intriguing even. You are very beautiful." He knew he wasn't bad to look at. He'd had students and teachers, parents and random people express it to him, so why did Lucien's words make him blush? Lucien moaned when he did, too, fingers moving over his chest, up his throat to his cheeks. “Such heat. Your blood calls to me, Kieran. I find I must taste you again. It is a need, burning in my belly." "Taste me...” Christ, he felt stoned, nerves buzzing and brain sort of ... disconnected. "Thank you, I believe I will.” Lucien's mouth slid over his hip, lips closing around the bone, teeth threatening. The heat was incredible, the anticipation thick in the air. Long fingers slid over his balls, stroking them, encouraging him to spread and shift, push up toward Lucien's lips. Lucien's teeth slid along his skin, and then nipped him, hard enough to break the skin just where his hip met his thigh. At the same time, one of those long fingers pushed into him. "Oh...” He reached up, hands wrapping around the legs of one of his chairs and just held on. Lucien's tongue lapped at the cut he'd made, and then another bite came to the same spot on the other side, but harder, a second finger sliding into him. Lucien sucked hard at this bite, and Kieran imagined he could feel his blood pouring between Lucien's lips.


Kieran clenched his ass, squeezing Lucien's fingers, gasping at the sensations rocketing through him. He could feel Lucien's moan around his skin, in his blood almost, it seemed. As soon as his ass relaxed, Lucien's fingers pushed deep, sliding across his gland. "Fuck!” He bucked, eyes flying wide open as he bit out a groan. "That's coming, my sweet Kieran.” Lucien smiled up at him, lips blood-red until Lucien's pink tongue slid across them and suddenly they were not quite as red. Kieran frowned, blinked and tried to focus. Surely he didn't... No. Surely not. Before he could think too hard about it, Lucien's lips slid along his cock and down to his balls. First one, and then the other were drawn into Lucien's mouth, the long fingers pushing insistently against his gland, nudging it over and over. Oh, fuck it. He'd worry later. Another finger pushed in with the two inside him, Lucien humming around his ball, vibrating it before threatening it with one of those sharp, sharp teeth. "Oh. Oh, careful.” He stilled, shivering on the pillows. Lucien's mouth slid away from his sac, a soft chuckle sounding. “I won't unman you, Kieran, I promise. I am far, far too fond of you as you are." "Oh. Good.” He was suddenly glad that Lucien couldn't see his shaky smile. Those teeth sank into his inner thigh though, without warning, Lucien biting him hard. "Lucien!” He jerked, hands scrabbling and trying to pull himself away. "Shhh. Shhh.” Lucien's fingers pegged his gland again, the other hand sliding over his prick, as that tongue moved to soothe the bite. It throbbed with his heartbeat. "I ... I. You sca ... surprised me.” The sharp hurt faded into something pleasurable, something sweet. "Should I warn you next time?” Lucien asked, licking and sucking the flesh he'd bitten. "Next time? You like biting.” His thighs shook, cock throbbing. "I like tasting, Kieran. Tasting you." The fingers inside him slipped away, leaving him empty. He couldn't help the groan, the need to be filled, to have Lucien within him. Lucien slid up along his skin, the long body maddeningly still clothed. He reached for Lucien's buttons,


working them open, needing skin. Lucien moaned, not helping in the least, especially when the long fingers began to pluck at his nipples, the third as well as the first two. "You're a distraction...” He leaned forward, nipping Lucien's collarbone. A shudder moved through Lucien. “Do that again." He bit again, teeth scraping on the fine skin, fingers stroking the ink on Lucien's belly. "Yes!” Lucien humped against him, fine trousers rubbing against his skin, the covered cock digging into his hip. He reached for Lucien's fly, needing to touch again, to feel Lucien's need. Lucien helped this time, one hand pushing the pants down as soon as they were undone, Lucien's long, hard cock sliding against his skin and leaving a wet trail. "What do you want, Lucien? How do you want me?" "I want to take you, Kieran. I want to make you come and fill you with myself." "Yes...” He nodded and spread, fingers sliding pure liquid heat over the tip of Lucien's dark, swollen cock. A shudder moved through the long, pale body, and Lucien settled between his legs, fingers moving along the insides of his thighs, right up to his hole. Both of Lucien's thumbs penetrated him, spread him, the tip of Lucien's cock coming between them. Then Lucien's fingers disappeared, leaving only the amazing heat of Lucien's prick at his entrance. "Please.” He'd begged this man more than he'd begged anyone. Ever. "Yes.” Lucien slid into him, cock spreading him wide, hot and hard. The sightless eyes were wide, Lucien moaning low. There. That was what he needed. Just like that. Lucien's hips pushed up tight and hard against his ass, and then Lucien started moving, in and out, spearing him over and over. So smooth, so hot, so ... “We didn't use a rubber..." Oh. Oh, fuck. Right there. Right. Fucking. There. "We don't need one.” Lucien's cock hit his gland again, and then again, making sparks appear behind his eyes. "We sho...” His head slammed back as the pleasure flooded him, his balls drawing up tight. "We should make love.” Faster, harder, Lucien wasn't teasing anymore, but giving him everything he wanted.


"Yes. Yes, we should. We are. Lucien.” The man scrambled his brains. "Yes." Lucien bent, bringing their lips together, the kiss eager and hard, like the thrusts that rocked his body. Kieran opened, tongue sliding into Lucien's mouth, fucking Lucien's lips. One of Lucien's hands slid between them, finding and tugging his extra nipple. He groaned and squeezed, holding Lucien inside him. "Need,” groaned Lucien, finger pinching his nipple hard, teeth biting at his lips, at his tongue. “Want." "Right here. Right. Here.” He was going to just shake apart. "Yes. Oh, yes, Kieran.” Each word was accompanied by a thrust, a pinch, a bite, each harder than the last. And then Lucien cried out, head thrown back, eyes staring blindly as incredible heat filled him, burned inside him. His own orgasm hit him only a few seconds later, drawn from him by that long cock, the scent of them on the air. Lucien stayed buried deep, mouth sliding over his face and dropping hot, soft kisses. “Such heat and passion. I cannot remember the last time I met your equal, Kieran." "Mmm. That's a good thing.” A very good thing. "It is.” Lucien's voice was still low and husky with passion, the long body lowering to rest against his. “Very good.” The words echoed Kieran's thoughts. He nodded, eyes closing as he stroked the long spine. God, yes. Worth listening to bad poetry for. **** They'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, made love just before dawn, and then fallen into an exhausted slumber once more. And now Lucien felt the tug of night falling pulling him awake. It was time to wake, to hunt, to feed, to find a lover to share it with. Of course he didn't need to hunt, he had a lover with him already. Lucien stretched, body sliding against Kieran's. He wanted ... he wanted Kieran to join him. He wanted the sexy, lovely man to make love to him, to take him and feed from him, to take as well as to give. The question of course remained—was Kieran ready to learn the truth? And what would his reaction be when he did? Lucien knew he could just take enough blood that Kieran had no choice but to feed in return and seal his fate. Or Lucien could push him into it with his will. But that ... well he preferred seduction to force. He hummed lightly, fingers trailing over Kieran's arm and to the lovely line of the long neck. Oh, there were his bite marks, almost sparking against his fingertips. Kieran moaned and stretched, jaw lifting as the man slowly floated up from sleep. He bent close, tongue lapping at the lovely neck, tickling over his mark. Oh, to make Kieran his ... yes.


"Mmm ... warm.” Kieran arched, body rubbing up against him, skin so warm and smooth and soft. "You could wake like this every night,” he murmured, breathing in deeply, the scent of Kieran and sex and blood strong. "I'm not supposed to be just waking up this late, lover.” Kieran stretched, toes curling. "But if you come with me this could be your life. Sleeping the day away, waking at dusk. Making love to me." He wanted to feel Kieran's prick inside him, filling him with heat even as they feed from each other. "I have classes...” Kieran rocked with him, both of them sliding and shifting together. "They'll find someone else to teach them.” So good, the hot body against his own. "Yes, but I have to pay my rent." "If you're enamored of this place I will buy it for you.” Such little details. For every one he had turned, it was always the little tiny things that caught them. Kieran chuckled and moaned, the sound deep and needy. “My hero. Kiss me, love." He moaned at Kieran's words and found the lovely lips with his own, pushing his tongue into Kieran's mouth. The flavors there were increasingly familiar, an addiction for which he did not want a cure. He rocked their bodies together, an ache growing in his balls, and in his belly. "Lucien.” Kieran slid down, lips exploring slowly all the way down his body—neck and shoulders, nipples and stomach, painting his tattoo with slick heat. "Kieran.” A shudder moved through him and his hands found Kieran's head, stroking over the soft hair, sliding on Kieran's cheeks. “I want you,” he whispered. “I need you. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. The next night." "Mmhmm. I can get behind that. On top of it. Something." He tilted his head back, wanting desperately for Kieran's teeth to sink into his skin, for them to share their blood between them, necessary and essential. Kieran's chin nudged the tip of his cock, the bristles there abrading just enough to make his nerves sing. "Kieran!” His hips shifted, the need moving through him. He cupped Kieran's head, trying to guide the man's mouth to his cock. Those incredibly soft lips surrounded his cock, tongue sliding over his slit. He moaned, the heat of Kieran's mouth wonderful, the touches incredible. Already, it felt as if Kieran was his own, the sensations between them huge. Kieran cupped his balls, rolled them and stroked them even as that tongue adored his shaft. The pleasure was huge, and he spread his legs, offering himself completely to Kieran. For all that Kieran called him ravenous and needy, that mouth was starving against him, head bobbing


and lips dragging over his skin. Kieran would make a wonderful night feeder, that mouth sucking the blood from his very veins. Lucien cried out, hips jerking, pushing his cock deep. Kieran opened up, taking him in, letting him take what he needed. He wrapped his hands around Kieran's head and fucked the hot mouth, the soft lips holding his flesh tight. The moans vibrated his cock, stealing his good sense from him, driving him higher and higher into pleasure. “Oh, soon, Kieran!” His hips moved faster, the pleasure becoming bigger and bigger until it exploded from him and into Kieran. Kieran drank him down, devoured him, throat tight around him. "Yes. Oh, yes.” He shuddered as Kieran's mouth pulled more seed from him, more sensation. Kieran groaned, cheek landing on his stomach, breath hot on his skin. "So hungry, my Kieran. You may feed from me any time.” He shuddered again at the thought of Kieran biting him, sucking him, sating that unique hunger. "Mmmhmm. I do enjoy the way you taste.” Kieran sounded quite replete. He stroked Kieran's face, and hummed softly. “I would have you taste me completely, Kieran. I would have you truly know me." "Hmm? I don't follow, lover." "No, I know you don't. I've been dropping hints that seem terribly obvious to me, but mustn't be.” He tugged Kieran up, wanting him closer for this revelation. Kieran slid up along him, body warm and cock full and heated. He wrapped his hand around Kieran's prick, gliding it along his palm. Hints hadn't worked; there was nothing else for it but the truth. “I'm a vampire,” he told Kieran quietly. "Pardon me?" "You know. Drinks blood, hates sunlight. Lives forever.” He stroked Kieran's cock a few more times. “Makes you come more than anyone else ever has." "I ... That last one I'll agree with.” Kieran sounded odd—a mixture of confusion and desire. He laughed softly. “But the others are true as well. And if you think back, you'll agree with at least a couple of them..." "Lucien. Vampires are myths. Stories people make up to titillate and excite." His fingers slid over to Kieran's neck, to the marks he'd left. “It titillated and excited you, yes. But it happened, didn't it? I bit you. You were there." "I ... We were. It.” Kieran swallowed, stilled. “It was exciting..."


He hummed, hand speeding on Kieran's prick. “It was. It can be again. I want you to join me, Kieran." "Join you...” Kieran's hips started rocking, shifting, pushing toward his hand. "You could be a vampire as well. You could feed from me as I feed from you. We could be together always, Kieran. Exploring the world.” He laughed softly. “Exploring each other again and again." "I don't believe in vampires, lover." "And yet here I am, right before you.” He traced Kieran's face with his fingers, wishing he could see his lover's eyes. It was a rare wish that he made, but he wanted to know if Kieran thought he was crazy, whether the man was intrigued or repelled. Kieran felt ... worried. The thin eyebrows were pulled down, teeth worrying the bottom lip. “Yes, but..." He stroked Kieran's cheek, let his fingers slide along the lovely teeth that played with Kieran's lip. Oh, he wished to feel them sunk into his skin, Kieran sucking his very essence from him. "But what? How may I prove it to you—I will not turn you into my companion against your will." "I haven't the slightest idea. I've never known someone that claimed to be a myth before." He slid his hand down along Kieran's arm, found his lover's hand and brought it to his mouth. “I'm no myth." He sucked one of Kieran's fingers into his mouth, tongue playing with the tip before he ran it across one of his incisors, piercing the skin. He felt Kieran's moan, heard it, that arousal immediate and sweet as honey. “No. No, you're solid." Oh yes, he was and he knew Kieran loved everything about him, even the biting and the sucking. He sucked firmly on Kieran's finger, small, sweet drops of blood landing on his tongue. Then he pulled it from his mouth and offered it over to Kieran. “Taste,” he murmured. "It tastes like pennies.” Kieran did it though, the sound of sucking in the air. "To me the copper taste is only the beginning. Beneath that everyone tastes different. You are sweet and delicious. I am addicted already to the way you taste." "I ... Is it like a drug thing?" "It's biological, Kieran, not chemical. But I suppose a drug is the closest comparison.” He brought Kieran's finger back to his mouth, sucked a few more drops from it. “I need blood to survive." "I ... how much?” Kieran scooted closer, not away, curiosity apparently beating out worry. He shrugged. “It depends on how long it's been since I last fed, what I've done in between.” His hand found Kieran's ass, squeezed one rounded cheek. “Draining people to death? That is a myth. It's possible, but not at all necessary." "That's good. I'm not interested in dying right this moment."


He chuckled. “But are you interested in living forever? Or close enough to it?" "Who isn't?" He sat up, bringing Kieran with him, his hand moving to cup Kieran's face. “Then you'll let me turn you into a vampire as well? You'll drink from me and stay with me?" "If you try and I don't, will you let me get you some help, Lucien? Please?" "You don't believe me? I don't want you to agree just because you don't believe it will happen. You need to be willing on the chance that it will work.” He leaned in and licked at Kieran's lips. “And it will. So exciting, Kieran. You and me together, roaming the night, making love, seeing everything there is to see, doing everything there is to do..." "I ... tell me what you think will happen. Will it hurt? Will I be ... dead?” Poor Kieran, trying so hard to understand, to comprehend. "I prefer to call it super-alive rather than dead. I will drink from you and you will drink from me in return, as much as you can take before you pass out. While you are out, your body will change. You will become a vampire like me. You will need to feed when you wake, and you will imprint upon the first being you feed from—in this case, me." "And then what? I can't see myself in mirrors and am allergic to garlic?” There was the beginning of panic in Kieran's voice. He brought their mouths together, giving Kieran a kiss as his hands smoothed down along Kieran's back. “The mirror thing is also a myth—though I haven't seen myself in them lately.” He grinned and gave Kieran another kiss. “And the garlic thing is more a case of the flavor being anathema rather than an actual allergy. I assure you, Kieran, it is a world of sensuality that you would be well-suited to." Kieran relaxed for him, gasping into his lips a little, hands gripping him tightly. “Will it hurt?" "I can't tell, sweet. It is different for everyone. I do have a theory that desire for it makes the transition easier. That you want me will help.” It was one reason he didn't turn people against their will. Not since Michael ... that had been ... unpleasant for both of them, the man's religion leading him to kill himself. "Have ... you do this a lot?" "No. No, and I would prefer to not do it again. I ... I do not wish to live my life alone, and being with a lover who grows frail and dies while I remain as I am is very painful. I would rather leave you than feel you slowly slipping away from me." He brought their mouths together again, seeking to soothe and ease Kieran with his kisses, his touches. Kieran rocked and slipped against him, flagging cock beginning to fill again. Lucien hummed, one hand sliding to touch Kieran's prick. “You see? Your body knows what it wants. Listen to it, Kieran. Do not let your fear of the unknown stop you from taking this, from sharing it with me.” He slid his mouth over Kieran's neck, letting his teeth threaten, knowing how Kieran's body responded so positively to that stimulus. Kieran moaned, chin lifting, throat offered to him.


He licked, tongue sliding along the warm skin until he found Kieran's pulse point. With a growl, he bit, teeth sinking in and lips wrapping tight so he didn't lose a single drop of Kieran's blood. So sweet, so good, filling his mouth and his belly, making his body fly. "Lucien!” Kieran went perfectly still, the cry ringing out and echoing through the room. He took just a bit more and then loosened his hold on Kieran's neck, tongue lapping at the drops until they stopped. “You love it, Kieran. I can tell." "Yes.” Kieran whimpered, hands just beginning to lose their strength. "Will you drink from me? Will you spend the rest of time with me?” He lapped again at Kieran's neck, the sweet flavor as addictive as he'd said. He would love to be able to feast upon Kieran for always. "You would want me? Honestly?" "Kieran. Do you think I would have told you, would have asked you if I didn't honestly want you to join me?" "That all depends if you're crazy or telling the truth, I suppose.” Kieran shuddered. “What if I can't drink from you?" Lucien brought his own wrist to his mouth and opened the vein, holding it out for Kieran. “That's for you to decide. But know this. I want to spend eternity with you. I want you to join me. What do you want?" "I ... I don't...” Kieran shuddered, tongue sliding over his wound, lips fastening over his skin. His groan came from deep inside him. It had been so long since someone had fed from him. “Take as much as you can, Kieran. The more you take the stronger the bond, the easier the transition.” His free hand slid over Kieran's neck and down over the long spine. Kieran whimpered, feeding from him, pulling and sucking, drawing the life directly from him. So strong, Kieran drank so deeply from him. He'd known—known—that Kieran was a good choice. He held on tight, feeling himself begin to get lightheaded. He held on though, needing to remain strong for Kieran. “That's it, my sweet Kieran. So good.” He leaned in and wrapped his lips around Kieran's neck again, pulling Kieran's blood up to the surface and into his mouth. Already he could taste the tiny changes in Kieran's body. He sucked slowly, letting Kieran get as much of his blood as possible before draining him enough that he would pass out for the change to work on him. Finally, though, Kieran's lips left his arm, the fine body limp and heavy against him. He was weak himself, Kieran's blood not enough to replace what was stolen, not yet anyway, but he managed to lie Kieran out on the pillows before he stood and moved carefully until he reached a wall. From there, he circled the apartment, making sure all the windows were curtained, and that the door was locked. Satisfied, he returned to Kieran's side, wrapped himself around his lover and let his own exhaustion have him. ****


His blood was rushing in his ears, heart pounding furiously and Kieran whimpered, crawling across the floor to escape the sounds. Loud. So loud. He. He. He needed. God. Hungry. Now. It hurt, snarling and snapping inside him. "Kieran.” It was Lucien's voice, low and soothing, a warm hand sliding along his back. “I'm right here, lover." "Help me.” He was sick. Something. He needed help. "I'm here, right here.” Lucien pulled him up against the long, pale body, his mouth brought to Lucien's neck. “You know what you need. Take it." He whimpered, teeth biting in before he could even think, the splash of heat soothing something desperate within him. Lucien's hands held his head in place. “Yes. Oh, yes, my love. So good." He relaxed his grip, realizing Lucien wasn't fighting him, wasn't pulling away from him. Low hums vibrated against him from Lucien's chest. And, hot and hard, Lucien's prick slid against his belly, the long naked body so close. He could feel Lucien's heart beat with his, the heat of Lucien filling him. "I have dreamed of this,” murmured Lucien, fingers sliding over his skull, stroking him. “Dreamed of you." Kieran hummed, caught in Lucien's words, bound by them somehow. His hips were shifted, his cock brought in line with Lucien's. “Feel that, Kieran? Feel how we fit together?” Another low chuckle soothed across his nerves. “So hungry." "Mmhmm.” The ache and fear and hurt dissipated, leaving a heated peace behind. "Kiss me, Kieran. I wish to taste myself in your mouth." He let go of Lucien's throat with a growl, staring into those heated, sightless eyes. Lucien raised his head and brought their lips together, a soft whimper sounding as Lucien's tongue pushed into his mouth. Oh, theflavors . He made a low, feral sound, pushing into the kiss with a desire he'd never known before. Lucien met his passion head on, feeding him sensations and tastes, sounds and touches. His head was swimming and, if were not for Lucien's hands holding him, Kieran was afraid he'd simply vibrate apart. Lucien's hips rolled, sliding them together, waves of pleasure coming with each motion.


Want. He wanted. Everything. Anything. Lucien. "Will you take me, Kieran? I want your heat inside me as we feed from each other." "Please.” He nodded, Lucien's request enough to make his blood boil. He surged between Lucien's legs, sucking his fingers to wet them. “Please." Lucien rolled his hips, ass tilting for him even as the long legs spread wider. “Yes, Kieran. I want you." "Yes.” He pressed deep, too needy for gentleness, just spreading Lucien wide, wetting the tight ring of muscles for his cock. Lucien's cry spurred him on, the long fingers digging into his shoulders. "I can't wait. I need, lover.” Now. Immediately. "Don't wait. Take me, Kieran. Now.” Lucien's hands slid down to his hips, tugged him close. He growled low, surging up and burying himself in tight, perfect heat. Oh. There. Right there. His Lucien. Lucien froze beneath him, body tight and hot around him. “Oh, my love, Kieran ... it has been so long." "Yours. Lucien...” He began to move, eyes rolling at the sight of his lover, hair mussed, eyes wide, skin flushed with pleasure. The large cat on Lucien's belly rippled, seemed alive. "Mine. Oh, yes...” Lucien's voice was husky, his breath coming quickly as the lean hips rose to meet his every thrust. Kieran whimpered, his cock sliding deep into Lucien's body, again and again. The heat was unbelievable, the pressure perfect. One of Lucien's hands slid up to cup the back of his head, tugging him down, not into a kiss, but so that Lucien's mouth could wrap around his neck, the sharp teeth plunging into his skin. His cry rang out, hips bucking wildly, thrusting deep into Lucien as his balls drew up, tight as stones. Lucien fed from him as they fucked, long swallows matching his every thrust. "Love.” His seed poured from him, filling Lucien up even as his blood poured into Lucien's lips. "Yours...” Lucien's breath slid over his neck, heat spraying up between them. He shook, energy leaving him in a rush, his muscles trembling and kitten-weak. Lucien was there to catch him, arms holding him as they curled together. "Welcome home, Kieran."


He nodded, blinking slowly. It was a brand-new world, everything different, unusual. Lucien's fingers tilted his head, their mouths joining for a long, slow kiss. Even that kiss different now, so much more as each sense seemed bigger. “Thank you." "I ... Thank you.” He was tired, confused, more than a little lost. “Lucien." "I'm right here, Kieran. It'll ease, you'll learn how to use your new senses. We have a safe place here for you to do so, yes? And I'm not going anywhere, not now that you've chosen to be with me through time.” Lucien's long fingers slid over him, soothing, loving, easing. "How did you go blind?” The question came from nowhere, just slipped from him. "I was poisoned. Because I am a vampire, the poison didn't kill me. It did, however, blind me. I was told to count myself lucky.” Lucien chuckled, the sound rather humorless. “It was many years before I could do so." "Poisoned? On purpose?” Kieran shuddered, his entire body rejecting the thought. “How long ago?" "On purpose. And it was at the very beginning of my journey as a vampire, which likely also contributed to the poison's effectiveness—I was still weak and new. The man who brought me over was in the middle of a war with another vampire and had neglected to let me know." "I ... How many are there for your kind?” His kind. Their kind. God. Lucien shrugged, the movement casual and easy. “I don't keep track. And wars are mostly a thing of the past—it is easier to blend and leave each other be. I have only made a few vampires myself, but there's no quota on it, potentially any human can be turned by any vampire." "That's...” Terrifying. Horrifying. Incomprehensible. “I'm not sure how to understand this." "You have all the time you need to do so, Kieran. We can feed off each other for months without ever leaving this apartment if we need to. And I have a number of ... friends who are more than willing to be fed upon. The popularity of Goth culture has been a boon to my—our—kind." Lucien grew still suddenly. “You aren't regretting your choice, are you?" "No. I ... It's a touch overwhelming. More than a touch. I'm ... Unnerved?" Lucien nodded. “It isn't an easy beginning, but I will not abandon you to it. I promise. And when you have become used to it, we will do everything you can think of and more." He reached for Lucien, hands trembling. “I can think of many things, lover. Enough to occupy a lifetime." "Then keep thinking, Kieran. We have many lifetimes to occupy.” Lucien laughed, the pale face happier than he'd yet seen it. “It will be fabulous, my own. Just fabulous." He nodded. He hoped so. He did. More than almost anything.


Epilogue Morocco was a terribly sunny country, and Lucien was more than happy to have it behind them. Still, Kieran had expressed a desire to travel the world and see every country at least once. Lucien was nothing if not indulgent of his lover. Europe would provide longer nights and darker haunts though, and he was well-pleased to have reached the south of France, the small castle they were staying in belonging to a friend. The place was currently deserted but for the two of them, the skeleton staff that kept the place up while Andre was not in residence having left well before sunset. "Kieran?” he called softly as he stood up from the large, soft bed, and stretched. “Have you already abandoned me in favor of exploring?" "I have not.” His lover's voice had deepened with the change, the husky chuckle sliding up along his spine. “I was at the window, looking at the gardens." "Are they lovely?” He asked, heading toward Kieran's voice, trusting that his lover would warn him of anything in his way. "Mmmhmm. The moon is turning everything to silver." He reached Kieran without incident and pushed up against the warm, naked back, his arms going around Kieran's middle. He rested his chin on Kieran's shoulder, the scent of his lover's blood strong this close, exciting him. “That sounds almost as lovely as you,” he murmured, stroking Kieran's belly. "Flatterer.” Kieran chuckled low, loving him like none other ever had before. "Not so, my love. You are the most beautiful thing I know.” Kieran filled his senses and made him so happy. He rubbed against his most favorite. “What are we doing tonight?" "Do you hunger?" Did he hunger? Had there been more than a moment since he met Kieran that he had not? “Always, Kieran.” His tongue slid along the long neck, lips nibbling. "Mmm.” Kieran's chin dipped, more of that nape offered to him. He hummed, letting one tooth scrape along Kieran's skin, but not breaking it. Not yet. The tease was delicious. Kieran arched against him, the soft moan almost too quiet to hear. He grabbed Kieran's hips and turned him, bringing their mouths together in a hard kiss, their teeth knocking, one of their lips splitting. The sounds that pushed into his mouth were deep and raw, the hands on his hips hard enough to bruise. The passion flared quick and bright between them, the shared drops of blood like an appetizer for the heat to come. He slid his own hands down to Kieran's ass, holding on. Kieran's cock was full, throbbing against his thigh, promising him pleasure, promising him an eternity of desire. Their tongues tangled together, fought and played as they rubbed, heat on heat.


Kieran began to move, leading him on a hunt, keeping that throbbing vein away from his lips. His fingers slid around to tease Kieran's nipples, trying to distract as he gave chase, mouth searching and eager. They stumbled back, Kieran's flesh responding eagerly to his touch, the scent of need stronger on the air. He pushed Kieran up against the window, mouth finally latching onto Kieran's skin. "Lucien. Lover.” The vein seemed to leap into his lips, the blood calling to him. "Mine.” He growled the word, and then bit, Kieran's lifeblood pouring into his mouth. It was the finest wine, heat and life filling his lips, his body, his soul. He lost himself in it, in his lover, his Kieran. Eventually Kieran drew his wrist up, needle-sharp teeth sinking in deep. Crying out, he came, his body spilling, blood and seed, onto, into his lover. They slumped together, sinking to the floor with its chilled stone and heavy rugs. Kieran moaned, curling close and holding him as if he were something special. The strength of his lover's arms had grown more and more familiar as they'd lived and loved, his faith in Kieran being the one for him fulfilled. "Happy?” he asked, needing to know he wasn't the only one to have gained by taking Kieran and turning him. "More than happy.” Kieran smiled against his cheek, lips soft and warm. "Mmm ... good.” He stretched and curled again, sliding against Kieran with long, slow movements. At home. No matter where they went, he was home with Kieran.

The Hit By Sara Bell "Do you know why we brought you here?" Clients. Most of them treat me like some half-wit who doesn't understand the particulars of my job. I looked Jenson Macintosh—vampire elder and feared leader of the Southeast brood—dead in the eye so he'd see there'd been no misunderstanding. "You've got a problem that needs to be eliminated." "Correct." Jenson turned to his son Mitchell, seated beside him at the conference table. I was sitting directly across from them and got a bird's eye view of the uneasy glance that passed between the two. Before I had time to dwell on it, Mitchell pulled a picture from his briefcase and slid it across to me. I lifted it in front of my face. The guy in the photo wasn't bad looking, for a vamp. At least, I was pretty


sure that's what he was from the hint of fang showing through his tight lips. Apparently, the guy wasn't big on smiles. The thing that struck me the most about him, though, was the sense of familiarity I got when I looked at him. It was odd, like I was supposed to know the guy but couldn't quite place him. It was almost as if this was an old picture I was looking at and the guy had changed a lot since it was taken. I laid the picture back on the table. “Who is he?" "His name is Kalimus Roche,” Jenson said. “One of our own who's broken faith with us.” An unholy gleam appeared in his faded eyes. “He must be eradicated." Most hit men wouldn't ask why, but I don't operate that way, and Jenson knew it. “You know the drill,” I said. “Spill it." Jenson hesitated, and that's when Mitchell stepped in to fill the gap. "Kalimus has been feeding on humans." "I thought a lot of vamps still fed straight from the vein. I didn't know it was a big deal." "It isn't, as long as the vampire in question erases the human's memory when he's done.” Jenson folded his hands on top of the table. “Kalimus is different." I kept silent and waited. Mitchell shifted in his seat. “Kalimus isn't satisfied merely to feed.” He shook his dark head. “He drains his prey dry and leaves the bodies moldering in the streets." Murder. Slaughtering innocents was a taboo few supernaturals were willing to break. I wondered briefly what it was that had driven Kalimus over the edge, then pushed the thought away. Not my problem. "Tragic, but I don't see how that involves me.” I leaned back in my chair. “I imagine a brood as powerful as yours has its own hit squad. I bet any one of your boys could take Kalimus out." "Perhaps, but we want you.” Jenson scrubbed his hand over his clean-shaven face. From where I was sitting, he looked to be no older than thirty—more like Mitchell's brother than his father. It was the aura of authority coming off him in waves that marked him as an elder. Jenson was old, powerful, and no one to fuck with. "Rumor is,” Jenson said, “that you're the best." Iwas the best, but I knew idle flattery when I heard it. “If you really believe that,” I said, “then you know excellence doesn't come cheap." "Of course.” Jenson reached beneath his chair and came back up with a metal case. He set it on the table, then popped the latches. I caught the fresh scent of new money. "Five hundred thousand.” Jenson turned the case around, affording me a full view of row upon row of neatly bundled bills. “Half up front, the other two-fifty when the job is completed." It was an outrageous sum, even for a man of my skills. My gut told me that these two were hiding something, but I ignored the nagging urge to back away from the deal. If Kalimus was killing humans, he


deserved to die. End of story. Besides, I was a professional, and that meant there was only one more question left to ask. "How do you want it done?" I expected Jenson to answer, but Mitchell spoke up, instead. "I want you to bleed him to the point of death, then tie him to a stake and leave him for the dawn." Only years of experience kept me from flinching. The blood loss would make Kalimus too weak to fight the incinerating rays of the sun. Within minutes, he'd be baked within the husk of his own skin. If there was ever a more brutal way for a vampire to die, I'd never heard of one. Something of what I was thinking must've shown on my face, because Jenson said, “Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Denton?" I shook my head. “Your money, your terms.” I pushed back from the table and stood up. “Pay me my two-fifty and we're good to go." **** Finding Kalimus turned out to be harder than I thought. I tried scrying for him, but got zip for my efforts. After another failed attempt involving two seers and a five-hundred-dollar bottle of imported vodka, I decided to resort to good old-fashioned detective work. I let myself in through the back door of the morgue. The dank smells of death and chemicals hit me hard, and I was forced to stop a minute while I caught my breath. The last thing I wanted to do was disgrace myself by hurling all over the stained tile floor. Once I had my stomach in check, I headed down the hall to Murdock's office. I found him sitting behind his desk, going over a stack of reports. Bob Murdock would make a great television character, a stereotype of bit-part, drama show coroners the world wide. His skin was pale from spending too much time in the basement morgue, and his eyes were hidden behind thick, wire-framed glasses. I didn't even want to think about the stains on his lab coat, so I kept my eyes trained on his bent head and cleared my throat. Bob looked up. “Hey, Carter. Long time no see." "Too true.” I wasn't much for small talk so I got right to the point. “What do you know about a blood sucker named Kalimus?" "Word on the street says he's gone crazy. Been picking off humans like ripe bananas." "I don't give a damn about the word on the street.” I leaned back against the doorframe. “I want the facts." Bob nodded, then rose from his chair and walked over to the filing cabinet in the corner. "I've had four exsanguinations brought in during the last four months.” He removed a set of files and held them up for me to see. “One victim per month, each one bled dry on the first day of the full moon.” He closed the cabinet, then came over and handed me the files. “All four of the victims were male, and all


four were dumped in dark alleys within the southeast quadrant." I tucked the files under my arm for later viewing. “What do the cops say?" Bob rolled his eyes. “Same thing they always say when a ‘supe’ is involved. ‘Looks like the work of a sadistic cult,’ et cetera, et cetera.” He went back to his desk and sat down. “The police don't believe in things that go bump in the night, remember?" "Not believing in them doesn't make them any less real." "You're preaching to the choir, my friend.” Bob reached for the cup on his desk, sniffed it, then tossed back a swallow. With a grimace, he set it back down. “I don't care what the police say. These murders were the work of a vampire. Two clean punctures to the jugular of each victim." Sounded about right. “You think this Kalimus guy is to blame?" "I don't know. Up until recently, no one had ever heard of him, then all of a sudden, he shows up and mortals start dying.” Bob paused. “Most of the local broods believe he's guilty, and some are afraid he won't stop with slaughtering humans.” He shuddered. “Lydia is so freaked she won't leave the house by herself." Lydia was Bob's vampire wife, the source of his connection to the supernatural community. If a vamp of Lydia's age and power was afraid of Kalimus, he must be one hell of a bad ass, indeed. "Thanks for the info, Bob.” I shifted the folders from my armpit into my hand. “Tell Lydia she won't have anything to worry about, and soon." "I'll tell her, but you better watch your back on this one, Carter.” Bob lowered his voice. “I know you think your powers will protect you—" "My powers don't enter into the equation,” I said, cutting him off. “I'll get this guy the same way I've gotten all the others. Run him to the ground and finish him off.” I wasn't being cocky, but I do have a healthy appreciation for my own talents. Bob wasn't convinced. “Do you even know where he is?" "Not exactly.” I shot him a grin. “But I know where to start the search." **** Before my true nature had manifested itself, I'd wanted to be a cop. I mean, my dad was a cop. Why not follow in the old man's footsteps? Those illusions were shattered when I came of age, but I still had a healthy respect for the police. One cop in particular. I waited until I was outside the morgue, sitting in my car, and called him on his cell phone. He answered on the first ring. "Jacobs." "It's me, Shane." "Jesus, Carter, where have you been?” I could hear the smile in Shane's voice. “I was starting to think


you'd vanished into the ether." "Not a chance.” The thought of myself as an ethereal being was too much, and I laughed. “I'm more likely to sprout horns than a halo." "I hear you,” Shane said. “Then again, I never minded you being horny." "Yeah, but all that changed when you and Darrell got hitched." "You got that right.” The creak of an old office chair reclining sounded across the line. “So if you didn't call because you're pining for my hot yet unavailable ass, to what do I owe the pleasure?" "Close your eyes and give it your best guess." Shane sighed. “You want to know about the vamp killings." Did I mention that in addition to being fuckable as all hell, Shane was damn smart? "Guessed it in one,” I said. “I've already gone over the coroner's reports. Now I need the police perspective." His voice went soft. “You know I can't give you specifics about an ongoing case." "Sure you can. You've done it lots of times, in fact." "Carter, I could lose my job." "You could lose your job if the police find out you believe in vampires too, but that's never stopped you." Shane swore under his breath. “Hang on a sec." I could hear footsteps then, muffled over the connection. A minute later, the sound of a door closing came through, and then Shane said, “I'm alone now, but before I tell you anything, I want to know why the sudden interest." I was keeping Shane on a need to know basis, but the least I could do was give him the basics. "I've been hired to eliminate the killer." There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line, and I knew Shane was choosing his next words carefully. Shane hated my job. It was one of the main factors in our breakup. Finally, he said, “Who are you working for?" "You know I can't tell you that." He let out a long breath. “It was worth a try.” He cleared his throat. “You know you should let the police handle this, right?" "Considering you're the only cop on the force who knows there's a world outside the human spectrum,


I'm not even gonna answer that one." "Fine,” Shane said, “be a hard ass. Since we're desperate to catch this guy, I suppose I can tell you what I know." I pulled a pen and pad from the console of my car. “Shoot." "Each one of the victims was last seen at a bar called the Silver Dagger." I didn't even need to write it down. The Silver Dagger was one of the biggest dives in the city, making it a prime hang out for supes who'd turned to the dark side. I fiddled with my pen. “Anything else?" "Each one of the victims was gay. My sergeant thinks this is some kind of bizarre gay bashing." That brought me up short. Homosexuality wasn't that big a deal amongst supes. If Kalimus turned out to be a homophobic prick bent on destroying me and my kind, it certainly upped the stakes. "Thanks for the info, Shane." "You're welcome, but Carter ... Be careful, okay?" "Always.” I cut the connection, tossed my phone into the passenger seat, and started the engine. I appreciated Shane's concern, but I knew what I was doing. At least, that's what I told myself as I headed down Leyland Boulevard toward the Silver Dagger. **** The place was packed, not surprising for a Friday night. Reggie, the bartender, paused in the act of slinging drinks to give me a hard stare as I approached the bar. "You got no business in here, Denton." Since I'd worked over more than one informant in the bar's back room, I wasn't surprised by the less than enthusiastic welcome. "Relax, Reggie. All I'm looking for is some info. You tell me what I need and I'm outta here." Reggie curled one thick lip. “And if I don't give you what you want?" "I think you know.” I smiled then, moving my hands back and forth over the bar. I allowed just enough energy to pass from my fingers so that a tannish glow bounced off the surface of the wood. “So what's it gonna be?" At first I thought Reggie was stupid enough to argue with me, but after a minute he said, “Who you looking for, Denton?" "Vamp named Kalimus. Know him?" "Not personally, but one of the barmaids does.” Reggie pointed a stubby finger to the back room. “She's taking her break now. Redhead name of Tina. Can't miss her."


Instead of thanking Reggie for the information, I gave him a warning. “I find out you've screwed me over..." "Yeah, yeah.” Reggie picked up a dirty rag and started mopping the bar. “Get out of here, Denton. I don't want your kind stinking up my place." I winked at the son-of-a-bitch, then headed for the stockroom. As Reggie had promised, Tina was inside. She and two other barmaids shared space at a metal table that looked like it was three seconds away from collapsing. "Ladies.” I tipped an imaginary hat. One, a dark haired girl I pegged for a shifter, wrinkled her nose. “Can't you read, pal? The sign says ‘Employees Only'." "I can read just fine, doll-face. Especially, I'm good at reading warrants.” I looked her in the eye. “You got any outstanding ones I should know about?" It wasn't a hard guess, since Reggie had a reputation for hiring his fellow crooks. The girl paled, but she held her ground. “Why are you busting my chops? I ain't done nothing to you." "Relax, sugar.” I trained my eyes on Tina. “I'm looking for big red, here." "And so you found me.” Tina looked me up and down with disinterest. “If you're trying to find a one-nighter, you can keep searching. You're cute and all, but I don't do tricks." "Thanks, but I don't bat for your team, anyway.” I glanced back at the other two. “Ladies, I could use a little privacy with your friend, here." They hesitated, until Tina gave them a single nod. “Go on. I'll be all right." After they left, I grabbed the chair the brunette had vacated and turned it around backwards, straddling it. Once comfortable, I locked eyes with Tina. “Vamp named Kalimus. Know him?" "Yeah. So?" She wasn't going to deny it. Good. I hate playing games. "So, word has it he's killing humans, which makes his ass mine.” I leveled my gaze. “You help me find him and I'll make sure the vampire clans show you the proper degree of appreciation." She folded her arms over her ample chest. “What are you, a cop or something?" "Or something. Now quit stalling and tell me what you know." "Kalimus is no killer, but even if he were, I couldn't help you.” Tina stood up. “He left town two weeks ago, and as far as I know, he isn't coming back." I could smell the lie the minute it rolled off her tongue, but I played along. If Tina thought I was buying


her story, I could work it to my advantage. "You wouldn't be stupid enough to yank my chain, would you?" She rolled her eyes. “I told you what I know. Now piss off." "Sure thing, doll.” I stood up, extending one hand to cup her chin. “Thanks for your cooperation." She shook my hand off, but not before I was able to send the magic barb shooting under her skin. As I'd hoped, Tina never even noticed, just gave me a snort of disgust and walked out. I watched her go with a smile of victory playing across my lips. All I had to do now was settle in and wait. **** I figured Tina was too smart not to guess that I might follow her, so I waited two days before I tracked the barb. It worked much the same way as a GPS system would. All I had to do was train my mind on it, and the barb led me right to Tina's place. It was a ratty tenement on the south side of the city. Not quite bad enough to be condemned, but not the kind of shit hole you'd want your mama living in. I crept through the foyer, past a couple of bugged-out crystal queens, to hide underneath the stairs. A second after I settled into position, the link between me and the barb intensified, and I knew without having to look that Tina was right above me. She headed out of the building and into the street. I called on a glamour spell to make myself look like just another run-of-the-mill street rat, then followed her out. We didn't go far. Tina was only a block past her building when she ducked down a back alley and changed course for Alden Park. Alden Park used to be a nice enough place, back when the city engineers were trying to attract young, middle-class families to the area. Now it was nothing more than a meeting place for hookers and johns. That, and crack heads. Can't forget the crack heads. I dodged a couple as I tailed Tina past a rusted swing set to the copse of trees beyond. Tina darted a quick glance around, then headed into the tree line. I shouldered behind a ramshackle pavilion and waited. Just as I'd hoped, Tina came out a minute later with a tall figure in black robes. It had to be Kalimus. What is it with vampires and those swirling cloaks, anyway? I shook my head and crept to the edge of the pavilion, as close as I dared. They were still a good distance from me, but with the help of the barb, I could just make out what they were saying. "I'm telling you, Kal, it's too dangerous for you to go out tonight,” Tina said. “What if Jenson's henchman is waiting for you?" "I'm sure he will be, but that doesn't erase my duty.” The dark-clad man shook his head. “I won't have another innocent die because of me." I probably should have been surprised by Kalimus's declaration, but I wasn't. I'd had a feeling something was off ever since I took this case. Either Kalimus knew I was there and was putting on a show for me, or he was innocent. At this point, I had only one choice: follow the guy and see how it played out.


Kalimus and Tina left Alden Park with me trailing a safe distance behind. We walked a good fourteen blocks from there to a back alley on Grant Street. The show had already started. Two big-ass vamps were beating the shit out of a scrawny mortal. The guy was near unconscious already. Dropping the glamour, I charged in as one of the vamps latched on to the guy's neck and started draining him. Kalimus and Tina beat me to the punch. I got to the middle of the alley just as Tina pulled a stake from the waistband of her jeans. She went after the vamp holding down the mortal, leaving me to deal with the other bastard. My opponent was hardly intimidated. Unlike Tina, I had no weapon, so I'm guessing he didn't see me as much of a threat. Casting me a fang-filled smile, the vamp beckoned me forward. “Bring it on, little mortal.” He licked his lips. “I'm going to enjoy this." The vampire made two mistakes. His first was believing me to be a mere mortal. His second was thinking me to be unarmed. Most folks think there are only three ways to ice a vamp: stake to the heart, chop to the head, or direct contact with sunlight. Me, though, I knew better. One of the best ways to dispatch a vamp is with fire, and on that score I was more than ready. The bastard lunged for me, and I threw up my hands. He probably mistook the gesture for surrender, but as I hurled a ball of blue flame the guy's way, he realized he'd made a tactical error. He turned to run, but it was too late. I watched with satisfaction as the fire engulfed him, leaving nothing behind but a simmering pile of ash. A feminine voice interrupted my victory gloat. “If you're done, I could use some help here." I turned to see Tina struggling against her target. He had her pinned up against the wall, making it impossible for her to stake him. Running across the alley, I grabbed the vamp and pulled him back, giving Tina a clear shot. She drove the stake home, and the vamp fell to the ground, dead. "Thanks.” Tina stepped over the corpse. “I know we play for different sides, but I appreciate the save." I shrugged. “I might be gay, but I never could pass up a damsel in distress." "Not what I meant,” she said. “About different sides, that is. I know who you are, and I know why Jenson Macintosh sent you." "Things aren't always what they seem.” I looked back down the alley, to where Kalimus was tending the injured mortal. “Think he needs our help?" "No,” Tina said. “Watch." I stepped closer for a better look. Kalimus tipped the mortal's prone body back, then extracted one muscled wrist from the sleeve of his robe. I couldn't see Kalimus's face, but as he raised his wrist to his


mouth, I knew what he was doing. Sure enough, a second later Kalimus pressed his now bloody wrist to the mortal's mouth and ordered him to drink. Even unconscious, the mortal had no choice but to obey. He opened his mouth and drank as if his life depended on it. Within minutes, the color returned to his cheeks. Kalimus waited until the guy was out of danger, then rose to his feet. "That should hold him until the medics get here,” he said. His face, still shrouded by the hooded robe, turned my way. “I assume you have a cell phone with you, Mr. Denton. If you'd be so kind as to call 911..." I did as he asked, then slipped the phone back into my pocket. “We'd better get the hell out of Dodge. They'll be here in ten minutes, tops." Kalimus didn't move. “Before we go, it seems you and I have some business to discuss." "I reckon we do, but I make it a habit never to talk business with a man unless I'm looking him in the eye." "That may prove to be more difficult than you think.” Something akin to a chuckle sounded from the depths of the hood. Kalimus reached up, pushing the hood away and exposing his face to the dim glow of the alley's overhead lights. Two things hit me, then. The first was that I knew Kalimus's face, had seen it dozens of times over the years. As I was digesting that information, the second thing sank in. Kalimus was completely and utterly blind. **** It was Tina who finally had the good sense to drag our asses out of the alley. I was too shell-shocked by my discoveries to move, and poor Kalimus was too drained from giving blood to find his way out of the alley. Tina took us both by the hand and led us back to her place. She pushed Kalimus down into a rickety chair in the miniscule kitchen before pointing me toward the joined living room's lone sofa. “You can sit in there while I replenish the blood Kal lost." Studying the magnificent creature sitting under the garish bare-bulbed kitchen fixture, I found it impossible to see him as a Kal. He was Kalimus, man of my dreams. Literally. I pushed away from the kitchen doorway and stopped Tina as she lifted her wrist to Kalimus's mouth. “You're bleeding,” I said, pointing to the oozing welts marring her cheek all the way down to her collar bone. “Looks like that vamp scratched you up but good.” I pushed back my sleeve. “I'll give him what he needs." "Witch's blood.” One corner of Kalimus's mouth twitched. “Said in some circles to be a potent aphrodisiac." I wasn't surprised that he'd figured me out. “You know what I am." "You smell of magic.” Kalimus shrugged. “Once the eyes go, the other senses heighten to compensate. Being a vampire only intensifies the effect."


I grabbed a chair from the table and sat down directly in front of Kalimus. “You a born vamp, or were you created?" "What is this, twenty freakin’ questions?” Tina grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and some gauze from a kitchen cabinet. “Denton was sent here to kill you, Kal. Why are you making small talk with him?" "But Mr. Denton isn't going to kill me, Tina.” He turned un-opening eyes my way. “Are you, Mr. Denton?" "If I was, you'd be dead already.” I shoved my arm in his face. “You gonna drink or not?" "Most assuredly.” And as Kalimus lowered his head to my arm, I realized something; he wasn't just blind, he had no eyes, period. I tried not to stare—I swear I did—but it was damn hard, even though Kalimus's head was bent as an angle that made seeing his face nearly impossible. Tina must have noticed, because she let out a loud snort from the sink where she was bandaging her wounds. "You're not exactly P.C., are you Denton?" I was trying to follow what she was saying, but Kalimus had started sucking whole hog on my arm, making concentration difficult. “Huh?" Tina tossed the bloody gauze into the trash. “Anyone ever told you it's rude to stare at a blind man?" Kalimus lifted his head from my arm, his tongue darting out to catch the light trail of blood seeping from the pin-prick wounds. “It's all right, Tina,” he said as he licked the blood from his lips, an action which caused me to shiver. “I'd stare, too, were I in Mr. Denton's place." "You might as well call me Carter. I opened up a vein for you. I think that puts us on a first name basis.” That, and I'd been having lurid dreams about the guy for most of my adult life. Kalimus nodded. “As you wish, Carter.” He rose. “You and I should be going." Tina objected the minute the words were out of Kalimus's mouth. “You should stay here. You're weak and the sun will be up soon." "You aren't safe with me here.” Kalimus took slow, steady steps to the sink. Lifting one hand, he traced the line of Tina's cheek. “I regret the danger I've subjected you to already. The longer I stay here the more liability I become." I felt a pang of something I hated to think was jealousy as I watched Tina nuzzle into Kalimus's hand. The smile she gave him was so bright I was surprised he couldn't see it in spite of his disability. "At least let me walk you home,” she said. “You don't know these streets well enough to make it on your own." "Carter will take me.” Kalimus sounded sure of himself, a quality I admired in a man. "You can't trust him, Kal.” Tina shot me a dark look. “The bastard's working for the enemy."


"Look, you.” I glared right back at her. “I was working for Jenson, until I learned the score. I don't kill innocents." "See there.” Kalimus turned away from her. “I'll be perfectly safe." I gave Tina a smug grin. She shot me the bird. **** Turned out that Kalimus was living on the other side of Alden Park in a series of tunnels running under the city. The opening was a man-made cave long forgotten by city founders. "Not as nice as your place, I'm sure,” Kalimus said as he stepped inside, “but it will do until things are restored to their proper order." I followed him in, expecting to see a dank hole filled with rats. I was unprepared when Kalimus opened a wooden door exposing the elegance on the other side. The room was large and filled with expensive furnishings. The bed was done up in soft fabrics, the space lit with flickering light from four, set-in torches. I wondered aloud why a blind guy needed candlelight, to which Kalimus only laughed. "I may not be able to see it,” he said, “but I can feel the heat on my face.” He sat down on a finely upholstered settee. “I remember this place, remember the way it looked in the glow of the torches. I keep them burning to keep the memories alive." I sat down on the edge of the bed. “You're a born vamp, aren't you?" He gave one regal nod. “Born some four hundred years ago to Isabella Dubois and her husband Paul Roche de Ortolon." Ortolon. That name rang a bell with me, but I couldn't quite place it. Searching for something to fill the silence, I said, “So what about your family? They live around here?" The minute the question left my lips, I regretted it. I'd have done anything to take that look of pain from Kalimus's face. "Oh, man. Look, I'm sorry—" Kalimus lifted one hand, cutting me off. “It's all right. I lost my family a long time ago. Three hundred and eighty-five years ago next week, to be exact." Three-hundred and eighty-five years ago? “You were just a kid." "Fifteen.” Kalimus pushed his cloak out of the way and leaned back against the settee. I was surprised to see he was wearing jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. Before I could help myself, I laughed. "Something amuses you?" "Your shirt. Somehow I didn't figure you for the heavy metal type." "Tina has a twisted sense of humor.” Kalimus wrinkled his nose. “She insists on picking out my clothes.


Says she likes the way I look when I dress like a mortal twenty-something." For the second time in less than an hour, I was struck with an uneasy feeling about Tina and just how close she and Kalimus really were. I tried to find a logical way to broach the subject. "So, you and Tina ... you known each other long?" "Since birth.” Kalimus smiled. “Tina was my mother's handmaiden. She's the one who cared for me after ... after they died." "Impossible.” I said. “Tina's no vamp. I'd have felt it on her when I placed the barb under her skin.” Not until I opened my mouth did I realize just how far I'd inserted my foot. At first I thought Kalimus was going to be pissed, but instead he only grinned. He was a handsome bastard, when he smiled like that. He had a face that I could only describe as aristocratic—all arrogant lines and proud angles—and I swore to make him smile like that more often. "So that's how you tracked Tina to the park.” Kalimus propped his left leg on his right knee. “When Jenson hired you, I knew you had to be the best." Normally I love compliments, but thinking about Jenson put a sour taste in my mouth. I decided to go back to our previous subject. "So Tina ... what is she, exactly?" "Tina belongs to the fey." A freakin’ fairy. “Fairies don't exist." "Says the witch who's deep in conversation with the vampire.” Kalimus flipped a longish lock of dark hair out of his face. “I assure you, fairies are all too real. If you don't believe me, try telling Tina she's just a myth and see what happens." Just thinking about taking Tina on gave me the shudders. I went for subject change number two. “So this place ... did it belong to your family, or what?" "In a manner of speaking, yes." "And Jenson has no idea you're here?" Kalimus shook his head. “Other than Tina, no one knows of its existence. She's cloaked the entrance with a spell to keep mortals at bay. Fairy magic isn't quite as powerful as yours, but it gets the job done." It hit me then, just how much Kalimus was trusting me by bringing me to his little bolt hole. The knowledge did weird things to my stomach. Either I had a major case of gas or I was falling for the guy. I stood up, suddenly restless. “Not that I'm dissing Tina's skills, but I could add some wards, if you like. You know, sort of back up the protections she's already put in place." "Why?"


I shrugged before realizing he couldn't see it. “It'll make the door more—" "Why are you helping me?” For the first time that night, Kalimus was starting to sound every bit his age. Weary, like he was damn tired of fighting. “Jenson paid you a great deal to kill me. Why not finish the bargain you made?" "I told you, I don't kill innocents.” I went to the door and started weaving the wards, more because his unseeing scrutiny was making me nervous than for any other reason. "How do you know I'm innocent?” he said after a minute. It was a damn good question, but since I didn't have a ready answer, I kept silent. Kalimus seemed to take that as answer enough. He rose from the settee. “You should be going. The sun will be up soon." I knew when to take a hint, but there was one thing I had to know before I left. “Why does Jenson want you so bad?" "That's one mystery you'll have to solve on your own, Carter Denton.” Kalimus made his way to the bed and lay down. “I thank you for the wards." "This isn't over, you know.” I looked away from the bed, half afraid I'd give in to the irresistible urge to crawl up there beside him. “You and I, we aren't done." Kalimus's smile was slow and dangerous. “I know." **** Not surprisingly, I started dreaming about him the second I fell asleep. This dream, though ... this one was different. The others had all held an erotic charge. I won't say there wasn't an underlying element of sexual tension—hell, Kalimus was sex walking—but this one held a new importance I couldn't ignore. Kalimus and I were standing in an honest-to-god throne room, the kind you see in medieval castles. As in all my dreams, he was staring at me with clear green eyes, and even though I know he can't see, it seemed natural for him to be looking at me. He bent his head and kissed me, then moved across the room to remove a jeweled dagger from the wall. With the dagger held in one hand, Kalimus came back to me, removing my shirt with one fluid tug of the hem. Without hesitation I knelt before him, keeping my body rigid so that my chest was fully exposed. A look passed between us, and then Kalimus was thrusting the dagger straight toward my heart. I woke in a cold sweat, my breath coming in ragged gulps. In all the dreams I'd had about him, Kalimus had never once hurt me. Now it seemed he was intent on cutting my heart out. I got dressed as quickly as I could, then grabbed my keys off the nightstand. I might not have known what the dream meant, but I bet I knew someone who did. Born witch dens are different from Wiccan covens. My mother was a born witch, my father a plain ol’ mortal. When it became apparent that I'd followed in my mother's footsteps, she'd immediately inducted me into her coven, Guild of the Light. I'd never thought much about the place—worshipped there only sporadically—but now I was damn grateful I had my fellow members to call on.


I drove to the outskirts of town, to where Guild of the Light was housed inside an old Christian monastery. I parked my car a fair distance away, then walked up the winding path and through a pair of ten-foot iron gates. Walking on hallowed ground is always a heady experience for a born witch. I was forced to stop and catch my breath as my powers surged and rose. "Intoxicating, isn't it?” someone said from behind me. I knew that voice. It belonged to just the man I'd come to see. I turned to find Thad Beldan, coven historian, standing behind me. "You knew I was coming,” I accused as I clapped the older man on the back. Thad shook his head. “No such thing.” He smiled. “I was up in the observatory tower and saw you pull up." I didn't argue, but deep down I suspected Thad was something of a psychic. He always seemed to know things before they happened, but he would never cop to having a sixth sense. We walked in silence through the courtyard, past a group of novices practicing their earth magic on a pitiful patch of tomato plants. Thad chuckled as one girl overshot her spell and exploded a nearby pumpkin all over her instructor's feet. "I love to watch the young ones,” he said as he led me into the building. “Such vitality and vigor.” He started down the hall toward his office, with me right behind. “I remember when you first came to us, Carter. You had the same determination and drive." I knew well enough how the coven felt about my profession. It wasn't hard to read between the lines and discern Thad's disappointment. "I didn't come here to talk about me.” We stepped into the office, and Thad closed the door behind us. I sat down on the sofa. “I came because I need information." Thad settled into a chair and held out his hands. “I am at your disposal." I hesitated, unsure exactly how to begin. Finally, I said, “I've been having these dreams." Thad raised a brow. “I thought you said you didn't come to talk about you?" I shook my head. “The dreams are about a man—a vampire, that is—named Kalimus Roche. Ever heard of him?" "I can't say I have." "What about Ortolon? Ever heard of a family by that name?" "Ortolon.” Thad frowned. “Now that does ring a bell, although...” He went to the bookshelf dominating the back wall. After trailing his fingers across some of the spines, he came back with a dusty leather book.


Thad sat back down and started thumbing through the pages. “Ortolon ... Ortolon. Ah, here it is.” Thad pointed to a spot near the middle of one page. “Paul Roche de Ortolon." "That's him,” I said. “That's the guy I'm looking for." Thad read in silence for a minute, then lifted his head. “Says here that Ortolon was the sovereign lord of the entire vampire nation." "A king?” That didn't make sense. Vampires lived in individually run broods. To my knowledge they'd never served under one master. Thad nodded. “According to this, Ortolon ruled over all the vampires in this country, and at the time of his death was working hard to unite vampires the world over. Seems he was trying to eliminate a band of rebel traitors when he was killed." I remembered Kalimus's answer when I asked him what happened to his parents.'That's one mystery you'll have to solve on your own, Carter Denton. ’ I wet my lips. “How did Ortolon die, Thad?" Thad read a little bit further. When he looked up at me this time, there was a trace of pity in his eyes. “Ortolon's own brother betrayed him. He murdered Ortolon, then slaughtered his wife and son.” Thad closed the book. “Afterwards, the brother tore Ortolon's kingdom apart, reducing it into the broods we see today.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, but there's no mention here of anyone named Kalimus." "That's okay.” I'd already filled in the blanks, myself. I stood. “Thanks, Thad. I'll see you around." Before I'd made it halfway to the door, Thad stopped me. “Carter?" "Yeah?" "These dreams...” Thad seemed to be measuring his words. “They concern me." Concerned the hell out me, too, but there didn't seem to be a damn thing I could do about it. “Don't worry,” I lied. “They're probably just the result of too much junk food before bed." Thad didn't look convinced. “When's the last time you saw your grandfather, Carter?" Too damn long, but that was the old man's choice, not mine. I tried to hedge. “He and I don't exactly see eye to eye these days, Thad." "Maybe not, but there comes a time when family ties must be renewed.” Thad locked eyes with me. “I think you should go see him, Carter. Today." An eerie cold washed over me, and for one odd second I got the feeling that someone had just walked over my grave. I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Yeah, well ... I'll think about it." Thad opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it tight again. I used his silence as an opportunity to get the hell out of there. ****


My next stop was Kalimus’ place. I dismantled the wards, then used a similar spell to undo the protections Tina had put in place. I knew Kalimus would be asleep, still, but I meant to talk to him the moment he woke up. Just as I'd thought, he was lying under the covers in the center of the big bed, literally dead to the world. It always scares the shit out of me to see a vampire sleep—the way their chests skip the whole rise-and-fall routine. I settled onto the settee to wait, but I was so damn tired from the near-sleepless night before, I fell asleep. The dream followed soon after. I was standing in the same throne room as the night before. Okay, so maybe standing isn't the right word. Stretched out on the floor dead is more like it. Kalimus was hunkered over my body, tears spilling from those clear green eyes. I awoke with a start to the realization that someone was standing over me. I opened my eyes to see Kalimus's hand coming toward my face. "What are you—" "Hush.” His voice was hard. “Just lie there and let me do this." I closed my mouth as Kalimus's calloused fingers began to explore every ridge and line of my face. Took him a good ten minutes to do it, and by the time he pulled away, my entire body was covered in goose bumps. "Itis you,” Kalimus accused. He took two steps back, as if trying to put distance between us. “What the hell are you doing here, and why are you in my dreams?" "Your dreams?” My anger was rising, and that wasn't the only thing. Seeing Kalimus dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans wasn't helping to cool my blood. “I've been dreaming about you for over ten years, pal. I think I'm the one who should be asking the questions." "Ten years.” Kalimus sank onto the bed. “I thought I was the only one.” His voice was thin. “Until I felt your face, I couldn't be sure, but now...” He was shaking. “I dreamed you were dead, and I was standing over you.” He pushed his hair back from his face. “When I awoke and felt your presence, I knew that you were the man I'd been dreaming about. I don't know how I knew, but I did." "Shit.” I sat down beside him on the bed. “That's the same damn dream I just had." He shook his head. “That's impossible." "As impossible as two men who've never met spending the last ten years dreaming about each other, you mean?" Kalimus didn't say anything, but I hadn't really expected him too. I cleared my throat, making the decision to change the subject to the reason why I'd come to him in the first place. “I know about your parents." "Then you know why Jenson wants me dead.” Kalimus stood, his movements jerky. “Where is my shirt?" I picked it up off the floor and handed it to him. “With you gone, no one will challenge his claim to rule


his brood." "It's more than that.” Kalimus pulled the shirt over his head, making me sorry to lose the view. “As long as I'm alive, there's a chance I'll be able to continue the work my father started." "Uniting vampires the world over under one central rule." "Yes." I thought about that for a minute. “That's no small task, my friend. You're going to need some help, and it's obvious to me that I'm meant to be involved somehow or else we wouldn't be dreaming about each other." Kalimus sat back down beside me. “Your dreams ... were some of them..." "We're talking hot and heavy, full-on dream porn,” I said. No sense in beating around the bush. “You too, huh?" "Oh, yes." I was quickly becoming hot and bothered, but I couldn't act on it. Not until I knew what the dreams meant. It was then that I remembered Thad's words about visiting my grandfather. I coughed into my hand, my throat suddenly tight. “My grandfather ... he's something of a seer.” God, I hated what I was about to suggest. “It's possible he might know what to make of this." "You're reluctant to speak with him.” It wasn't a question. Guess I'm not as good at disguising my emotions as I thought. "Yeah. He and I have had our share of problems.” I sighed. Might as well spit it out. “He's ashamed of me." "Why?” Kalimus sounded shocked. "Grandfather wanted me to be this high and powerful witch.” I shook my head. “I think he was hoping I'd turn out to be the next coven leader.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Grandfather thinks I was destined to be a great hero of our people until I turned my back on it all." "You disagree with him." "I'm not the hero type,” I said. “I have as much self-esteem as the next guy, but I know my limitations." "I don't know about that.” Kalimus grinned. “Some of the things you did to me in those dreams were pretty damn heroic." I felt an uncomfortable tightening below my belt. “You keep talking like that and we'll never get the answers we need.” I came to my feet. “Let's get this over with. The sooner we talk to the old man, the sooner we find out what the hell is happening to us." **** My grandfather lives in a mansion. I'm not talking about just a big house, either. I'm talking servants,


wings, the whole bit. I pulled my car into the circular drive, then Kalimus and I got out and went to the door. Stallingsworth, the butler, answered. “Master Carter. How wonderful to see you." "Thank you, Stallingsworth.” I ignored what sounded like a laugh coming from Kalimus. “Is Grandfather in?" "Yes, sir. He's in the library, waiting for you and your...” Stallingsworth dared a glance at Kalimus. “And your guest." "Thank you.” We followed Stallingsworth into the foyer, then down a side hall to the library. As Stallingsworth had predicted, Grandfather was sitting near the fireplace, waiting. He looked up as we came in, his eagle eyes boring into mine. “Carter." "Grandfather.” My family and I aren't big on small talk. He looked at Kalimus. “Aren't you going to introduce me to Mr. de Roche?" "What's the point?” I took Kalimus’ hand and led him to the chair opposite my Grandfather's. “You obviously know who he is.” I helped Kalimus settle into the unfamiliar seat, then stood behind it. “I'm betting you know why I'm here, too." Instead of answering, my grandfather walked over to the Chippendale sideboard on the far side of the room and started pouring drinks. He splashed two fingers of bourbon each into two glasses. Coming back to the fireplace, he handed one glass to Kalimus, then gave me mine. I swirled the amber liquid twice around before killing it. Setting the glass on the mantel, I turned back to Grandfather. “Aren't you having any?" "No, son. I need a clear head for what I'm about to tell you." Son? My grandfather hadn't called me that in years. Come to think of it, I'd been there for nearly five minutes, and he hadn't even insulted me yet. I didn't know what evil brain-sucker had come in and stolen my hateful, crotchety grandsire, but I got the feeling I hadn't seen anything yet. "Here, take this.” Kalimus must have sensed my tension, because he handed up his glass. “I think you need it more than I." I'm not much of a drinker, but I guzzled down Kalimus’ drink before setting the glass on the mantel next to mine. Grandfather waited until I was finished, then pinned me with an expression I couldn't quite place. “Carter, I think you should sit down for this." Normally I would have argued with him. Hell, most days I'd walk two miles just to pick a fight with the old man, but I was too damn rattled to do more than cop a squat on the fifteenth century footstool in front of Kalimus’ chair. I folded my hands. “You know about the dreams?"


Grandfather nodded. I swallowed, trying to tell myself the bitter taste in my mouth was solely because of the whiskey. “How long have you known?" "Thad called me this morning. When he told me you were having dreams, I didn't think much of it.” My grandfather's wrinkled fingers knotted into fists. “Then Thad said you'd been asking about the Ortolon Family, and it all fell into place." Kalimus shifted in his seat. “What has my family to do this?" My grandfather's eyes went so wide I could see the red rims. “You're telling me you don't know about the Scepter of Corin?" "No. Should I?" My grandfather was actually trembling. “Dear God, but this complicates things.” He leaned forward. “You have no idea who you are, do you, my boy?" Hearing my seventy-eight-year-old grandfather call a nearly four-hundred-year-old vampire “boy” should have been amusing, but I was too full of dread to do anything more than listen as Grandfather explained. "Not only are you your father's sole surviving heir, you're the last living link to the scepter." "Maybe you'd better start by telling us what this thing is,” I said, “and how it relates to my dreams." Grandfather nodded. “The Scepter of Corin is an energy force, a devastating power that can only be unleashed by Ortolon's rightful heir." "I don't understand,” Kalimus said. “My father had no power beyond the normal vampiric strengths." "That's because your father was never meant to wield the scepter, Kalimus.” Grandfather's voice was filled with absolute certainty. “You are.” Seeing that we still didn't get it, he explained further. “When your father took his throne, a witch of unequaled strength by the name of Winston Declerc offered him unlimited power in exchange for a portion of his kingdom." "You must be mistaken.” Kalimus made a face. “My father would never bargain away even a piece of his birthright." "And so he wouldn't, but Declerc was no fool. In addition to being a shrewd businessman, Declerc was a strong seer of unparalleled vision. The moment he laid eyes on you, Declerc saw your future.” My grandfather's eyes welled with a sympathy Kalimus couldn't see. “He warned your father that Jenson Macintosh was plotting against him—told Ortolon exactly what would happen—but your father wouldn't listen." "You're lying.” Kalimus’ lips fell into a hard line. “My father would have taken no chances with the safety of his family. If he'd known what was coming, he would have protected us no matter the cost." "But would he have heeded the warning of a witch who seemed only to be after a part of his throne?”


Grandfather's voice was soft, but the question rang through the room. Kalimus didn't answer, his silence speaking volumes. "Declerc wasn't a bad man, Kalimus. He was greedy, but his wish to protect your family was sincere enough.” Grandfather sighed. “Unfortunately, Declerc realized too late that his grasp for wealth had undermined any faith your father might have placed in him. He was so guilt-ridden after your parents were murdered, Declerc created for you the Scepter of Corin—named after an ancient mystic who had the ability to draw energy from the earth." "So that's what this thing does? It pulls energy from the earth?" "Yes, Carter, but it's so much more than that. The Scepter of Corin is the key to unlocking the powers of heaven and earth combined.” Grandfather spoke in awed tones. “The wielder of the scepter would be invincible." "You must be insane. This scepter was meant for me, you say?” Kalimus stretched out his arms as if inviting my grandfather to take careful appraisal of him. “If I'd had that kind of power at my disposal, do you honestly believe I'd have allowed Jenson Macintosh to hold me down and gouge my eyes out?” He stood, nearly losing his balance as his foot caught the edge of the Persian carpet. I jumped up, grabbing his arm to steady him, but Kalimus pushed me away. "I'll listen to this no longer,” he said. “These lies are enough to choke a man." Flight was a common reaction to my grandfather's company, but for once I wasn't rushing to leave the place. “Kalimus, please ... would you just wait for me in the car?" At first I thought he was going to refuse, but finally he gave one stiff nod and—after bumping into a walnut drawing table and a Chinese screen—banged his way out of the room. I started to follow, intent on offering what help I could, when Grandfather stopped me. “Stallingsworth will see that he makes it to the car unharmed.” He hesitated. “Please, Carter. I must finish the story so you understand the role you play." It was the please that got me. My grandfather deferred to no one, and he never begged. Without a word, I sank into the chair Kalimus had just vacated. Grandfather crossed his legs, uncrossed them again, and finally slumped into the chair. I'd never seen him so undone, and it scared me to death. "Whatever it is, I wish you'd just spit it out. The suspense is killing me." He took a deep breath. “When Kalimus said he didn't possess the Scepter of Corin, he was only half right." "What do you mean?" "The day of Ortolon's death, Declerc took one half the magic needed to form the scepter and channeled it deep within Kalimus's body. He was probably in so much agony from Macintosh's attack, he never knew what hit him."


This Declerc guy was really starting to piss me off. “First he cheats Kalimus’ father out of a chance to save his family, and then he denies Kalimus the full power of the one weapon that could grant him vengeance.” I cursed under my breath. “Why didn't Declerc just help Kalimus off Macintosh and be done with it?" "Do you honestly believe that's all there is to it, Carter?” He was starting to once again sound like the grandfather I knew. “Someone commits a crime, so you simply kill them and be done with it?" I shrugged. “Works for me." "Right, and since you only kill those you believe have it coming, you don't worry about the consequences of your actions." "Look, I—" "Shut up, Carter.” Grandfather cut me off. “I love you, God knows I do, but you can be a stubborn fool when you choose to be.” He leaned back in his seat, looking tired to the bone. “Unlike you, Declerc could see into the future, possibly farther than any seer who's yet lived. He knew that killing Macintosh then would be a mistake. Kalimus wasn't ready to rule in his father's stead, nor was he ready to hold the power of the scepter. If Declerc had acted in haste, Kalimus wouldn't have lived long enough to fulfill his true destiny." "How could you possibly know all this?" Grandfather sighed. “I wish I could say that my own abilities were strong enough to have foretold this in a vision, but the truth is, this story is part of a prophecy our coven has been anticipating for a long time—this family especially." "Don't tell me—" Grandfather nodded. “Winston Declerc was our ancestor, Carter." I felt like I'd been sucker-punched. “Does Mom know?" "No. When she married your father, I knew that she couldn't possibly be the one to finish what Declerc started. Now that she and your father have moved East, she's—as you young people so often say—out of the loop." "Wait a minute.” I help up my hand. “What are you talking about? ‘Finishing what Declerc started?’ What the hell does that mean?" "When I told you that Declerc gave Kalimus one half the power of the scepter ... Carter, he sent the other half of the power through time, to rest in the body of one of his own descendents until such a moment as the two halves are combined and the scepter is awakened.” He heaved a bone-deep sigh. “It would appear the time has come at last." I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He couldn't possibly be thinking what I thought he was thinking. Turns out he was. “You, Carter. You hold the other half of the scepter."


"Kalimus is right,” I said. “You really are crazy.” I made for the door. “I've got to go. He's waiting for me." Grandfather had me by the arm before I was halfway there. “Look at me, damn you. Look into my eyes and see the truth." I tried to refuse, but Grandfather is damn strong for an old guy. He spun me around to face him, and that's when I saw it on his face. It was all there: the fear, the pride, the anticipation, and even the love. I knew in that moment that Grandfather was right. I held the key to Kalimus’ happiness. Problem was, I didn't have a clue how to set the power free. Grandfather has always been good at reading me, much as I hate it. His face softened. “You have to combine with Kalimus to awaken the scepter." "Combine?” It took me a minute to get his meaning, and when I did I thought I'd have a stroke. “Are you talking about sex?" Grandfather turned red. “It's not as if you have an aversion to—" "Oh, hell no.” I twisted out of his grip. “I will not discuss my sex life with you.” I shuddered. “Jeez, now I need a shower." "Stop behaving like a child." "Fine, fine. So what you're telling me is, I have to get laid in order to give Kalimus his full powers.” Well, I could certainly think of worse. "This isn't a joke, Carter. You have to understand, once you unleash the power of the scepter, there's no going back." "It isn't exactly Armageddon, either. Kalimus and I will do the deed, I'll give over the power of the scepter, and then I can go back to my life while he kicks Macintosh's ass." "If only it were that simple." It was the sadness in my grandfather's tone that sobered me. “What aren't you telling me?" "You can't just will over your half of the scepter's power. You'll have to join in the fight." "That's it?” Relief washed over me. “Hell, that's nothing. I'd love to see Jenson and his boys get what they deserve." "You're wrong, Carter. It's everything.” Grandfather looked at me then as if his heart were bleeding out his chest. “According to the prophecy, you won't survive the battle." I shook my head, unwilling to believe, but Grandfather wouldn't let me back away from the truth. “If you aid Kalimus’ cause, my son, you will die." ****


I spent the next half hour on autopilot. Kalimus was quiet during the drive from my grandfather's place, and I was glad. It isn't every day a man is asked to sacrifice his life. I needed time to process. We were almost back to the highway when Kalimus broke the silence. “Carter?" "Yeah?" "Did your grandfather say anything else after I left?" "A few things.” Understatement of this millennium and the next. “Why?" "Because he must be wrong. Look at me.” He adopted an expression of self-disgust. “I can't even walk out of a room without having someone guide me like a school child.” His head fell back against the head rest. “At first I thought it would get easier." "Being blind, you mean?" He nodded. “Tina worked with me, taught me how to take care of myself, but there's never been a day when I haven't grieved the loss of my eyes—when I haven't missed the sight of my mother's face or my father's mischievous smile.” He let out a slow breath. “I know they're dead—logically, I do—but I can't rid myself of the thought that they'd be there if only I still had eyes to see them.” He shook his head. “I must have been a fool to contemplate vengeance. I can't even separate fantasy from reality." It was the complete and utter defeat in his voice that broke me. I didn't have a heroic tendency anywhere on my person, but damned if I was going to sit by while this magnificent man died. And that's exactly what would happen—of that I had no doubt. If I didn't give Kalimus what he needed to take Macintosh out, Macintosh would find a way to kill Kalimus and probably off me in the bargain. At least this way, I'd be leaving on my terms. I whipped the car into the median and turned around. "Why did you change course?" "Nothing to worry about,” I lied. “Just forgot there's something I need to take care of." The police station was only ten minutes away. I breathed a sigh of relief when I pulled into the parking lot and saw Shane's car. Not having to hunt him down was going to make this a heck of a lot easier. I drove into a space and cut the engine. "Where are we?" "The police station. A friend of mine, Shane Jacobs, is one of the detectives for this precinct.” I got out, then came around to help Kalimus. “Won't take long, I promise." He followed me out of the car and into the station without a word. As I'd hoped, Shane was sitting at his desk. He smiled when he saw me. "Hey, Carter. Damn but you're looking good these days.” Shane stood to clap me on the back. “And who's your friend?"


"Shane, this is Kalimus Roche. He's, uh ... he's new in town." Shane looked as if he didn't quite buy that lame story, but was too polite to comment. Instead, he shook Kalimus's hand. “Nice to meet you." "Likewise,” Kalimus said in a neutral tone. Shane pointed to the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, guys." I helped Kalimus find his chair and get seated, then I turned back to Shane. “Is there somewhere you and I can talk in private for a sec?" Shane nodded. “The Captain's out today. We can use his office." "Great.” I put a hand on Kalimus's shoulder. “Will you be okay to wait here while I'm gone?" "Yes." I left him sitting there with a promise to make it quick, then Shane and I made for the captain's office. Once there, Shane sat down behind the captain's desk, but I had too much nervous energy to do more than pace the cramped space. "Jeez, Carter, you have too much caffeine or something?" "Something like that.” I stopped pacing long enough to face him. “Something's about to go down, Shane. Something big." He crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm assuming it involves Mr. Roche." "Sort of." When Shane started to protest, I decided on an abridged version of the truth. “Kalimus is a vampire. Another vamp, a real bastard named Macintosh, set him up to take the fall for the murders you've been investigating." "Jesus. Carter—" "He's innocent, I swear it. The thing is, Macintosh won't rest until he's got Kalimus’ head on a pike." "Hell, no.” Shane sighed. “I don't suppose telling you to let the police handle it is going to do me any good." "Yeah, right. Just make sure I'm there to see the look on your captain's face when you tell him a mob of angry vampires is on the loose." Shane looked me in the eye. “What are you going to do?" "This fight's going to get ugly. There's no way around that.” I swallowed. Damn, but I hated the taste of my own mortality. “I need you to promise ... Look, just tell me you'll see after my grandfather if anything happens to me. Mom and Dad, they have each other, but Grandfather will need someone to help him through if ... if I don't make it."


Shane came to his feet. “Carter, you're scaring me. At least let me—" "You have to stay out of this, Shane. It's up to me and Kalimus to set things right. Please, just give me your promise." He came around the desk to stand in front of me. “You know you don't even have to ask." "Thank you.” I leaned forward, kissing him gently on the lips. “Darrell's a lucky man." "So is Kalimus,” Shane said, “unless I'm guessing wrong about your relationship." Since I wasn't sure even I understood the nature of my relationship with Kalimus, I didn't comment. Instead, I cuffed Shane's arm. “Take care of yourself." "You, too. And Carter ... please be careful." I nodded, then walked back to where Kalimus was waiting without looking back. We drove away from the station in silence. It wasn't until we were back in Kalimus’ den that he spoke. "You smell like him." Since I was busy contemplating my own demise, that brought me up short. “Huh?" "I said, you smell like him.” Kalimus sat down on the bed, his lips curled into a frown. “Who is that human, and what does he mean to you?" I came to stand in front of him. “What's the matter, you jealous?" "Answer. The. Question." Oh, God. Hewas jealous. It was enough to flip my switch in a big way. "Shane and I used to be lovers.” I used one finger to tilt up his chin. “You have a problem with that?" "That depends on your definition of ‘used to be,'” Kalimus said. “And you still haven't told me why you smell like him." I leaned down so close that we were almost touching. “I'd rather smell like you. Think we can arrange that?” Without giving him a chance to answer, I kissed him hard. Kalimus responded as I'd hoped he would, opening his mouth to let me inside. From there it was a quick jump to full-on naked writhing. Our clothes were scattered around the room, my nude body rubbing against his. Kalimus was a sight to see with clothes on, but naked he was nothing short of perfection. His muscles were well defined, his stomach hard and tight. I couldn't resist dipping my tongue into the curve of his belly. Kalimus jumped, but I stuck with him, kissing my way down his belly to his thick, uncut cock. I took it into my mouth and started sucking for all I was worth.


There's something so sexy about a guy who's uncut. I swirled my tongue around the foreskin, used my lips to pull it back and forth. Kalimus had his head tipped back, his whole body tight and ready. I knew he was about to pop, but I had other plans. I wasn't sure how this joining was supposed to work, exactly, but I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be fucked. "Got anything slick?" "There's some lotion in the chest that I use for...” He colored, and I got the picture. So vampires whack off, too. Good to know. I grabbed the bottle and came back to the bed. Squirting a good-sized glob into my hand, I slicked up Kalimus’ cock, then went to work on my own hole. Once I was satisfied I could take him, I straddled Kalimus and lowered myself down in one smooth thrust. "Dear God.” Kalimus bucked his hips, bringing him in direct contact with my magic button. My cock leaked onto his stomach, and he did it again. At that point I couldn't wait another second, and I started riding him. We dissolved into a tangle of arms, legs, and groans as I lowered myself again and again onto Kalimus's cock. Each thrust brought me closer to the edge. I was almost there when Kalimus—still inside me—flipped us over so that he was on top. What followed was an old-fashioned fucking. Forget about gentle. Kalimus rammed into me over and over, with me begging him to take me harder with each thrust. My cock was trapped between us, ready to burst, when Kalimus latched onto my neck and sank his fangs deep. The pain/pleasure got me there, my come spraying between us. Kalimus stiffened, then shot deep into my ass. We were still locked together, basking in the afterglow, when it happened. Kalimus ripped himself out of me, grabbed his head, and started howling. "Jesus.” I wrapped my arms around him, trying to soothe him even though I didn't have a clue what was happening. “Kalimus, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." "My head,” he gasped. “There's pain, but...” He drew in a desperate gulp of air. “Carter, I ... I'm seeing what you're seeing." I looked at his eyes. They were still permanently closed. I lifted two fingers to his face. “How many fingers am I holding up?" "Two, but I'm not seeing them because they're in front of my face. I can see them because you can.” He grabbed my arm. “What's happening to me?" I petted my hands up and down his back. “It must be the power of the scepter. It's made you see again, but because you no longer have eyes, you can see through me." "I don't understand."


I swallowed, then gave him the rest of my grandfather's story. The only part I left out was the whole me dying thing. "You should have told me before this happened.” Kalimus got off the bed, searching furiously for his clothes. “I should have been given a choice." "I didn't exactly rape you, you know.” I grabbed my own stuff and started getting dressed. Here I was, ready to sacrifice my life for the guy—and this after I'd allowed him to fuck me senseless. You'd think he could muster up some semblance of gratitude. It wasn't until we were both fully dressed that I realized the truth. "You're scared." Instead of answering, he said, “Come here." Kalimus was standing in front of one of those old standing mirrors. I came up beside him. “Yeah?" "Look in the mirror, Carter. I need to see your face." I did. Kalimus trailed his fingers over the bridge of my nose, across the line of my jaw. "I knew, from the dreams, but this...” He leaned in to kiss the bite wound on my neck. “You're perfection." "Does that mean I'm forgiven?" Kalimus sighed. “You were right. I am scared.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I have no idea how this thing—this Scepter of Corin—even works." "Neither do I. Guess we'll figure it out as we go along." Kalimus opened his mouth to say something, but the splintering of the wooden door behind us cut him off. I turned to see the brunette from the Silver Dagger—the one who worked with Tina—come barreling inside. I gathered up a blue ball of magic, ready for a fight. “How the hell did you get in here?" "Tina gave me some of her mojo, told me to come find you.” She swallowed. “Tina's in danger, and you two are the only ones who can help her." **** Finding Tina wasn't hard, thanks to the barb I'd never thought to remove from under her skin. The brunette had long since disappeared, leaving only me and Kalimus standing outside the old ruin where we'd tracked Tina. "You know this has got to be a trap, right?” It was the third time I'd said it, but it seemed appropriate all things considered. "You're the one who said we had the Scepter of Corin on our side,” Kalimus said. “Are you having


second thoughts?" Hell, yes. Seconds, thirds, and fourths, but I was in too deep now to turn back. “What is this place, anyway?" "My father's mansion,” Kalimus said. I knew without having to be told that he was seeing it through my eyes. “After Macintosh stole my legacy, he abandoned this place and built a mansion of his own." "Do you have a plan to get inside, or were you thinking of going for the storm-the-door-and-hope-for-the-best form of entry?" "There's a tunnel that goes right under the building,” Kalimus said, “part of the same system where I've been living since my return to this city.” He managed a thin smile. “My father's idea." "Fine. I'll lead, and you use my eyes to steer." Kalimus nodded, and we started off. Even with the darkness having settled in around us, I could see well enough to make my way through the dense undergrowth surrounding the ruined mansion. Kalimus pointed to a spot not far away, to what looked like a pile of fallen trees but actually turned out to be the hidden mouth of a cave. I grabbed a branch from near the cave's opening, then conjured enough flame to make it a torch. Without hesitating, Kalimus and I waded into the cave. The tunnel was tall but narrow. I hate confined spaces and was damned relieved when we reached an overhead door leading into the mansion. Someone had obligingly thought to build stairs into the wall, making it easy to bang our way inside. Unfortunately, Mitchell Macintosh and a passel of Jenson's goons were waiting for us. "My father told us you'd come,” Mitchell said as the other vampires grabbed us, “but I didn't think you'd have the guts.” He pointed toward a long hall. “Take them into the old throne room. Father is waiting for them." The house was falling down around us, but even with the peeling plaster and cracked floors, it was easy to see that the room they took us to was the throne room from my dream. Jenson was standing in the room's center, over Tina who was lying on the floor, unmoving. Our captors dragged us a few feet in front of Jenson, then let us go on his command. Jenson's smile was the ugliest I'd ever seen. "So you did come after all. Who'd have thought one worthless fairy would mean so much.” He kicked Tina, but she didn't make a sound. "Doesn't take much of a man to harm a defenseless woman.” Kalimus faced Jenson like the prince he was. “This fight is between us. Let Carter and Tina go." "I don't think so.” Jenson looked at me. “You owe me two-hundred fifty thousand dollars. I think I'll let my boys take it out of your hide. Boys, take care of Mr. Denton while I deal with Mr. de Roche." Mitchell and the others rushed me, then. “Use it, Kalimus,” I screamed. “Use the scepter."


He lifted his hand, but nothing happened. Jenson was on him then, and I could do little more than watch as Jenson pulled a knife from his belt and aimed it at Kalimus’ heart. Mitchell and his boys grabbed me before I could help him, and that's when a prickling itch started under my skin. At first I didn't know what was happening, but as a burst of power unlike anything I'd ever known began to throb from the center of my body, I realized in an instant of startling clarity that my grandfather had misinterpreted the prophecy. I didn't hold half the Scepter of Corin. Iwas the Scepter of Corin. Closing my eyes, I threw back my head and allowed the power to blast out of my chest. Dying is an interesting experience. All that white light, feeling of peace crap is true, but I didn't see Jesus and Grandma standing at the end of a tunnel. Instead, I saw a dark haired man and a petite blonde woman waiting not ten feet away, watching me. I knew without having to ask that they were Kalimus’ parents. It was as if the three of us were standing behind a clear screen, watching what was happening on the other side. My body was lying on the floor, pure light shining from my every pore. Mitchell and his boys were flung against the walls, disintegrating before my eyes. I barely spared them a glance as I watched the energy surge forward to engulf Jenson and Kalimus. I tried to move forward, to pull Kalimus out of the way, but his father stopped me with a surprisingly solid hand on my shoulder. "My son is perfectly safe,” he said. “Just watch and see." Sure enough, the scepter's power bypassed Kalimus all together. It grabbed hold of Jenson, and though I should have been horrified, I felt nothing but satisfaction as he dissolved into a bloody puddle on the floor. "What happens now?” I said as Kalimus’ mother came over to join us. “I mean, I get that I'm dead and all, but..." "If you think he's going to let you go, you've sorely underestimated my son.” This, from Kalimus’ mother. She pointed one slender finger to where Kalimus was feeling his way over to my body. I was still lying on the floor, but I was proud to note that I was no longer oozing light. "Carter.” Kalimus crawled on his hands and knees, no longer able to see since I couldn't, either. “Carter, answer me, damn you." Kalimus reached me then, his fingers feeling for the pulse I was pretty sure I didn't have. He gathered me in his arms and pulled me close. "You knew, didn't you?” Kalimus smoothed my hair out of my face. “Carter, please ... don't leave me like this." "He's gone, Kal.” Tina limped up beside him, apparently recovered from her ordeal. “There's nothing you can do." "The hell there isn't.” And it was then that Kalimus reached his hand into the still gaping hole in my chest. I looked to Ortolon.


"What's he doing?" "Calling on the power of the spear to bring you back." I couldn't feel anything. “Will it work?" "That depends,” said Kalimus's mother. “Do you want it to?" I started to answer her, but she stopped me. “Before you say anything, you should know that if you go back to your body now, you'll be bound to my son for all time. Your lifespan and Kalimus’ will be the same.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you agree, I'll expect you to quit that repulsive job of yours and use your powers for good." I ignored that last part and thought about the first thing she'd said. Did I want to spend the rest of my life with Kalimus? Hell, yes. Even so, I wanted to make certain I understood my options. "What happens if I stay here?" "Believe it or not,” Ortolon said, “there's a place waiting for you in Heaven." Heaven sounded good, but I wasn't ready to go. Not just yet. “I'm going back.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I was wracked with mind numbing pain, and then my world went dark. **** "You don't have to keep hovering, you know. I'm fine." "I know that,” Kalimus said, “I can see it for myself." And he could, and not through my eyes, either. The most miraculous thing had happened. Miraculous, and kind of gross. After I'd died, when Kalimus had reached into my chest to pull out the scepter and bring me back, he'd been given his eyes back. Well, not his eyes exactly. Before he'd been blinded, Kalimus’ eyes were a pure, clear green. These new eyes of his were dark blue. I recognized them the minute I'd woken up, even though the eyes weren't faded like they were before. Kalimus had been given Jenson's eyes. Seems the scepter decided it was time to even the score. Eye for an eye, and all that shit. I lay back against the pillows. “If you know I'm okay, why is it you're still fussing over me?" Kalimus sat down beside me on the bed. We were staying at my place until he could rebuild his father's old place. “Because I like fussing over you. Now shut up and enjoy it." Now that Jenson's underlings had fled, all Kalimus’ wealth and power had been fully restored. Made him bossy and autocratic as hell, but I kind of liked it. "Before I forget,” he said, “your grandfather called. We're to dine with him as soon as you're feeling up to it."


I made a mental note to milk this recovery as long as I could. I loved my grandfather, and he seemed glad as all hell that I wasn't dead, but that didn't mean I was ready to play the dutiful grandson. Had to torture the old guy a bit, first. "Anything else?" "Yes. Shane Jacobs called. Said he's coming over tomorrow to see how you're feeling.” Kalimus frowned. “Are you sure things are over between you?" "Yes, and in case you haven't noticed, Shane's as good as married to another guy." "In caseyou haven't noticed, so are you.” Kalimus sniffed. “Just make certain you don't spend too much time with him. I'm not certain my heart can take it." I laughed at that. “You think just because I'm in love with you, you can boss me around, huh?" "No.” Kalimus lay down beside me and gathered me into his arms. “I think I can boss you around because I'm in love with you." "Oh.” I opened my mouth for his kiss. Suited the hell out of me.

Hunger for the Edge By angel and star He walked the streets, his cane tapping before him, ears and nose bringing him the night. The cars passed, their airstreams telling him their position. He paused at a crosswalk, listening to the box click over, and then crossed the street. He remembered cars from before he went to sleep. His cane warned him of the curb. He could smell the people: the whores, their perfume over the deeper scents of drugs and disease, one of the latter new in the time he'd been gone; the loiterers, beer and whiskey, cigarettes and crystal; the druggies dying of despair and the substances in their veins; the thrill-seekers, soap and shampoo and temperature-controlled air from their workplaces; and through it all the smell of sex and desire. He needed tonight, needed as he had not in years. Needed as he always did upon awakening. His ears led him to the clubs. The steady techno beat went right through him, making him most uncomfortable as it jarred the fluids that had once been internal organs. He breathed deeply; smoke and sex, alcohol and other, less legal intoxicants filled the night. Male and female, all female ... ah, the one he was seeking: a melange of testosterone, male sweat, low voices and a grinding dance beat. The line smelled of anticipation and need, the murmured conversations a distraction. He did not join it. Toward the end, a more promising draft drew his attention. A whiff of garbage, and over it, the high smell of sex recently accomplished. The man smelled clean, as if slumming by having quick sex in an alley. He heard the little sounds of the zipper, of cloth on cloth. He collapsed his cane and waited at the end of the alley. He knew what they would see when they emerged: a young black man, all in blue that matched his


startling eyes. All his shirts were blue and his pants were black. He had always liked blue: the skies over New Orleans, the dresses of the wealthy mulatto women, the uniforms of the French army, the brave feathers and tatty finery of Jean Lafitte and his crew. The men in the alley would learn soon enough that he was blind, just as he had upon this awakening. With luck, neither would figure out his condition. **** The little redhead twink was a good cocksucker, but Zach was bored. Bored with his life. Bored with the nightly tricking. Bored with his yuppie lifestyle, his yuppie job and his social climbing parents who, when they couldn't use his success, used his gayness as their entree into better circles. He wanted something more, but he didn't know what else there could be. He came and zipped up so fast he almost caught the twink's lips in his jeans. When the twink stood and looked him over, his response was a shrug. He turned his back and stepped around the piles of trash as he left. The young black man leaning against the wall was cute enough, but he didn't want another trick. He passed by, but a slim hand shot out and grabbed him by the sleeve. "Please, can you tell me where I am?” The young man's voice was slightly accented, almost musical. "You're outside Egypt. What are you, blind?” Zach had no time for beggars or foreigners. "As a matter of fact, yes.” This was accompanied by a sweet smile and the appearance of a white cane. Zach looked more closely and realized the man's odd blue eyes did not focus. They tracked some as he spoke, but they never seemed to settle on him. "You're at 45th Street and Euclid. You want me to call you a cab? This isn't a good neighborhood." He smiled again, making Zach swallow with the desire to taste that lovely white smile. “I'd much rather you helped me into the club? It has been a long time since I danced." "Can you dance?" "Most assuredly. I must, however, have some small assistance in reaching the dance floor and the bar." Zach's eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me to be your date?" The man's laugh was as musical as his speech. “Not at all. Merely that you aid me in getting a drink and finding the dance floor.” He ran his hand up his prey's arm. “I'd be very grateful." Zach thought about it. He was curious to see what the blind man could do on the dance floor. He shrugged. “Come on then. I'm Zach." "Adrien.” His accent was charming, southern of some sort. He tucked his hand into Zach's offered elbow, and felt ahead with his cane. Adrien was a wine-drinker, to Zach's amusement, and wasn't bad on the dance floor. He stayed in one spot, moving barely three steps in any direction, doing something that looked like the bastard child of the


hustle and the cha-cha. After an hour or so, Adrien's entertainment value had worn off ... at least here at Egypt. Zach caught his arm, and steered him back to the bar. “You want to go home?" Adrien wasn't even breathing hard. “Certainly. Yours, I must insist. My own is unfit for visitors." "Slob, huh? Bad as any straight boy.” Zach led him out and to his Jaguar. He opened the door. “Watch your head." Adrien was quiet on the drive back to the apartment. Zach was parking the Jag when Adrien turned his face to him and smiled. “I had a very good time tonight. I haven't had one for far too long." "We'll have to fix that.” Zach shut down and got out, pleased to see Adrien had managed to get himself out. “Elevator's over here.” He punched the floor and helped Adrien into his apartment, getting him settled on the sofa. "Come here. Let me feel you,” Adrien said, urgently. Zach walked over, standing close to the couch. He did not flinch when Adrien touched his face, lightly, rapidly, taking in each of his features, “reading” it as he had seen the blind do before. "So very handsome.” Adrien smiled, and his hands continued their exploration of Zach's shoulders, drifting down to his arms and chest. “Pretty.” His smile was very white against his dark skin. As his hands worked their way down to Zach's crotch, he smiled up and cupped it. “Lovely." Very few could use the term without a trace of sarcasm. Zach chuckled. “Yeah ... you found the best part." "It all seems very nice to me.” Adrien looked up at him quizzically. “Do you kiss? So many men don't." In answer, Zach leaned down, lifted Adrien's chin and tasted his mouth. The full lips were cool, but Adrien was sensual and talented. He explored Zach's mouth with amazing thoroughness, leaving Zach both aroused and invaded. "I haven't been kissed like that in a very long time,” Adrien whispered as they parted. "That was just a warm-up." "Really?” Adrien smiled. “I may have to let strange men take me home more often if that is the norm." "That can be arranged.” Zach knew Adrien couldn't see the half-smile on his face. The slim fingers traced over it and he kissed them as they passed. "Now that you have the poor helpless blind boy home...” Adrien trailed off as he pressed close, letting Zach feel that he was very hard. He wasn't average sized all over, by the feel of things, either. Zach drew back a little. “My apologies. A side effect.” He kissed Zach again. "Side effect of what? Viagra?" Adrien laughed. “Close enough. Of a medical condition."


"Lot of men would kill for that kind of side effect.” Zach started unfastening Adrien's shirt without asking. "Ah, very butch of you.” Adrien gave himself over to Zach's hands. “I like my men macho." "Versatile, for the right man.” Zach refused to make the requisite Village People joke. It was almost unfair. "I, too, am flexible.” Adrien took a deep breath. “You smell good." "I knew that expensive cologne was good for something.” Zach tugged at his hands. “Come on, let's take this to bed." "Not the cologne. You. You're clean. You're healthy.” Adrien couldn't resist licking his lips. “You smelled absolutely appetizing." "And you're just pushing all the right buttons.” Zach was busily undoing his own in the fly of his jeans. Adrien looked up at him just a moment. Softly he asked, “Why did you stop for a man who clutched your shirt?" "Blue's my favorite color." Adrien laughed. “It's every man's favorite." Zach shrugged, stepping out of his jeans. “Not always. Last week my favorite was black." Adrien's hand ran lightly over Zach's bare arm and shoulder. “And that I have as well." "Noticed.” Zach sat down on the edge of the bed and helped Adrien out of the rest of his clothing. "So I am your favorite all the way around?” He licked Zach's collarbone and up his neck. "I reserve judgment on that until I've had you." As Zach tasted and felt the warm bare skin beside him, Adrien added, “I expect a verdict will be forthcoming soon." Zach reached down to run a finger up the length of Adrien's cock, which was still hard. “However did you guess?” He growled low in his throat when Adrien sucked at one nipple. He moved around, onto his knees behind Adrien. He wrapped one arm around the slim, dark body and began long, slow strokes. “Impressive." "So nice to have your approval.” Adrien leaned back into Zach's arms, feeling Zach's erection against his back. “I am not unimpressed myself." With a gentle nip at Adrien's shoulder, Zach let go and lay back on the bed. “Just wait. Joining me?" Adrien felt his way around the mattress and got situated beside him. He ran a line of kisses up Zach's arm, loving the taste and the warmth of the skin, the feel of the hard muscles beneath it. When he found Zach's mouth, he gave another one of those deep, searing kisses that made Zach even harder. He


lingered as long as Zach allowed, tasting him, enjoying the subtle differences in his flavor, the cigarettes a top note, the deeper taste of alcohol that had gotten into his bloodstream, and, under it all, the taste of Zach. Eventually, he nibbled his way down Zach's chin to lick at his neck again, and then slid down, tasting his chest, to suck at the other nipple. His hand went to Zach's erect cock, and stroked lightly. "Beautiful body." "Not so bad yourself.” The slow play was starting to wear on Zach and he wondered if he'd hooked up with a bi-curious virgin. He decided to take a direct approach. “Want to fuck me?" Adrien shrugged. “If you would like that.” He licked his lips. “I'd rather taste you some more first.” He punctuated the statement by going down on Zach, very suddenly, wrenching a moan from Zach who was taken aback by the speed. Adrien swallowed him to the root, plenty of suction and his strong tongue a velvety caress against Zach's cock. After a moment, he eased off, teasing with the tip of his tongue, taking small licks followed by long strokes. "Fuck...” Zach breathed. “You have the best mouth." Adrien went back to the deep suction. He worked all the way down Zach's length to bury his nose in the musky curls, his tongue going out to flicker over Zach's balls. That maneuver sent Zach into pure speechless sex noises after an initial “oh fuck." Adrien pulled away to suck at the head, just the head, his tongue moving in fanciful scrollwork, a veritable oriental carpet of licks. Zach gasped and came without even a warning, something he hadn't done since he was a teenager and hard in his pants at every sexy thought that crossed his mind. Adrien drew away, smiled and swallowed ostentatiously. “You taste good." Zach relaxed on his back, stretching his arms up and behind his head. Adrien licked his way up the toned body, long slow strokes that only seemed to feed Zach's arousal instead of bringing him down. "I would be more than pleased to ravish you, lovely man.” Adrien kissed him again, letting Zach get lost in the intensity, the need. "Good,” Zach managed when he came up for air. He stretched over and snagged a condom from the bedside table, a move as second nature to him as putting his socks on before his shoes. Adrien's response threw him. He looked puzzled and sniffed. “What is it that you rattle so? It smells ... industrial.” That was the best word he could think of. Zach sounded amused as he ripped the packet open. “Little latex raincoat?” With a deft one-handed roll, he slid it over Adrien's cock and then reached for the lube. Adrien shifted his hips and touched it lightly. “Strange." More uneasy now, Zach snapped, “Don't care how hot you are, you're not getting it raw." Adrien just sounded amused. “A ‘French letter’ is now required between men. Very well, I would not get you with a yellow baby."


"A kid I could deal with. Kick it out in eighteen years. Dying, however is not on my to-do list right now." Adrien laughed softly. “Eighteen. You would coddle. The child could work for six years before that." "Just call me a big softie." "Grease? Oil, something?” Adrien touched the condom again, his erection never flagging. “This will not enter easily and I would not hurt you." Zach had already picked it up from the nightstand. “This do?” he asked, pouring a fair amount into Adrien's palm. Adrien brought it up and sniffed it a bit. He tested the slickness and then began using it on the condom. “Admirably.” He used the hand not currently covered in lubricant to feel for Zach's ass. Upon finding it, he slid a slick finger into it, testing the resistance and ease of entry. “Very nice." Zach murmured, “Make it good. Don't do this often." Adrien entered him gently, easing in. “It has been a long time for me as well.” He moved a little, a very small soft motion. When he was all the way in, Zach relaxed a little. Adrien felt the change. “Is all well?" "Yeah ... it's good.” Zach kept his breathing slow and careful. Adrien continued the slow movements. “Speak if more is required." "More,” Zach demanded, grabbing his thighs. Adrien sped up, his thrusts hard. “Is this good?" "Oh yeah ... so fucking good...” Zach dug his fingers into Adrien's thighs to make him speed up a little more. "Very nice indeed.” Adrien read the signal right and moved faster. He was very quiet, issuing only soft moans and sighs, no vulgarity such as Zach was lavishing on him in praise. It took a very long time, but at last he thrust deep, shaking with a guttural groan. Zach hadn't managed a second orgasm, but he was very close. Adrien, never softening or withdrawing, reached around and felt how hard he was. He stroked Zach gently, clever fingers working from root to tip, encouraging him to spill. The added attention pushed Zach over. Adrien swiped his fingers through the semen and licked them clean. Zach grinned watching him. “Hungry, huh?" Adrien gave him a wicked smile. “Starved. I haven't had a good meal since ... Do you know I've lost recollection of the last one?" Zach stretched sleepily. “I'll have to fix that once I can move again."


Adrien shook his head. He was still inside and had not gone soft. He gave a couple pumps for good measure. “No need. I'll see to it." "Don't you ever get soft?” Zach squirmed, starting to get uncomfortable as he absorbed the lube. "Never.” Adrien withdrew anyway, stripping off the condom. He looked a bit puzzled as to where to put it, and Zach took it, even more disconcerted that it was empty. Adrien scratched himself luxuriously, pure sensuality as he stretched. Zach pitched the empty condom. His eyes were narrow as he appraised Adrien. “Who are you?" "Adrien Carriere. The little dark one. Obvious, no?” The odd accent was thicker as he pronounced his name. "What are you?” Nothing about this trick was adding up. "I am a Creole of Color, mulatto to be precise. That, too, is obvious." "That term hasn't been used in generations.” Zach reached for his pants. Adrien looked puzzled. “I heard it often enough in Louisiana. What of you, beautiful, sensual one? Zach. Zickety zackety zap. Have you a real name? Zachariah? Zachary? Zaccheus?” He gave a teasing smile. “Although you are not wee by any means." "Zachary is my legal name. What do you like to eat?" "I am on a restricted diet. I will see to it when I leave.” He turned and began gathering his clothing. “Dear Zach, where have you put my other shoe?" Zach sat up quickly, catching his arm. “Want you again." Adrien turned his direction, the odd blue eyes not focusing on him. “I will meet you at Egypt tomorrow night." Zach handed him the shoe. It would do. "And I will have dinner first so I need not rush off so rudely." "I'll be looking for you.” Zach stroked his arm. Adrien gave him another of those deep, slow kisses, his mouth still too cool. Zach was almost hard again when he pulled away. “I will be there.” With a final smile, he found his cane and his way to the door. Zach didn't sleep that night. **** The next night, Adrien was loitering against the wall outside of Egypt. He was well-fed, warm and content. His shirt was a silvery blue which made his eyes look almost grey. He was patient. He'd been there for most of the evening, listening to the crowd, smelling them, enjoying being among people once more.


Zach came late, held up at work. He caught a glimpse of dusky skin and a silvery blue shirt as he walked up, very quietly, behind his evening's appointment. Adrien turned and smiled. “Zach." "Didn't think I made any noise,” Zach grumbled. "You didn't. I smelled you. So it is you who are rude tonight?" "Rude? How so?" "Approaching a blind man from behind is not wise, nor is it polite.” Adrien's tone was mildly chiding but nothing in it said Zach wouldn't be getting laid. "I apologize. But since you smelled me, I don't think I've put you out any." "Not at all.” Adrien wrapped an arm around his waist. Unlike last night, Adrien was warm, feeling almost flushed. "Did you eat?” Zach asked, stroking his face, feeling the unusual warmth in it. "I ate. I may stay as long as you like.” Adrien smiled and pressed up into Zach's hand. "Coming home with me?” Zach asked, gently starting toward the car without disengaging from Adrien. "If you like, I'd be quite happy to." Zach led him to the Jag and watched as Adrien groped around the edges of the door, not quite able to find the handle. Finally, Zach opened the door. "Ah, thank you.” Adrien slid in gracefully, settling himself in the low-slung seat. As he walked around to his own side of the car, Zach drew a small knife from his pocket. He winced as he made a shallow cut, just deep enough to bleed freely, across his arm before getting in. Adrien sniffed audibly. “You're bleeding." "Am I?" "You are, I can smell it. It's just a small cut. Are you all right?” Adrien sounded very worried. “Did you catch yourself on the car?" "I'm fine. Do you like the smell?” Zach put his plan into action. Adrien drew back a little, eyebrows furrowed over sightless eyes. “What are you talking about?" "I'm on to you.” Diplomacy, to Zach, had always been a mealy-mouthed way of avoiding the truth. "I did intend to have you on me tonight, yes.” Adrien tried to change the subject. "I intend far more."


"Indeed?" "I stayed awake all last night putting this together: empty condom, eternal boner, too good sense of smell. Mysterious feeding habits." "You know the other senses overcompensate,” Adrien said. "Not to this extent,” Zach countered. "And surely not so mysterious. You've had lovers refuse to eat with you before, I'm sure. Special diets make other people uncomfortable." "I know what you are,” Zach persisted. "Other than a blind Creole who gives amazing head?” Adrien licked his lips hoping to move into safer topics. "Vampire." Adrien laughed. He laughed until the car rang with it, until he was clutching his sides, gasping for breath, the tears running from his eyes. “Have you the first idea how ridiculous that sounds? This is the twenty-first century." Zach shrugged. “And there are stranger things out there." "Vampires are the silly superstitions of medieval peasants to account for plagues and natural decay processes." "It destroyed your sight, didn't it?" "What? Are you still claiming I'm a vampire?” He hadn't stopped laughing and was clutching the hanging strap over the door to steady himself. "And you're going to give it to me." "There are no such things. Do you hang your windows with wolfsbane as well?” Adrien wrapped his arms around his ribs, aching from the laughter. "I'm bored. I want it. And you can be honest with me." "I thought dying was not part of your grand plan.” Adrien took a chance and flashed his fangs at Zach. “If you are bored living as a mortal, how much more bored will you be dying eternally?" "We'll find out, won't we?” Zach smiled. He'd won. "So you would trade your rapid life and easy death for the slow degeneration of my death?" "Worth it for the high.” Zach sounded almost dreamy. "What high?” Adrien knew the word, the implications. Before his last sleep, he'd eaten more than one


flower child, homeless, starving and miserable on the streets of San Francisco. "Of you turning me." "You watch too many movies,” Adrien sneered. “And I have no taste for human blood,” he lied. "You don't want me?” Zach was puzzled, hurt. He'd never been rejected like this before. "Not your blood. I want your body, your touch, your kisses." "You can have them. For tonight, or forever, your choice." Adrien gave him a normal smile, the fangs gone. “You do not strike me as the forever sort. And I am too solitary. I have been alone so long I would not know how to comport myself otherwise." "I'm not. Only if you make me that way.” Zach was willing to try anything. "I make no one into anything." "Then tonight it is.” Zach sounded rather sad at the notion. He pulled to a stop, before his apartment. "And the change does not alter your personality. It renders it permanent, not improved. You would not say forever even after.” Adrien's face was sad. “I heard them in the line as I waited. Calling me a fool for expecting a second night with you. Calling me ‘Zach's pity fuck'. Planning to ask if you'd told me there was a Braille tattoo on your body parts." Zach guided him into the elevator and scoffed quietly. “Just jealous because they didn't get the second night." "I take it such is a rare event." "Like flawless diamonds.” Zach leaned in to kiss him, tongue feeling for the fangs Adrien had flashed. "And I merit one only for what you want from me. It is not pity, but a new drug.” Adrien moved a little away, feeling his way along the elevator wall. "No. I wanted you again last night, if you remember,” Zach corrected. Appeased, Adrien nodded. “And it was not safe for me to stay. You will have me, all of me, tonight." For the first time in his long, very active sex life, Zach felt another man around him without an intervening layer of latex. They lay quietly afterward, Adrien on his back, Zach on his side, his ear pressed to Adrien's chest. He listened to the silence, the lack of body sounds. "If you aren't willing, I'll find another who is. And I'll be his.” Zach licked Adrien's chest, tasting the smooth, hard muscles, the kind that came from a life of hard work and not a gym. "In three hundred and ten years, I have met one other,” Adrien said softly. “We are ... not so common as folklore would have us be.” He closed his eyes.


"I'll search as long as I live. Though I'd prefer to spend eternity as I am now." "Young and beautiful and bored.” Adrien stroked Zach's head. He lay silent for a while, thinking. Without warning, he flipped Zach onto his back and snarled, letting his fangs descend. “Hear me before you make this choice." "I'm listening.” Zach was already breathing hard. "You think only of your vanity, your youth. Do you have an income source that will last for the next five hundred years? Do you have a plan what to do with the lengthy death I am about to give you?" Zach shook his head. He'd given no thought to the mundanities of life, or undeath. "Then I have a proposition for you. I will stay with you while you create them. If you wish, I will even drink from you: the ‘rush,’ the ‘high’ you desire. I will teach you what you must know of your extended death." "Do it,” Zach breathed. He was hard again. All his life, body fluids had meant death. Here, they meant eternal life. Adrien licked along his neck “Where does your shirt end?” When Zach marked the edge with a finger, he buried his fangs just below it. Zach cried out, louder than he ever had from mere fucking. His hips bucked and when Adrien drew the fangs out to lick and suck at the blood, barely a quarter-cup, he moaned clear through it. "You will be a little pale tomorrow,” Adrien whispered. “And more tomorrow night. And on, and on. You will be very beautiful before I am done." Zach pulled him over for a kiss, hard and needy. Adrien tasted of blood and arousal. His mouth was very warm. Zach came from the taste. "Let me tell you of the slow death.” Adrien curled into his side. “Your organs, save your stomach, will cease to function. They will continue to rot within you. Your soft tissue will degenerate and decay. My eyes took two hundred and eighty years to fail me. I have seen many amazing things." "I'll bet. Everything. All the wars, all the inventions, all the great heroes.” Zach sounded jealous. "I spent much of it hiding, on the run and feeding. I was not so deeply in love with my time as you are with yours. I was a slave on a hemp plantation. I clawed my way from the shallow grave my brothers scraped out just above the water table. I rewarded their devotion with the only freedom that was mine to give.” A flash of white teeth made Zach catch his breath again. Adrien resumed his thoughts. “My lungs and tongue will be next, I expect. Then the brain goes. The muscles are last. I was told that most who know the brain is going, bury themselves forever rather than becoming a mindless monster." "There must be good parts." Adrien gave him a sad smile. He pressed his erection against Zach's thigh. “You will like this: it never goes down."


"And I'll be beautiful. It's worth it." "Always young.” Adrien kissed his chest. “Always beautiful.” He kissed the small wounds on Zach's throat. “Always bored.” Zach laughed, only to be silenced by a kiss. “And in the end, the world will change too fast for you. You will take a rest from it, and when you awaken, you will discover it has changed a great deal more. You will re-orient, but you will always stand out.” He kissed Zach again. "It's worth it,” Zach repeated. "I am impressed you grasped my condition so quickly. I will be happy to stay as you plan for your future. I have maybe a hundred more years before I dig in for the last sleep." "Well don't spend it waiting for me. How long? Don't wait until I'm old and ugly." "A month perhaps? No more than six. Such a rush, this modern life. We had half your lifespan and still found time to be elegant and lazy. I was all the rage one New Orleans season after my death, the blue-eyed Creole boy. There were long days, nights of satin and perfume, jasmine and music." Zach gave him a smile. “Could get used to your life. If I didn't have bills that needed to be paid on time." Adrien looked puzzled. “Does not your computer box handle that? All I hear in between the unbearable music of the radio is ‘pay your bills online.’ I re-oriented before I went hunting." Between kisses, Zach explained. “Have to make the money before I let the computer box spend it. I have this little problem called expensive taste. Buying all my toys keeps my bank account down." "I have money laid by. Is there a way you can invest it and make it make more? It is a great deal, as I have no such expensive tastes." "I could get addicted to you instead of Gucci and Armani. I can make you all the money you need if you have money. Millions if you have a thousand." Adrien laughed softly. “When I was alive, I considered myself fortunate to eat that day. Now I, who still think of meat as a luxury, am discussing millions of dollars." "Depending on the cut, it still is a luxury.” Zach stroked his face. "You speak of clothing and name brands. I received a new suit of clothes once a year." "Once ... a year?" "Twice if it had been a good year. There were benefits to working on a hemp plantation." Zach's laugh was disbelieving. “I don't think I can do that." "Remember, for me, the novelty is the amount of mass-produced clothing. I remember the spinning jenny and Whitney inventing the cotton gin." "You are amazing.” Zach kissed him.


"Long naps keep me young,” Adrien said with a laugh. “I went to sleep in...” He thought a moment. “1974." "Year I was born.” Zach stretched lazily. "And here you were, awaiting me all grown up when I awoke." "Hope I was worth the wait." "It was a nap, no more, and the world changed around me. You were worth waking up for.” He punctuated this with one of those long searching kisses that Zach loved to get lost in. “And if I kiss you too often, you will not wake up.” The look on his face was passionate, full of desire. "Almost worth it." "I think, in two nights, you will have recovered enough for a long kiss." "Good." Zach spent the days dreaming in his office, barely able to meet his deadlines or do his work. He spent the nights hunting himself: prowling the clubs, drinking, dancing, fucking in back rooms and alleyways. Anything to avoid coming home to the blind vampire that now dominated his life. He ate high iron food and drank citrus. Nothing cured the desire. Nothing stopped the hunger for the sharp kisses. On the appointed day, he took off early from work, and came home to find Adrien listening to the television. "I miss seeing. I went to sleep when color television was just becoming truly common. The shows go silent so often." Zach laughed. “That's because the people on them are saying things that the TV station can't air. You shouldn't watch Jerry Springer, it will rot your brain." Adrien pulled him down for a kiss. “My condition will do that adequately with no help from Mr. Springer and his merry band of cretins that parade through each day. You're early. Ordinarily you do not arrive until after the vespers of doom and destruction called the news." "Couldn't work. I thought about you all day.” Zach clicked the TV off and flopped to the couch for a kiss. Adrien read his intentions at once. He dropped his fangs and pressed Zach into the sofa. “Where shall I take it?” He rasped a tongue over Zach's neck. “Your throat, like all the old movies?” He pulled Zach's arm to the side and nuzzled into the inside of Zach's elbow. “Your arm, where the new wave take it?” His free hand cupped Zach's crotch, feeling the stiffness of Zach's erection. “Elsewhere?" "Right there.” Zach was finding it hard to breathe, the room was spinning. He hadn't been this turned on in years. "Yessss,” Adrien let the sibilants hiss out along his fangs. “I expected as much.” He kissed Zach, very, very slowly, taking his time and possessing Zach completely. He stroked Zach's erection, feeling it get harder, fuller, and listening to the little moans his lover made. He unfastened Zach's pants as he kissed.


After long minutes, Adrien went down swiftly, sucking Zach to the root. Zach finally allowed himself to breathe, only to draw it in with a sharp gasp as Adrien let his fangs drop. The sharp bone of the teeth rubbed all over, grazing his cock, his balls, his whole groin. He groaned when Adrien fitted his cock in between the fangs and slid up and down the shaft while licking the head. "Which shall I take from?” he asked. "The artery,” Zach moaned. There was no sense in living unless one did it dangerously. "No, no, my love. Not until it's time.” He grazed Zach's groin. “Shall I bury them here while you are down my throat?" "Yesss.” Zach braced his arms on the back of the sofa, closed his eyes and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. Adrien took him in, then stabbed in, fast and hard, making it as painless as possible. He listened carefully to Zach's heartbeat as he drank, careful not to take much. Sweet and salt and hot, it rolled over his tongue, washing over Zach's cock as he swallowed. The swallowing and the bite sent Zach over the edge. The slow seeping away of strength, the languor that suffused him made it all dreamy, like a slow-motion dream sequence in a Kubrick movie. The heady cocktail of blood and come still thick on his tongue, Adrien moved up to kiss Zach. Zach groaned under his mouth, tasting, not minding the bitterness at all, aroused by the thought of what he was doing. "So brave,” Adrien whispered. “You will enjoy the darkness, I think." Zach lay flat on his back, breathing slowly, his head spinning. “Hardest part will be not to kill. God, feeling their hearts stop beating, all the blood in your mouth..." Adrien chuckled softly. “You will not be so scrupulous as I am, I expect." Zach murmured, “Some people deserve it." Adrien lay beside him, much warmer now, lazily flicking his tongue over Zach's neck and chest. “I, too, killed many. It became less easy to hide it as time passed.” His smile was slow and full of fangs. “I fed well on many battlefields, aiding the dying on their way." "And you were their angel of death, I have no doubt." "They welcomed me in Arabia. The Musselmen have a judging angel with black skin and blue eyes. I was Nakeer, come to them in the tomb to take them to Paradise." Zach scratched at his stomach. “World traveler, too,” he said with a smile. "It is simple enough. The hold of the ship or the baggage compartment, flying as a corpse. It was easier once." "I can imagine. Paranoid century we live in now."


"I do not kill these days. It creates too much hubbub, too many disturbances. Those who would not be missed are often fouled or ill.” Adrien thought a moment, then held up a finger in warning. “You say there are those who deserve it. You may not eat Fred Phelps." Zach cracked up. There was a sense of humor under those old-fashioned manners after all. Adrien looked thoughtful. “Or perhaps you should. And his entire inbred church as well. I have learned much from your computer box. Thank you for the page-reader." "Welcome.” Zach rolled onto his stomach. “I noticed. What have you been searching the Internet for?" Adrien shrugged. “Anything and everything. 1974 was a different world. Your computer, your television, they all help." "Just as twisted, but we didn't get to hear all about it." "It was different in many ways, but yes—equally as twisted. I spent three years feasting in Southeast Asia on Americans, on Vietnamese. It was fine eating. Now all the same things are back and all the insanity is the same. Some of the names have not even changed." "Surprised you didn't go right back underground." Adrien shook his head. “No, I cannot. Sleep will elude me for another half-century or more.” Zach was too busy looking at the bite that framed his cock to do more than grunt assent. “You, however, will sleep as a human does. When you turn, you will spend your nights hunting and your days learning." "A lot to learn?” Zach ran his fingers through his neatly trimmed pubes and touched the small wounds. "Always. There is always much to learn. And you will work as well. Tell-a-commute? That is the new word, yes?" "Yes." "You can do that, yes? Sunlight, it is detrimental. It hastens the decay exponentially. We do not crumble into dust at once.” He gave a small smile. “Christopher Lee movies not withstanding." Zach laughed a little. “That's a relief. I'd hate to be done in by one sunbeam." "It is inadvisable. But we can tolerate it, especially while very young. But I would rather teach you the leisurely decadence of my times, while you indulge me in the sins of the modern world. There will be no need for the day, for the sun." So it went, days of work, nights of amazing sex. Adrien was slowly teaching Zach that constant activity was unnecessary. He wasn't the best pupil, but they tried. They lay together often, not fucking, just lounging. Zach ran a slow hand over Adrien's compact, dark body, thinking that the decadence notion sounded really good, fit for immortals. As Adrien went on, he only half listened, his own mind creating its own scenarios. "There will be afternoons of nothing more than lounging nude, with caresses and soft words. Nights of parties and intoxicated blood which intoxicates us in turn.” He gave a small smile. “Such a pity about


absinthe. I was fond of it." Zach licked his chin. “I can get it. Just have to know the right people." "Mmmm,” Adrien purred. “It's best drunk by a lovely man, with plenty of sugar.” He blew the words along Zach's chest then raked his fangs over Zach's neck. “And then I have my share.” His smile was full of sharp points. Zach kissed him, running his tongue over the points. “Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to someone about getting some." "It will be amazing." Zach rummaged in the bedside table. “Tonight we'll just have to make do with cannabis." Adrien cocked an eyebrow at him. “Ah, hemp. And how do you take it? As a spice or through the water pipes?" Zach pulled the joint out from where it was taped to the bottom of the nightstand. “Depends on where and when. If I'm home all night, pipe. But this one's just a cigarette." "Mmmmm. Is it still illegal? So very strange, I remember when it was banned." "Still very illegal. But we're working on it.” Zach lit it and took the first hit. He offered it to Adrien, who laughed, pushed the joint aside and kissed him. "Beautiful Zach, I do not breathe and my blood does not circulate." "That sucks.” Zach continued enjoying it all on his own. “Going to miss that." "The late sixties were lovely in that regard. So many things to taste.” Adrien looked pensive. “My owner grew hemp. We made sails and we always stole the leaves to make the work easier. They were garbage, unneeded. Only the stem fibers are used in cloth-making." The sweet Creole drone was not registering as words, but rather as music. Zach toked again and began touching Adrien as he talked. He liked the coolness of his lover's skin, the way it was always soft, the way it smelled. Adrien responded, licking his face. “It is long since I have tasted that. It only makes you sweeter.” He kissed Zach, who promptly rolled him to his back. “What do you like best when you are high?" Zach couldn't stop kissing him, couldn't stop touching him. He took another hit and went right back to Adrien. “Long, slow fucking. Try to make it last hours, or forever." "And can you go forever on top?" "Stoned? Yeahhhh.” Zach's smile was dreamy. Adrien licked his neck, just barely letting him feel teeth. Zach shuddered. “I like it when you're on top. But I think I would first enjoy it through you.” He slid down to lick Zach back to erection. “Your oral pleasure and mine as well."


Zach coughed a little. “Strong,” he said by way of explanation. Adrien smiled up, fangs showing. “Mine is perfect,” he said burying them at the base of Zach's cock and drinking. Zach just finished the joint, knowing it couldn't be real, but it was too incredible to care. His head spun, the combined weed and Adrien taking him higher than ever. "Do it,” he said. “Right now.” He needed more. He came, hard, bucking, the ceiling doing a slow, lazy rotation above him. "Not yet, love,” Adrien said, moving up to kiss him, blood and come still mingling on his tongue, making Zach even higher than the joint. **** June slipped into July and August heat followed after, sweltering on the city streets. It was just sunset when Zach came home from work. The new apartment, a basement flat in a good building, looked empty. He set his briefcase down, and sat on the couch. Adrien slipped up behind him and licked his neck. “Sweet. You had chocolate martinis for lunch." "Better follow up on that,” Zach said with a shudder. Adrien's tongue was all over his neck and ear. “Is all in order, my love? Are your ready to cross?" "Cashed in my 401k, liquidating the condo." "Yes. I do like the new place.” Adrien gave him a smile. “And my money? Safely invested? Passport? Do you have one?" "Every cent. Long term, low risk, slow growth funds. Passport done." "Lovely. Enjoyed the last of your mortal pleasures? The food, the drink, the drugs?" "All of them." Before he could move, Adrien had him pinned down, and his fangs had dropped. “How then? What would give you the most pleasure?" Zach shivered a little. The bites up until now had been safe, sexy. “Is it painful?" Adrien nodded. “In more ways than physical." "Make it quick, then.” Zach had never been into S&M scenes, simply because he hated pain. "You like the bite. This will be more of the same.” Adrien kissed him, which helped him relax a little. “The death will depend on how hard you fight it. I will hold you through it." Zach took a deep breath and nodded. “Just ... don't leave." "I will not.” He kissed Zach again. “Where shall I give you this final high, lover? Here?” He kissed Zach's neck. “Here?” Adrien's breath was cool over his thigh, unwarmed by body heat. “Here?” The ivory of his


fangs was hard against Zach's own erection. Zach drew him back up and tipped his head, baring his throat, the favorite of all the places Adrien had bitten him. “There.” He closed his eyes and braced himself. Adrien chuckled softly. “Ah, a classicist. Or shall I be within you as we do this?" "Yes.” The word was half-sigh, half-consent. Adrien led him to the bed, counting steps under his breath. He found the lubricant and sat, braced against the wall. “Take me in, sweet Zachary. Take me into your warm body for the last time." Zach moved onto him, wincing as the cool cock slid into his body, driven in by his own weight. He'd moved into full body shakes, and only Adrien's arms around him kept him from running. Adrien stroked him, guiding him. "Beloved, if there are trepidations, we can delay the crossing." Zach took a deep breath and calmed down. “No. I'm fine." Adrien held him close. “So warm. I will miss this.” He took a small knife from the nightstand and cut open a small vein in his own chest. “Drink while I take from you." Too scared to do otherwise, Zach lowered his mouth to the open wound. Adrien kissed his bared neck. Zach moved, more relaxed now. Adrien's blood was getting him drunk faster than whiskey. Adrien's blood was in him. Adrien's cock was in him. And in a moment, Adrien's fangs were in him, breaking the skin, sending him over the edge. “Come for me, one last time." Zach kept moving, trying to prolong the orgasm. He felt the warm come smearing between them and realized he was very tired. He rested against Adrien's chest, wanting a nap. "Drink, love,” Adrien said, licking at the blood that flowed from his neck “Drink as long as you can.” Zach sucked weakly at the open wound on Adrien's chest, as Adrien kept drinking from him. Adrien paused. “Listen, your heart is slowing. Is it all you dreamed?" A quiet moan was Zach's only response, the orgasm still wracking his nerves, his head swimming and reality all nonsense. It was the best high he'd ever had. Not booze or tantric sex or pot or E or scarfing or any of the other things he'd tried had left him like this. Adrien smiled, listened to the last flutters of his heart, and laid him out on his bed. He laid down beside Zach's body, holding him close. “You will awake tomorrow,” he whispered. “And then all the nights will be ours.” He chuckled softly. He held Zach through the day, and as the sun began to set, he carried the body into the bathroom and made himself comfortable in the large tub. Zach's eyes flew open as the sun vanished. Adrien felt him tense and gripped him tightly bracing him against what was to come. "It will be painful now, love. I know the porcelain is cold. We are in here to make clean-up easier." Zach started curling in on himself, cringing as cramps wracked him. His insides emptied out, evacuating from all orifices. Adrien held him tightly through it all, giving no sign of revulsion as his sensitive nose was


assailed. "Sorry,” Zach managed between spasms. "You are dying. You are dead. The end of your life flows from you. You cannot control it.” Adrien remembered his own nightmare, trapped in a raw pine box under two feet of Louisiana dirt, alone and screaming. When Zach's anguish passed, he ran a pleasantly warm shower and began to clean them up. Zach opened his mouth and this time nothing came out. He tried again. "Breathe in first and then speak, love. You will grow accustomed to it.” Adrien washed him gently. “What do you require?" Zach was very hoarse. “Hurts..." Adrien nodded. “Yes. I am here. Hold onto me." Zach took another breath. “Cut us open, are we black on the inside? Rotten...” He was sick again, but brought nothing up. Adrien held him tightly. “Beautiful Zachary. Beautiful forever now." Zach looked at him curiously as the pain subsided. Adrien finished washing him, and wrapped them both in the fluffy Egyptian cotton towels. "Is it all you wanted?” Adrien asked. "More." "You want more or was it more?" "Both.” Zach kissed him sweetly, testing how things felt now that he was dead, or rather undead. Adrien returned it lovingly, his face full of joy. “You're stronger than you think. Imagine doing it alone, in a box no bigger than you are.” At Zach's shudder, he said softly, “I prayed a great deal, waiting to go to heaven, convinced I was in hell." "No fear of hell with you by me. Not now.” Zach kissed Adrien's shoulder, kissed the closed-over cut he'd drunk from. "There is no hell. No heaven. Nothing for us except the night, the hunt and the long death." Zach stiffened just a bit when a strange sensation gripped him. His fangs descended for the first time, and he ran his tongue over them, curious. "What, beloved?" He nipped Adrien's shoulder playfully, and drew a laugh. "Much nicer than your other teeth. Now I shall not have to open my veins for you. You can do it yourself."


"Can it be controlled?” Zach licked over his teeth which were back to normal now. "I do. You will learn." "Until then, it's just going to be like my dick in seventh grade.." Adrien laughed again. “Exactly. And that should never go down now. Although you are welcome to.” He stroked Zach's unnoticed-until-now erection. Zach laughed soundlessly, then drew in the air to say, “That's what I like to hear." "And you will have climax after climax, as a woman does, without a wait between them." "Even better.” Zach stepped carefully to the side, testing the changes in his body. He didn't seem any more powerful now than before. "For now, you will be wanting food, water and clothing.” Adrien gestured to the clothes he'd laid out. “I will make food as soon as I clean up in here.” He set to scrubbing the shower by smell alone, making sure all the last remnants of Zach's mortality had gone down the drain. Adrien rose to dress himself, and Zach shoved him against the wall, kissing him hard. He hadn't dressed. Adrien purred as Zach's fangs dropped for an instant, cutting his lip. “Oh darling." "Fuck me again,” Zach demanded. “On the bed.” He practically dragged Adrien with him, slinging him to the mattress, laughing. Adrien, still stronger, flipped Zach around to hands and knees and with the barest bit of lubricant, slammed in. His love was cold now, not the beautiful hot body he'd been enjoying for weeks. “Sweet, cold vampire,” he whispered as he hit his first climax, scraping his fangs along Zach's shoulders, drawing the tiniest trickles of blood. "Love you...” Zach whispered. It was the first time he'd said the words as an adult. He didn't believe in love. It was a trick nature did with hormones to get the breeders to stay together and raise babies. He didn't believe in forever. Yet here he was, proclaiming his love like any dyke. Adrien kissed his shoulder, very gently. “And I you. If I did not, I would have merely eaten you, instead of keeping you at my side.” He rolled off and drew Zach to him. “Tomorrow we will hunt. Tonight, drink." Zach tried to coax his fangs into cooperation. Finally they dropped for him and he sank them into Adrien's throat. Beneath him, Adrien writhed, shouting out another climax. He drank, but wasn't truly hungry. A few mouthfuls were enough. They lay together, the day marking its progress in bars of light along the ceiling of the front room. When the mood took them, one would go down on the other, sucking as long as it pleased him. They talked quietly, gathering strength for the night. Zach was still not feeling right. Adrien suggested he rest. Zach stroked himself. “It never goes down.” He rubbed it again, still amazed, although he had known it would be like this.


"In some parts of eastern Europe, vampires returned not for blood but for sex. They would very literally screw their widows to death and then start on the others in the household,” Adrien said. “I will bring back dinner, my love." "Good thing nowadays a good top can have hundreds of offers a night. No one screwed to death. Everyone happy.” Zach kissed him. “You're blind. How're you going to find anyone?" "I found you.” Adrien laughed and was gone, only to return a few hours later with a handsome young man. “This is Danny. I brought him home for you." Zach smiled from the bed. “Hey, handsome." Danny gave a small shy smile, running a nervous hand through unruly black curls. “Hi, Zach. Adrien was lost. He said you weren't feeling good or you'd have been with him. I wanted to make sure he got home okay." Zach wondered what Adrien had told the guy besides his name. “A real boy scout. Come here. I need to repay you for doing your good deed today." "I said we'd see if you felt better.” Adrien tapped his way across to the bed and kissed him. Danny followed. He laid the back of one hand across Zach's forehead. “Are you feeling better?” There was nothing shy about the sexy grin he hit Zach with. Zach caught his wrist and kissed it. “I was thinking of taking your temperature rather than you taking mine." "I could do that.” Danny winked. “Would you like that oral or rectal, Doctor Zach?" Zach grinned. “Rectal for the most accurate reading." Danny faked a cough. “I think I might be coming down with something after all. Maybe Adrien better take it orally, too. After all, two readings have gotta be more accurate than one." Zach reached for his shirt button. “Strip, young man. No gown required for this exam." Danny got out of his clothes fast. This was incredible. Gorgeous Zach, handsome Adrien, and both wanting to do him. “Right away, doctor." Zach helped Adrien undress and guided him to where he wanted him on the bed. Adrien went, and reached out, finding Danny's curls. “Adorable boy,” he said softly as Danny sucked him in. Zach ran his tongue down Danny's back, considering exactly how many places he could bite in this position. Instead, he stroked his tongue up Danny's crack, watching with one eye as the guy swallowed Adrien's cock. He poked at his opening, tasting his skin. Clean and good. The last hint of a beer last night, a little smoke from his workplace, soap and water were all that came through his skin. Danny moaned as Zach rimmed him, and Adrien stroked his hair. “He is so very good, is he not?” Adrien silently touched the best places, showing Zach where to bite, covering this with the motion of stroking Danny. “Dearest Daniel. we are, perhaps, a trifle kinky for your tastes. We bite."


Danny only moaned a little louder. He pulled off for a second. “I got your dick in my mouth, you ain't gonna be biting too hard.” While he was off, Zach lubed himself and entered, making sure Adrien wouldn't get bitten instead. “Oy, ya got cold instruments, doc.” Danny went back to Adrien's cock. Adrien laughed and reached for Zach. Zach leaned over Danny's back to kiss his lover. "Not for long, son.” He kissed hard and deep. Adrien let his fangs drop and teased Zach to do the same. When he did, he nicked Adrien's lower lip. The taste of blood made his stomach rumble. Adrien smiled and stroked Danny's throat, where Zach was to bite. He pulled out of Danny's mouth. “A satisfactory reading. Rectal always takes longer." "Awww man, you didn't even come." Adrien kissed the complaint away. Zach thrust harder to distract him from the oddness. Adrien gestured him in. Zach leaned back over Danny, nuzzling one side of his neck. Adrien rubbed against the other. On Adrien's hand signal they both bit down, drawing a yell and an orgasm from Danny. Adrien drank of the cooler venous blood, leaving the richer arterial for Zach's first meal. He listened closely to Danny's heartbeat and backed his lover off the moment it started to slow. Zach had never stopped fucking. He kept moving through two more of his own climaxes. “Reading got a lot cooler." "Indeed, darling. Perhaps we need to keep him warm?” Adrien stroked Danny's face as the boy lay there panting from the intensity. Zach, very warm now, lay down beside him, and Adrien curled into the other, pulling up the duvet. Danny just blinked as he shook. "Beloved Zach, I'll warm our poor patient if you might fetch a restorative?” Zach got up and went to the fridge. He came back with a bottle of Gatorade and some pretzels. “Time for some medicine, young man,” Adrien whispered. Danny took the drink gratefully. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten so wrecked so fast, but this pair had made him come like a geyser. “Man, I've never had it like that. Wow." Zach smiled when Adrien said, “When you are recovered, you may leave. Until then, we will see to you." Danny protested, “If there's another fuck like that, I'm staying." Zach kissed his shoulders and neck. “Doctors Carriere and Nelson never see the same patient twice." Adrien kissed him. “Besides, you're all well. Well people don't require a doctor." Danny lay between them, drinking Gatorade, being kissed and cuddling close. After a couple hours, his head had stopped spinning. He took a last kiss from each and left. "There are advantages to take-out that takes itself out,” Zach chuckled as he took Adrien back to bed.


Adrien kissed him and got comfortable on the mattress. Zach was careful with the entrance but forgot himself soon enough. The endless cycle of orgasm, plateau and orgasm consumed him and he pounded himself into exhaustion and long past. Adrien shifted. “Beloved, please. I'm not a boy-whore with a hole of leather who can serve you for endless hours. I am growing tender in most uncomfortable ways." Zach rolled off with a moan of repletion, and a grin that threatened to split his face. “Oh yeah,” he sighed "At last.” Adrien rolled onto his side. “You. Are. Insatiable.” He punctuated the words with kisses. "You love it.” Zach ran a hand over Adrien's tight dark curls before pulling him in for a kiss. "Indeed. But you must control your desires long enough to feed.” Adrien continued when Zach nodded. “You'll be truly hungry soon enough. Enough that tonight will seem a meager snack." They spent the days studying, the nights hunting. Zach took Adrien to all his favorite clubs. They ate very well. One evening, when Zach had grown nostalgic for the pleasures of mortal life, and Adrien thought he had enough control, he finally looked over at his lover with the first sign of exasperation. "If you wish to go glory-holing, we certainly could,” Adrien suggested. "Anonymous biting would be easy there." Adrien gave his slow smile in return, the one that made Zach shiver with wanting. “I procured many meals in such a way in the fifties and sixties, when men were less open. And you should be able to smell who is safe to drink from and who is not." Zach matched the smile. “Lets do it.” He started dressing for a night out. Adrien dressed and picked up his cane. He took Zach's arm when they were ready. “Lead the way, beloved.” Zach drove them downtown. Once situated in the back room of the club, Adrien tested Zach's sense of smell. “Do you smell it on this one? Two different drugs and a great deal of alcohol.” Adrien licked the hard cock that poked through the hole in the wall. “Mine, since you're driving." The smell of blood just under the skin was making Zach even hungrier. He could smell the alcohol but wasn't picking up the drugs. He lied and said, “I can smell. I'll find one that's clean.” He sniffed along, the sexual musk and blood from the line of cocks, like a line of beer taps just waiting to be opened, made him less cautious. Finally Adrien pointed to one. He knelt, trusting the assessment that the man would be clean and safe. Adrien took his own drunk in hand, and stroked him. “A mouthful or two, no more. Think of it as a tasting menu." Zach wasn't sure he'd be able to stop, but nodded anyway. “If menu's long enough, I might get filled up." Adrien gave another lick to keep the man's interest and said, “We have all night. Plenty to taste." Zach was content enough to suck the cock for a while, biting down when orgasm hit. The blood was


different, better-tasting, and it was all for him. He kept drinking, only slowly becoming aware of Adrien trying to pry him off. "His heart. Listen to his heart!” When Zach finally pulled off, trying to listen, Adrien jerked him to his feet. “Get us home! Now!" Zach barely registered his companion's panic. He loved Adrien. He liked the room. He let himself be steered back to the Jag but only looked confused at the keys. "Drive, man!" Zach finally shook his head, clearing it enough of the blood-fog to take off. He drove too fast, barely listening to Adrien in the passenger seat. "Fools. Both of us fools. We should have eaten to take the edge off and then gone a-tasting." "'He'll be fine. He probably feels better than I do now.” Zach didn't understand the panic, only that Adrien was mad and he didn't want his lover mad. He ran a hand along Adrien's face and swerved. Adrien snapped, “Watch what you're doing because I cannot! Get us home without a fiery crash and tomorrow we shall hunt and then taste at another club.” The number of turns Zach made worried him a great deal. He knew there were only six between the house and the club, and Zach had made at least ten. Adrien manhandled him down the steps and put him to bed. “Darling man. Stupid, darling glutton." Zach grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss. “You love it." "I adore your zest, but not when it harms those we feed on and risks our feeding grounds.” Adrien nicked his lip with the next kiss. Zach laughed, soft and slow, almost stoned-sounding. “Just have to punish me. I was bad." "You would enjoy it. No punishments that are pleasure. No hunting until tomorrow. Lie still and recover.” Adrien microwaved a packet of the butcher-shop blood they bought for such occasions. He listened to a movie on the sofa, growing more distracted by the sounds from the bedroom. He turned off the movie and went to the doorway. Zach was absorbed in the pleasures of his own right hand and didn't notice. Adrien listened a moment more before padding across the room, joining Zach on the bed, and licking the head of his cock. Zach gave a small groan, knowing Adrien's mouth would be exactly what he wanted. “Knew you couldn't resist." "Of course I cannot.” Adrien sucked him in deep, nipping at Zach's fingers when they got in his way. Zach buried them in his hair instead. Knowing Zach loved it, Adrien ran the point of one fang over him, just hard enough to break the skin. He drank a little. "Taste good?" "Always.” Adrien drank a little more. “I think, my lover, that you are drunker than I. There is a taste to it. A drug I do not know."


"Fuck if I know either. Feels like E but better." "Remember his smell. And stay clear of it." "No. It's damn good." "I cannot drive you home. You must stay sober on our nights out. When we come home, you may have all I have had." "Stop trying to make me think.” Zach shoved Adrien's head back down and moaned as Adrien sucked him with surreal slowness. Both drunk and drugged himself, Adrien enjoyed the taste of the drugs in Zach's blood before crawling up beside him, very affectionate. He wasn't even surprised when Zach cuddled him. He kissed his lover. "You only pleasured one today. And I did promise you might have what I had." "You sure did.” Zach started down Adrien's body. He could smell the booze and the drugs from the gloryhole, mixing with the drugs from him. This was going to be sweet and they couldn't overdose. He bit, hard, trying out the mix that was making his lover giggle. "You not still hungry after alla dat.” Stoned, Adrien always slipped into the Creole of his youth. Zach shuddered at the sexy accent and managed to limit himself to a sample. “Oui. Cheri, s'il vous plait?” He came under Zach's tongue. "Gonna relearn my French.” Zach stretched out, staring at the ceiling when he was done. “I miss pot." "We'll find you someone who has been smoking. Or, we shall bring someone here, give him the good hemp and you shall smoke as he does.” Adrien kissed him. "Good, good plan.” Zach watched Adrien smile, kissed him, and had to feel him all over his body. "As you did with the absinthe for me.” Adrien gave himself over into Zach's hands, his own desires burning in his skin. They reduced their club frequency, and Adrien made sure Zach was well-slaked before they went tasting. He worried. Zach always seemed to find reasons to go out. Adrien tried to limit errands to cloudy days, but his lover insisted on living on the edge. One evening, Zach came home very sun-sick. He had a bad sunburn and said nothing but went straight to the sink and started drinking water. He took a blood pouch, cold, before sprawling on the sofa. "Will you not stay in by day? I will go fetch dinner." "I try. But the bank closes before dark." Adrien sighed. “No trying. Just stay. You can do your banking by computer. The sun accelerates your degeneration. You know this." Zach rubbed his eyes, which burned despite the expensive Foster Grants with UVA and B blockers. “I


can feel that." "Dinner will help.” Adrien kissed him, put on his own sunglasses and took up the cane. Zach simply sat with a cold, wet rag over his eyes until he heard the key at the door. He took the cloth off and a pair of gorgeous redheaded twins smiled back at him. Each was wearing a green t-shirt bearing the legend “It's my brother's fault.” He returned the smile, hungrier than he thought he was. "Which do you like, my lover? They're Rick and Joey. I promised them the Peruvian gold.” Zach caught the wrist of the lefthand twin and drew him down for a kiss. Adrien smiled and kissed the one on the right. “I didn't think you'd mind if we had the appetizer before the,” he reached over and cupped Zach's crotch, “main course?" "Not a bit.” Zach kissed the guy's neck, liking his clean, sweet smell. "Please take care of it, my sweet. I've forgotten where you stashed it." Zach reluctantly tore himself away from the eager twin and went to get the promised pot. He came back to find Adrien kissing both twins, each in turn. He held up the joint. “This has to be earned." The twins looked up from Adrien and winked. “How?" Zach made himself comfortable on the sofa beside Adrien. “On the floor, boys. Suck on us a while, then we'll see about the other." The twins slid off, apparently well practiced at the double routine. They each went down on a man. Zach pulled Adrien over for a kiss. The moans from the men on the sofa encouraged the twins to keep sucking. Adrien whispered, too quietly for them to hear, “Stone them first, then we eat.” Zach nodded. More loudly, Adrien said “Eager, aren't they? They were so helpful and sweet when I told them I was lost. Perhaps we should reward them with something else to suck on?" Zach gave a half-smile. “I think so. Come on, boys.” Adrien smiled as he heard the match and smelled the smoke. The twins rose, rather confused that neither man had come yet. They'd expected to swallow before getting the good stuff. Well aware that Zach was watching, Rick pulled Joey over for a kiss. They had learned a long time ago that half the twins fantasy was watching them together. They never did more than kiss and touch, but sometimes that was enough for their dates. Very turned on by watching them, Zach offered the joint. “Let's see you have some fun." Joey took it, toked on it and passed it to Rick. Rick took his hit and offered it to Adrien. Adrien smiled and passed. Each twin hit it again, and offered it back to Zach. Zach pretended to toke, sadly getting nothing from the excellent weed, and passed it back. The twins each hit it hard again, and kissed this time, passing the smoke back and forth. Zach groaned watching them. They were beginning to smile loopily at each other and the kisses were becoming deeper. Adrien leaned into Zach's kiss. “They're beautiful. I wish you could see them."


"They smelled as though they would be. They felt and sounded alike. I like their voices." Zach grabbed two condoms and stood up. “Ready for a ride, boys?" They looked up from the kiss and let the smoke escape. “Yeah,” they said in unison. Zach laughed. “Perfect.” He helped Adrien to the bed. The twins followed. "Are we on top?” asked Rick "Or the bottom?” asked Joey. Their smiles matched. "You're bottoms on top.” Zach sheathed himself and Adrien quickly and stretched out on the bed. "A pony ride,” Joey laughed, finishing stripping. "Climb on,” Zach invited. Adrien stroked himself lazily. Joey took Zach and Rick took Adrien. They slid down together, and leaned forward to kiss the other men. They moved enthusiastically, their thighs strong from the gym. Zach kissed Adrien as the twins rode them, his orgasms quiet now, and intense. Joey had started leaking across Zach's stomach and was gasping with each thrust when Zach grabbed his hips, stilling him, and ordered, “Switch." Joey sulked. “I was almost finished." Rick shoved Joey, pushing him off of Zach. “I get Zach now. Besides, Adrien's real nice." Zach pulled Rick down for a kiss. “That's right, finish on me.” He nuzzled Rick's neck. Adrien drew Joey close. “Do not finish on me. I want to taste you." Rick rode Zach, yelling his pleasure. Joey simply lay beside Adrien, being sucked. He kissed Zach, until Zach moved away to return his attention to kissing Rick. Zach kissed down Rick's neck, listening to him moan, and then bit, lightly at first and then harder. The moans grew more enthusiastic until Zach broke the skin, getting the blood. Rick came all over Zach's stomach and chest. Adrien sucked Joey, liking the feel of the guy's cock, his slightly smokey smell. When Joey came, much more quietly than Rick, Adrien barely nicked him, taking only a mouthful of blood. Rick leaned forward, licking his come off Zach, glazed from the intensity. Zach pulled him up for a kiss. "Share that,” he growled, taking it from Rick's mouth. The twin opened, liking this. Adrien kissed Joey. “Thank you, sweetness.” He turned to the side and kissed Zach when Rick was finished. “Did I pick well?" "Wonderfully."


Adrien pulled his boy in and lapped at his neck. “A second round perhaps?" Joey laughed, still stoned enough the idea sounded good. Rick kissed Adrien. “Got any munchies?” they asked together. Zach rolled him off, leaving Adrien to entertain them both, and went to the kitchen. He came back with a tray of snacks and a couple quart bottles of sports drinks. “Try this, kids." Rick gave him a smile that made him wish he wasn't hard all the time. He'd have loved to get hard just from that. “We're always good for two or three." Joey reached for the purple drink. “And with you guys? We can go all night." Zach smirked. “So can we." Rick tossed a handful of snack mix in his mouth. “Have you even come yet?" "Nope.” Zach motioned to the eternal erection, only to sigh as Joey leaned over to lick it. "Weed always makes me crazy for cock,” he said, grinning, before he swallowed Zach to his balls. Rick occupied himself with licking pretzels off Adrien's chest and kissing him in between. "Hungry boy,” Zach teased. “I'm hungry too.” Joey giggled a little, his mouth full. Zach lifted him up and off, flipping him onto his back. Joey moaned as Zach's mouth closed around him, cool and wet. Adrien, enjoying his own twin's playful mood, did the same. Rick lay beside his brother, too stoned to do more than moan at the blind man's talented mouth. Despite Zach's head start, the twins came within seconds of each other. Zach sank his fangs into Joey's groin and caught a glimpse of Adrien doing the same. They drank, just enough to send their guests into unconsciousness, but not enough to truly harm them. Adrien came up for a kiss, his mouth still smeared with Rick's blood. Zach plunged in, heedless and greedy, tasting his lover, their dinner, blood and semen and all the sex on him. "Better, beloved?" "So much better.” He nuzzled at Adrien's neck as they lay atop the unconscious redheads. "When they regain their senses, you will take them home. And stay indoors by day,” he added. The urgency and worry showed in his next kiss. Zach rolled his eyes, although he knew Adrien couldn't see it. “Yes, Daddy." "Naughty boy,” Adrien teased, nipping at his throat. Zach tipped his head back. Not drinkers or drug-users or any of the other activities had given him the high that Adrien's bite still did. He climaxed as Adrien bit, taking a bare mouthful. Zach shuddered at Adrien's next words. “If you cannot enjoy the night, I will drain you dry and find another companion. Do you understand me?" Zach pulled away, staring as if he didn't know this man in his bed any more.


"My lover. I am not being cruel. I am merely selfish. I want you for a long time. But if you continue to seek the sun, I will not have you. I will not let you deteriorate before me." "I know.” Zach kissed him slowly and set about reviving the twins for the trip home. **** Autumn came and the nights began to grow long again, to Adrien's delight. They still lay together in the afternoons, resting before the evening. "Tell me of your parents,” Adrien said softly. "Other than the fact that I'm a constant disappointment? From my eyes not staying the blue they were born to me never producing grandchildren?" Adrien kissed his neck. “You had parents." "In the loosest sense of the word." "Mine were sold when I was very small. My big brothers and the aunties looked after me.” He trailed the fangs along Zach's throat. “Until I gave them their freedom." Zach took off the sunglasses he had taken to wearing habitually, day or night. He'd been amused to see it catching on as a trend in the bars. Corey Hart's “Sunglasses at Night” had been the most requested song in all the gay clubs lately. He looked Adrien over, taking him in, trying to remember everything. Adrien reached out and stroked his face. "I won't see you much longer,” Zach said softly. "Oh my darling." "Each day it's a little worse.” Zach kept staring. Adrien nodded. “So what do we do now? Can you live in the eternal dark with me? Hunting by smell alone?" "I have to. Therefore I can.” He tried not to let the fear sound in his voice. Adrien let him feel the teeth again. “You don't have to." Zach scowled and shoved his lover away from his neck. “You're not killing me now." "It remains an option, if you choose it. The darkness frightens you." "Terrifies, actually." "I was horrified when I awakened blind.” He pressed into Zach's hand, which was stroking his face again. “Learn the feel of things, while you can still see. Learn how many steps to the refrigerator, the door, the phone."


"I was concentrating on the important things, like memorizing your face and the color of your eyes." "Hold all your colors. I find, in the eighteen months of darkness, I am beginning to lose mine." Zach kissed him, slow and deep. That at least would not change. Adrien's hands went over his body and played in his hair. "What color is your hair, lover? I never asked." "Brown. A little red in the sun." Adrien smiled and kissed him again. “You are very beautiful, I expect. You felt so." "Eyes are brown and green,” Zach continued. “More one or the other depending on light. And I am narcissistic enough to agree with you." Adrien smiled. “While you are studying my face, how do I appear to you?" Zach ran a teasing hand along his lover's naked body. “Every morning before work I'd pick up a caramel latte. Your skin is that color." Adrien gave a soft laugh. “Lickable, sweet and delicious." "So good. My first addiction.” He kissed along Adrien's jaw and licked him just to finish the metaphor. "I understand caramel. Latte is coffee with milk, no? I can taste, but only blood tastes right." "I'd be sick if I tasted it now. But I can taste you instead.” When Adrien offered his neck, Zach bit him gently. “Delicious.” He nipped the other side. “Addictive Creole coffee.” He bit very hard and laughed when Adrien's hips bucked. “So responsive. Coming just from being bitten." "You do it too.” Adrien returned the favor and was, as usual, right. Hunting was splendid that night. Zach drank it all in, both eyes and mouth, greedy for memories against the dark. Sunrise found them back in the apartment. Adrien lay on his stomach, stroking and teasing. He was in an unusually merry mood. "We will get you a cane.” Adrien even went so far as to stroke Zach's erection, drawing a laugh from him. “And we will learn the night transportation system." "Yes." "Or should we leave this place, where you are known? How will you explain the sudden blindness?” Adrien kissed his eyes. "Accident?" "Or would it be easier in a new place where you are not known as a libertine? We could learn together. There are cities friendlier to the blind. Your computer machine told me of them: Charlotte, North Carolina. Berkeley California. Kalamazoo, Michigan; New York, New York.


"Not going to some hick town. Who the fuck lives in Kalamazoo?" "There's always New York City. We could take a bite out of the Big Apple." Zach rolled his eyes. Only his lover would miss a song cue for a pun. “Bad. Bad.” He kissed Adrien quiet. "Should we get guide dogs? If we find a breed that will tolerate us?" "No. I hate dogs." "Very well. Maybe we should take on an adorable houseboy/chauffeur?" "Now that kind of pet I could deal with.” He licked Adrien's collarbones. "A minion, not mignon." That pun made Zach groan. “Keep your day job. You aren't a comedian." "I never said I was. However, I suspect my dinner was not so sober as he smelled." "Yours too?” Zach stroked Adrien's neck with his fangs, ready to sample what his lover had had. Adrien giggled. “Oh God, not giggling. I have to distract you." "I can't help it, love.” He did it again. “It's ... upsetting." "You and me both.” He kissed Adrien to stop the giggles. "Maybe, I'd better have something to keep my mouth full then.” Adrien gave a wicked smile that dissolved into more giggles. Zach shoved him down. “Please, just stop giggling." Adrien later lay in Zach's arms, detoxed and relaxed. “I will interview houseboys once we are moved. Make the arrangements?" Zach pulled him close. “I will.” He took a breath, and said the words that had never been for anyone else, not friends, parents or bedwarmers. “Love you." "And I you, my beautiful Zachary. We walk into the dark together."

A Light to his Darkness By Jennifer Joyce Jean-Pierre creeps down the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky steps. He pauses, one hand resting lightly on the smooth wooden banister, to listen for movement in the gloom. While the top of the stairs are well-lit, the corridor they lead to is dusky with less than half as many lamps kept burning as upstairs. Not hearing anything, he continues his cautious descent.


At the bottom of the stairs he pauses again to look around. Other parts of this level of the house are kept well-lit, the underground cellars and larders that are regularly visited by the servants. Few of the servants come down this way, unnerved by the inhabitant and the darkness he prefers. Jean-Pierre's steps are quiet and sure as he moves toward a dimly-lit doorway, the rectangle a shade closer to darkness. Another breathless pause by the doorway rewards him with a faint scratching sound, the rasping of a knife taking slivers of wood. A silent step to the left and he can see Pierre bent forward in uninterrupted concentration. Jean-Pierre's tongue moistens his lips and he takes care to keep his breathing soft while making the most of his chance to watch unobserved. Pierre's pale fingers move continuously, caressing a piece of wood as big as Jean-Pierre's two fists. Soft light catches on the small knife blade as it flicks, taking small pieces of the wood with each motion. Those fingers are strong and supple, confident and competent. Jean-Pierre freezes, holding his breath, when Pierre lifts his head and turns his face toward the door. The light catches the contours of his face, caressing the pale skin with golden fingers. Jean-Pierre wets his lips again, trying to take a steady breath while he examines the face which features in his dreams. Straight nose and strong jaw, always clean as if freshly shaven, frame a serious mouth. Lips that Jean-Pierre longs to taste, to kiss. "Did you come down about something or were you just going to stand there?” Pierre asks, his quiet voice interrupting Jean-Pierre's contemplation. "Um...” caught out Jean-Pierre scrambles for a reason. “Marie was wondering if you were going out hunting tonight." "No,” Pierre replies, not commenting on the thinness of Jean-Pierre's reason. "Ah ... I'll tell Marie. Um...” Jean-Pierre hesitates, not wanting to leave, particularly as Marie had asked no such question. Pierre lets him stew for a few minutes before taking pity on him. "Did you want to sit with me for a while?” he offers. "Yes, thank you,” Jean-Pierre replies, trying not to sound over eager. Sitting down on a low chair he watches as Pierre's hands start moving again. "So, how are things upstairs?” Pierre asks, knowing that it won't take much to get his namesake talking. "Papa is still away in Paris and Annette has been nagging about going with him next time. She thinks that if she goes to Paris that Papa will find some rich heir who will whisk her off somewhere exciting,” Jean-Pierre sighs, rolling his eyes at his younger sister's antics. Pierre listens with the occasional murmur of encouragement while Jean-Pierre catches him up with all the family and servant gossip before moving on to news from the town. "They'll be looking for you for dinner soon,” Pierre comments after listening for an hour or so. "Marie will come down when it's ready. She always knows where to find me,” he says, his tone is slightly petulant.


"She always looks here first, ever since you fell asleep under one of my chairs,” Pierre replies, patiently amused. "That was years ago,” Jean-Pierre mutters. "Not all that long,” Pierre counters. "Long enough,” is the answering protest. "Maybe." Jean-Pierre sighs in frustration, knowing that he cannot win the argument. He lingers for a few more minutes before pulling himself from the embrace of the chair with continued reluctance. "Well. I suppose I should go to dinner. Save Marie the trip down the stairs looking for me." Pierre nods his agreement. “That would be considerate,” is his quiet, pointed comment. Jean-Pierre has almost left the room when another comment from Pierre makes him turn back with a smile. "It's your birthday next week, isn't it?" "Yes, Master,” Jean-Pierre replies quietly, pleased that Pierre remembered. When Pierre doesn't say anything else, just nods at him with a smile, Jean-Pierre leaves to bounce up the stairs. He has paused at the top of them, blinking while his eyes adjust to the light, when a soft footfall warns him of company. "You've been down there pestering the Master again? I hope you haven't been making too much of a nuisance of yourself.” Marie's voice is tart but Jean-Pierre isn't daunted by it. "He doesn't mind. He likes hearing about what's going on. I think he should come up more often, spend more time with us." "No more of your harebrained schemes, do you hear?” Otherwise I'll have to set Papa on you." "They're not all that bad,” Jean-Pierre protests, not daunted by the empty threat of their absent parent. "I'll tell Nan,” Marie threatens, pulling out the siege weaponry. "Fine. No schemes. Promise,” Jean-Pierre gives in grumpily. **** A couple of evenings later find Jean-Pierre lurking again in the darkened corridor. "What brings you down here today?” Pierre's tone is patient; he is curious what the current excuse will be. "I thought you might like me to read to you,” Jean-Pierre replies with a pointless gesture, waving the book in his hands. "Which book?” Pierre checks before committing himself.


"Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, it's good. I'm nearly halfway through it but I thought you might like to hear it from the start.” Jean-Pierre gestures in enthusiasm. "That is generally preferable,” is Pierre's dry reply. “Do you want to go through to the reading desk?" "Here is fine, I'll just light the rest of the lamps." While Jean-Pierre is doing that Pierre makes himself comfortable in one of the big leather armchairs. Jean-Pierre sits in the facing one, tucking his feet beneath him and opening the book to its first page, angling it to best catch the light. "Chapter One. Which treats of the character and pursuits of the famous gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha..." **** After his birthday dinner, Jean-Pierre walks carefully down the stairs, conscious of his family watching him. Papa had returned from Paris in time for Jean-Pierre's birthday, bringing with him an expensive present and heavy hints about it being past time for Jean-Pierre to be finding himself a bride. Marriage is the last thing on Jean-Pierre's mind but there's no way he can tell his father that he doesn't want to marry some strange girl. Now his father and older sister wait at the top of the stairs, barred by family tradition from following him this night. The corridor looks the same as usual, neither more nor less lights flicker in their glass chimneys. Every year it seems wrong to Jean-Pierre that it looks the same as any other night. Pierre looks up with a smile as Jean-Pierre pauses in the doorway of the shadowed sitting room. "Happy birthday, Jean-Pierre,” he says, his voice soft and reassuring. "Thank you Master.” The young man's voice is more subdued than usual. "Come over here child, let me see how you've grown,” Pierre instructs, familiar words repeated every birthday. Jean-Pierre moves over to stand close in front of the seated figure and closes his eyes, holding himself still while Pierre runs cold hands over his face, tracing fingers over the outlines of his features. It isn't that Jean-Pierre is afraid—in all his eighteen years the Master has never hurt him; it is anticipation and longing that keep him so still. Savoring the touch, the brief caress that leaves him aching for more. He clenches his jaw, resisting the temptation to kiss the fingers on his lips. He did that last year and Pierre had withdrawn his hands as if burnt, as if soiled, and the rejection had stung. So this year Jean-Pierre keeps himself still, making the most of the moment while it lasts. Pierre doesn't linger, pulling his hands back once he is reacquainted with the shape of Jean-Pierre's face. Tonight another carving will join Pierre's collection of the family. Jean-Pierre watches eagerly while Pierre unbuttons his ruffled cuff, pushing the sleeve up past his wrist before raising it to his mouth. Pierre's lips are marked with blood when he lowers his wrist again, holding it out to Jean-Pierre while being careful not to let it drip. "With my blood you are bound,” Pierre intones the ritual words while the boy bends down to taste the blood pooling on his wrist. It tastes strong in Jean-Pierre's mouth, salty and metallic. Swallowing it is like


drinking brandy, a burning warmth in his stomach and a dizzy euphoria feeding his desire. He swallows eagerly, murmuring in protest when Pierre reclaims his arm. Licking his lips to catch the last of the taste he watches Pierre licking his wrist clean before refastening his cuff. "Your wrist,” Pierre tells him: less than a command, more than a request. Jean-Pierre fumbles slightly undoing his cuff, eager for what he knows comes next. Once his sleeve is out of the way he places his arm in the vampire's hands. Pierre pauses for a moment with his lips against Jean-Pierre's wrist, marking the location of the veins with his tongue, his breath cold against the damp skin. Nibbling on his lip Jean-Pierre tries to keep still, to not give away how good that touch feels. He takes a sudden breath as fangs pierce his skin and there is a quiet moan that he isn't aware of making at the tugging sucking that seems to caress him from inside. "By your blood you are bound,” Pierre intones with a flash of fang as he encourages Jean-Pierre to taste his own blood. His blood tastes flat compared to the vampire's and doesn't feel anything like when Pierre drinks and Jean-Pierre is quick to lift his head again, trying to swallow the taste of blood from his mouth. Pierre gently takes his wrist again, licking the puncture wounds closed and Jean-Pierre swallows a whimper as it sends a shiver down his spine. When Pierre releases his hand Jean-Pierre withdraws it slowly, closing the button with trembling fingers. "There, not so bad,” Pierre murmurs. "Ah, not so bad,” Jean-Pierre replies with a shaky smile, bad isn't a word he'd use to describe it. Jean-Pierre takes a deep breath before undoing his elaborate formal collar, his fingers still unsteady. It is only the fifth year that he has been considered old enough for the next part and he has been looking forward to it for weeks. Taking the collar off and holding it in his hand he kneels by Pierre's chair, tilting his head to bare his throat to the vampire. "My blood is yours. My life to nourish you, my blood to give you life,” Jean-Pierre whispers the words his Papa taught him on his thirteenth birthday. "A gift treasured and used,” Pierre replies, moving close to the heat of the boy's throat. The blind vampire pauses for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the hot skin of Jean-Pierre's neck. With a breath he can smell the blood so close to the skin. His tongue and lips find and test the strong pulse before he moves back, away from the siren call of pulsing blood, to a point farther from the artery. His fangs pierce the skin in a smooth motion and he sucks lightly, savoring the rich flow of living blood. Jean-Pierre's breathing hitches at the first sting of the bite before he carefully steadies it to long slow breaths, trying to enjoy the sensation of Pierre feeding without being so lost in it as to do something that would make the other pull away. The tugging on the side of his neck and the soft caress of lips and tongue call to a deeper part of him, a part is much harder to control than his breathing. His hands tighten on the collar-ruffle, bending the careful creases out of shape in the effort to keep them from straying on his lap. Jean-Pierre's breathing is getting ragged now and his breeches are too tight by the time a gentle tongue licks his neck. "Thank you,” Pierre says solemnly, catching the last of the blood from his lips.


"You're welcome, Master,” Jean-Pierre replies very sincerely and Pierre smiles, nodding his head in recognition. "Well ... it's late ... you should probably get going to bed, before your sister comes down to chastise me for keeping you up.” Pierre's tone is more hurried than usual. "Yes Master,” Jean-Pierre replies demurely. If he thought it would help to protest he would but as it is he leaves quickly. **** Lying on his bed in his small room Jean-Pierre is glad of the privacy of having no brothers. Moonlight leaks in through cracks in the shutters, casting strange shadows but Jean-Pierre doesn't notice them, his eyes are shut and his thoughts are fixed on a room two floors away. Calling forth the memories of that evening Jean-Pierre runs his fingertips over his face, trying to recapture the touch of those cold fingers. Pressing his fingers to lips Jean-Pierre wonders what it would be like to kiss Pierre. His skin is cold to the touch, would his mouth be warm or cold against his own? Would his fangs scrape Jean-Pierre's tongue? Fangs... Jean-Pierre sighs, his fingers search the side of his neck in vain for puncture marks. Licking his lips he sighs again at the memory of Pierre's bite, his breath coming faster as the memory of it proves enough to rekindle his arousal. He pulls his nightshirt off, the fabric scraping his cheek in his haste. His hands move to rub and tweak at nipples while Jean-Pierre imagines the vampire over him, drinking from his throat while clever fingers play with his nipples. With a moan Jean-Pierre moves a hand down to rub his aching arousal, thinking of Pierre's hand touching him there instead. Gentle fingers explore the sensitive flesh, a light teasing touch here, a firm rub there. Thrusting into his own hand Jean-Pierre moans at the thought of Pierre surrounding him, touching him in any and every way he can think of. "Master ... Pierre,” is his strangled cry as his orgasm explodes over his chest. Lying there panting he trails his fingers in the milky liquid, bringing it to his lips and wondering how Pierre would taste. **** Pierre waits for the footsteps to fade into silence before leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He savors the lingering flavor of blood in his mouth, catching the last traces of it with his tongue. His fingers run lightly over his clothing as he enjoys the warm, vital feeling of arousal that comes with feeding. It is something that Pierre has felt many times, every time he has fed from the blood of the living, and yet there is something sweeter when he drinks from this boy. This delightful boy with his beautiful voice and loving spirit. This young, ephemeral, mortal boy. Pierre moves his hands to grip the arms of his chair, shaking his head as he chastises himself. The boy is young, too young and too easily killed. Not something to be held by someone who lived and died more than two centuries ago. Life so young and fragile. So new... **** Marie had only been seven when she carried her baby brother down those stairs. Her mama was weak, still bleeding, and her papa hadn't dared leave his wife's side, frantic for her life. Marie was so proud when they let her carry her new brother down to be shown to their Master and Pierre had known that she was coming, had heard the cries of labor even from his dark rooms, so he was waiting, sitting in his


chair. She hesitated by the door and he, able to smell her quiet fear, smiled reassuringly and beckoned her over. She placed her precious bundle in his waiting hands, a little boy, less than an hour old. The baby stirred, disturbed by the charge of hands and Pierre held him closer, soothing him. He could feel the heat of the child's skin through the swaddling clothes, the quick fluttering of a small heart. Lowering his head to breathe in the baby's scent he heard the girl catch her breath. "Don't be afraid,” he told her. “I won't hurt him." "What are you doing?” she asked, made bolder by his reassurance. "Smelling him,” he replied, taking another deep breath. “Learning his scent so that I'll know him." "Did you do that with me?" "When you were a baby, aye. You and your mother and your mother's father." "Oh.” The thought subdued her. Shifting his grip Pierre freed one hand to run his fingers gently over the baby's face and head. "What is his name?" "Jean-Pierre,” Marie replied, watching for his reaction. Pierre smiled, flattered by the choice. “A good name,” his soft reply carried a hint of conspiracy. “Jean was my father's name." "Oh. It was?” young Marie was surprised, she'd never thought of the Master having a father. "Yes,” Pierre's short reply discouraged further questions so Marie fell silent, determined to remember to tell her parents. Pierre lent over the baby again, taking long deep breaths to absorb the scent of the newborn. He smiled when a tiny fist hit his nose and caught the small hand, letting the tiny fingers wrap around one of his own. "He likes you,” Marie commented in a small voice. "It's in his blood,” the vampire replied. Raising his hand to his mouth Pierre nicked a fingertip with a sharp fang so that blood welled up from the cut. Using the rest of his fingers as guides he placed the finger in the babe's mouth, allowing him to suck a little blood from the wound. "By my blood you are bound,” Pierre whispered a fragment of the binding ritual that wouldn't be said in full until the child's fifth birthday. He let the baby suck briefly before reclaiming his finger to close the wound. Pierre held the baby a while longer, singing an old lullaby remembered from his own childhood.


Eventually he returned the child to Marie's arms. "Here, take him back to his mother. He needs to be fed." "Yes, Master,” the young girl replied, settling her baby brother safely in her arms before leaving to climb the stairs. **** Pierre sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Too young. Too brief. But no matter how much he tells himself that he keeps finding himself straining for the sound of footsteps or the cadence of a soft voice. He still finds his fingers yearning for the touch of warm skin and his lonely heart for companionship. **** "I will be returning to Paris after Annette's birthday,” Papa announces at dinner the next day. “And you will come with me,” he continues, looking at his youngest daughter. “You are old enough now to be thinking about marriage." Annette squeals with excitement, “Thank you, Papa." Jean-Pierre breathes a sigh of relief, looking forward to having his younger sister gone for a week or two. His relief is short lived as Claude's eye falls on him. "You will come with us too, Jean-Pierre. You're past old enough to be looking for a bride and I expect you to give the matter proper attention." "Yes, Papa,” Jean-Pierre replies, sounding far meeker than feels. "Good,” Claude says, seeming;y satisfied with his tone. “There will be many balls in honor of the King's betrothal and we have invitations. Marie, I expect you to see that your brother and sister are both suitably attired." "Yes, Papa,” Marie answers with a willing smile, already thinking about it. "I've arranged for a tailor from Paris to visit for a week, he will help you with the designs." "Thank you, Papa,” comes another sparkling thanks from Annette. Jean-Pierre sits quietly through the rest of dinner while his sisters talk about dresses, cross-examining their father on what fashions he saw on his recent trip. As soon as he can Jean-Pierre excuses himself for the table to go up to his room. "I don't want to go,” he mutters sullenly, looking out his small window over the tiled roof to the trees that hide the town. “Don't want to go to a ball. Don't want to get married. Things are great just how they are,” his voice rises with each sentence, reaching the whining pitch of an angsting teenager. “It isn't fair!" Grimacing at the sound of his own whining, Jean-Pierre turns from the window, taking his lute from its shelf. Perhaps if he practices he can ask Pierre for another lesson tomorrow. By the time Jean-Pierre puts the lute away, his fingers too sore and tired to continue, his mind has stilled enough to let him sleep. ****


"That's enough for now. You have that piece to go on with.” Pierre rises to put his lute away in its padded case. Jean-Pierre plays a little longer, making sure the song is locked in his memory before looking up, cradling the instrument loosely in his arms. “Thank you for the lesson." "You're welcome, although if you played more you would be better at it." "I know.” Jean-Pierre gives a longsuffering sigh. “But Papa has decided that I'm old enough to take over some of the accounts and the petitions from the town, as well as continuing my lessons with the tutors." "You'll be glad of those lessons one day,” Pierre cautions him. Jean-Pierre grimaces. “I know, but it doesn't mean I have to like it." "You should put your lute away,” Pierre comments when Jean-Pierre shows no sign of continuing the conversation. Nodding wearily Jean-Pierre stands up to pause halfway to the door. Looking back at Pierre he makes the comment that he has been trying to avoid thinking about all evening. "After Annette's birthday Papa is taking the two of us to Paris to find suitable matches." When Pierre doesn't say anything Jean-Pierre continues to leave. Carrying his lute up the stairs Jean-Pierre admits to himself that he had been hoping Pierre would tell him to stay, would say that he didn't want him to marry. Confess to wanting him. In the face of that hope he finds Pierre's indifference a bitter pill to swallow. **** Jean-Pierre avoids the basement over the next few weeks, reminding himself of Pierre's indifference and telling himself that the other will be glad to see him gone. Safely married off. The closest he goes is the top of the stairs, standing there with his father and Marie to watch Annette descend them. Annette's face is pale with nerves above her formal gown and Claude pats her hand in awkward reassurance. "You'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about,” he tells his youngest daughter. “You remember the words I taught you?" "Yes, Papa,” Annette murmurs, not at all reassured. "It really isn't anything to worry about,” Jean-Pierre tells her, rather more reassuringly than their father had. Stepping forward he wraps his little sister in a warm embrace before giving her a gentle nudge toward the stars. “Go and you'll see.” Annette gives him a grateful smile before turning to walk down the stairs. Once she is out of sight Jean-Pierre slips away. He may not be talking to Pierre anymore but, despite that, or maybe because of it, he doesn't want to see his sister returning up those stairs with lust burning in her eyes. Lust put there by Pierre's touch.


The following few days are a flurry of preparation with the finishing touches being made to their new clothing, arrangements being made for the travel and the large trunks being packed, ready to go in the carriage. The last night before they leave Jean-Pierre falls into his bed too exhausted to wonder if he should say goodbye to Pierre before leaving. The journey to Paris is exciting at first for Jean-Pierre and Annette who have never been more than a day's ride from the home where they were born but both are soon tired of the continual rattling of the carriage. "Only one more day,” Claude reassures them as they stop at their third inn. “We'll be in Paris by dinner tomorrow night." "Yes, Papa,” Jean-Pierre replies, restraining a sigh. Annette, however, brightens at the news and Jean-Pierre has to endure his sister's excited chattering over dinner. "I'm going up to bed now, Papa,” Jean-Pierre states once he has finished eating, mostly wanting to get away from Annette for a while. "Good idea,” Claude replies. “We'll get an early start tomorrow morning." Stifling a groan Jean-Pierre mounts the stairs, finding his room with little difficulty. The room has the odd smell that comes from being occupied by different people every night but the bed is soft and, more importantly, not moving and Jean-Pierre is grateful to crawl into it. His last thoughts before sleep claims him are to wonder what Paris will be like. **** When more than a week has passed since Annette's birthday with no sign of the boy Pierre realises that Jean-Pierre must have left for Paris without saying goodbye. In the middle of the night Pierre climbs the stairs to the family bedrooms, finding it a simple task to identify the rooms’ usual occupants by scent. The boy's room is empty, none of the scents less than a week old. Pierre sits on the bed, bending down to breathe the scent of the pillow before sitting upright, one hand caressing the soft fabric. This is the room where Jean-Pierre sleeps, where he gets dressed, where he gets undressed. Pierre dwells on that thought, breathing in the scents and releasing them with soft sighs. "No!” Pierre chastises himself, snatching his hand from the pillow. Too young. Too fragile. Too easily lost. Better that the boy find a wife in Paris. Better that he move far away. “Before I get hurt,” Pierre almost admits to himself. Striding from the room Pierre moves as silently as a shadow down the first floor stairs and out into the night. His feet follow the familiar textures of the ground through the trees and out the gates into the town. His senses guide him through the streets. Little sounds tell him where he is and the feel of worn cobbles or smooth dirt beneath his shoes. The lingering scents of people, the smell of bread, the tang of metal and the rich scent of cured leather. At this time of night the streets are empty, the prey locked tantalisingly behind doors and walls. Thresholds bar him without invitation. But not every house is barred to him. A few of the houses have welcomed a wandering troubadour, a blind and therefore safe player of music. It doesn't matter that the name he gave was different nor that those who made the invitation are long dead, their families still live in those houses and the invitation was never withdrawn.


The lock on the door doesn't keep him out, the simple device is easy to pick for one who depends on sound and touch over sight. He moves through the house with the silent surety born of many visits. One servant wakes as he passes, but a touch of his mind ensures they neither see nor hear him pass. The door to the master bedroom opens silently, the hinges kept well oiled, and Pierre smiles as the mingling of both scents and minds tells him that two sleep in the big bed this night. He crosses the room like a ghost, making little more noise than a soft breeze. One hand resting on the sleeper's shoulder, the other cupping the side of her face, the vampire bites the neck stretched in between. The sleeping woman doesn't stir, Pierre keeps a careful pressure on her mind to keep her asleep, but her breathing quickens, as her dreams turn erotic. When Pierre stands up, leaving little more than a damp spot on her neck, the sleeping woman rolls closer to her husband. Stalking around the bed Pierre drinks from his second target. The man's blood is rich and strong, the blood of someone who has never truly gone hungry. Experience has taught Pierre that the blood of servants tastes thinner than that of their masters but not as weak as the peasants and serfs. The richer blood is more appetizing, more exciting to drink, and far more useful. A little blood each from a few of the better fed every week is enough to maintain his quiet life behind the protective cover of his human servants. As he leaves the room the couple on the bed are waking up and moving together hungrily. **** The music of the consort floats over the dancers and is underpinned by the whispers of silk and linen. The muted padding of soft leather soles beats with the flow of the music and the patterns of the dances. Farther from the musicians’ stage courteous voices rise and fall in myriad conversations while richly clad figures drift around the refreshment tables. As the dance ends Jean-Pierre frees himself from his latest dance partner with a studied courtesy and escapes to the refreshments. Holding a goblet of wine like a shield he looks around the room. Jean-Pierre recognizes some of the faces here from the gatherings and entertainments that have seemed to occupy all of his waking hours since arriving in Paris. Sipping at his wine he returns nods and smiles while trying to steal a little time alone, out of his father's matchmaking gaze. The girls here are beautiful in their exquisite dresses and their carefully decorated hair and faces but it is the young men that catch Jean-Pierre's eye with the lines of their legs so clearly defined and the way their doublets accentuate broad shoulders and narrow waists. While his eyes follow long gliding legs in the dance Jean-Pierre takes a deeper swallow of his wine. Each dance provides a different view, tantalising glimpses past wide swaying skirts. The faster dances take more skill and energy and provide a better show as only the more skilled stay on the floor. Jean-Pierre moves to a better vantage point, away from the obstructing bodies of those no longer dancing. When the dance ends the figures continue to dance in Jean-Pierre's mind and he doesn't notice one of them approaching until it plucks the goblet from his hand. "What?” Jean-Pierre's fingers clutch empty air and he blinks to refocus his eyes to glare at the laughing face currently emptying his wine goblet. “That's mine!” he protests; makes a pointless attempt to


recapture the now empty vessel. "I was thirsty. Anyway, you weren't using it,” the provocateur replies reasonably. "That's beside the point,” Jean-Pierre starts to sulk, just a little bit, although he can't help noticing the finer points of the figure holding his goblet. "So Maurice will get you another one.” The somewhat grandiose reply is quickly followed by a grin. “And I'll find another for myself while I'm at it." "Then Jean-Pierre will go with you,” Jean-Pierre declares with a grin, taken by Maurice's sense of style. At Maurice's prompting the two of them head out into the gardens, away from the well lit halls, each of them carrying a full goblet and a number of small dainties, which are quickly consumed. Showing familiarity with the grounds Maurice leads the way as they wander through the dark gardens, sipping at their wine. Jean-Pierre finds himself telling Maurice about his family, his sisters and Papa, how Mama had died when Annette was born and how Papa has brought the two of them to Paris to make suitable matches. He says nothing about Pierre, although his thoughts keep coming back to the vampire, but he doesn't conceal his distaste at the idea of marriage. During the conversation they have drawn to a halt in the shadow of a broad tree, hidden from the house by a thick hedge. As Jean-Pierre falls silent, expecting another question from his companion he realizes, by the soft puff of breath on his cheek, that the other has stepped closer. He freezes, uncertain for a moment, as a hand slides to cup the back of his head and soft lips brush across his cheek, seeking his own in the dark. As the lips brush his—soft and warm—and a tongue caresses them—hot and wet—Jean-Pierre sucks in a sudden breath, pressing a moan into the kiss. With one arm Jean-Pierre pulls Maurice close, pressing the heat of their bodies together while he opens his lips, uncertain of what he is doing but nevertheless hungry for it. Seeming pleased by his response Maurice tightens his hand, delving into Jean-Pierre's mouth with needy moans. Heedless of the goblet in his hand he wraps his other arm around Jean-Pierre, pressing their groins together with a loader moan that is echoed by Jean-Pierre. Starting to pant Maurice pulls his head back, licking Jean-Pierre's lips as they break control. "We could go to my rooms,” Maurice whispers, hips still moving. “Do more...?” he offers hopefully. "Mmm ... More,” Jean-Pierre murmurs, licking his lips and swallowing. “That sounds good. I like the idea of more." "Good,” Maurice replies with a smile, leaning forward to kiss Jean-Pierre again. “Come with me." "I can do that,” murmurs Jean-Pierre, quick to follow when Maurice starts moving. **** The two of them slip through the crowd, pausing to refresh their goblets before disappearing off into the rest of the house. Once out of sight Maurice starts running along hallways and up a back staircase with Jean-Pierre close on his heels. When they get to his rooms Maurice closes and locks the door behind them before leaning back on it, breathless from running. The two of them grin at each other and start laughing while still gasping for breath. Then their eyes meet again and they go silent, both stepping forward, hands grasping the back of heads for a bruising kiss.


Jean-Pierre pulls back with a deep, gasping breath, running his tongue over his tender lips and watching Maurice with needy eyes. Gasping himself Maurice smiles at him, attention caught by the flicking tongue. Leaning forward he licks Jean-Pierre's lips with a soft tongue, eliciting a moan before pulling back and taking Jean-Pierre's goblet from nerveless fingers. "There are my rooms,” Maurice comments, putting their goblets down on the table and moving across to an open door. “My bedroom is through here,” he says, looking back at Jean-Pierre with a mixture of invitation and nerves. "I'd like to see that,” Jean-Pierre replies with a smile, crossing the room he leans close to give Maurice a light kiss. Maurice leans into the kiss, his tongue slipping between Jean-Pierre's lips, and slides his arm around the other's back to pull both of them gently through the doorway. He breaks the kiss long enough to see the door properly shut before pressing Jean-Pierre against it and doing his best to slowly fuck the younger man's mouth with his tongue. It isn't long before Jean-Pierre is moaning into Maurice's mouth, his hands rubbing over the other's back and his hips pressing forward to grind their erections together. Maurice's attempts at being deliberate shatter along with his self-control and he leans harder against Jean-Pierre, attempting to devour the other's mouth. Maurice eventually pulls back and sucks in noisy breaths. Watching Jean-Pierre's face he starts undoing the lacings on the other's breeches. Jean-Pierre pauses for a moment before smiling and fumbling to undo Maurice's too. Slipping his hand into Jean-Pierre's underwear, Maurice runs his fingers over Jean-Pierre's penis, smiling in appreciation at its warm heft. His breath catching in his throat Jean-Pierre presses into the touch, his own fingers more insistent. Maurice pushes Jean-Pierre's clothing out of the way so that he can stroke his lover's cock, his fingers wrapped around it. Moving and thrusting into the hand Jean-Pierre finally gets his own inside to caress Maurice and pulls him close for another kiss. The kiss is enthusiastic and full of moans as they thrust into each other's grip, the soft skin of their cocks sliding together with each thrust. Jean-Pierre is soon clinging to Maurice with one arm and leaning against the door, as his legs feel weak with the rush of feeling. It is so much more intense than lying in bed with only his own hand for company. His cries are muffled in Maurice's mouth as he shoots onto the other's expensive clothing. Maurice makes a few more rough thrusts before making a similar mess of Jean-Pierre's top. "That was ... amazing,” Jean-Pierre pants, trying to think of an appropriate adjective. "Wait ‘til you see what else we can do,” Maurice declares with a cocky grin, pulling Jean-Pierre farther into the room. "We ... Shouldn't we get back out before we're missed?” is Jean-Pierre's reluctant question. "We've got plenty of time,” Maurice reassures him. “We'll just make sure that we are back when it's time for you to leave." Jean-Pierre smiles in agreement and lets Maurice draw him over to the large bed. When Maurice turns around with a gesture at the bed Jean-Pierre notices the mess on his doublet.


"Um ... sorry about that,” Jean-Pierre gestures at the stain in embarrassment. "Oh,” Maurice glances at it before smiling at Jean-Pierre. “That's alright. We made a mess of yours too. Here, we can use this...” He grabs a washcloth from beside the jug and basin and rubs Jean-Pierre clean. When he's finished Jean-Pierre takes the cloth to wipe the stains from Maurice's deep blue doublet. "See. That's better,” Maurice declares, tossing the cloth back into the basin. “So, where were we?” he asks with a cheeky grin, looking back at Jean-Pierre. "Ah. Was it this?” Jean-Pierre asks, stepping close to claim another searing kiss. "Yes. I think it was,” Maurice agrees between kisses, starting to work his way into Jean-Pierre's doublet. **** It takes them three times as long to undress than it would normally as they keep getting in each other's way and spend more time kissing than paying attention to what they're doing. But, eventually, the last piece of clothing is dropped on the floor and Jean-Pierre is tumbled onto the soft bed. Maurice doesn't give the younger boy time to feel awkward, dropping his head immediately to start sucking and biting at Jean-Pierre's nipple in a way that makes Jean-Pierre moan and forget anything he might have been trying to think. After investigating both of Jean-Pierre's nipples with some care Maurice moves up for another kisses, covering Jean-Pierre's body with his own. Jean-Pierre holds him close, rubbing their bodies together and trying to draw him farther into his mouth. Breathing heavily Maurice lifts his head to look down at Jean-Pierre's flushed and willing face. Those begging eyes, waiting for him to continue, make Maurice want to show him everything he learnt from Michel, to show the younger inexperienced boy how good it can all be. Maurice wonders if this is how Michel had felt about him. He bends down to brush Jean-Pierre's lips. "I could show you how good it is to have me inside you. Caressing you from the inside until you feel like you're going to burst from pleasure,” Maurice whispers, lowering his head to caress the inside of Jean-Pierre's slack mouth. "Please,” Jean-Pierre whispers when his voice starts working again. Maurice can't help smiling at the eager look on Jean-Pierre's face. “Do you trust me?” he asks, running a thumb over those swollen lips. "Yes,” Jean-Pierre replies, too rapidly for thought. "Good,” Maurice kisses Jean-Pierre once more while reaching out to secure the small bottle of oil tucked beside the bed. Sliding down to kneel between Jean-Pierre's legs Maurice smiles at the sight of his long lightly-muscled body spread out before him. Opening the bottle he quickly spreads the thick oil on his fingers before putting the bottle aside where it won't get knocked over. Maurice watches Jean-Pierre's face while starting to rub his oil-slicked fingers over his lover's puckered opening.


Jean-Pierre gasps at the first touch, the oil cold on his skin, his eyes going wide at the smooth pressure gliding around the sensitive opening. "Feels good,” Jean-Pierre whispers as his hips start pressing back against the teasing fingertips. "It gets better,” Maurice promises with a grin. Taking his time Maurice continues to rub and tease, watching Jean-Pierre's face and smiling at his open reactions. When he does start to slide a finger in Jean-Pierre gasps and looks at Maurice with wide eyes. "Just relax,” Maurice murmurs, rubbing his other hand over Jean-Pierre's erect cock and continuing to press in slowly. Once his fingertip is past the clinging muscle Maurice starts moving it gently, searching. "Oh!” Jean-Pierre exclaims, bucking against the finger. "And that's what makes it so much fun.” Maurice grins, caressing the soft bump again and watching the way it makes Jean-Pierre writhe and gasp. Slowly working his finger in and out, Maurice starts stretching Jean-Pierre's tight muscle, making sure to caress the hidden bump now and again. With a little more of the oil he slips a second finger in, letting the thrusting of Jean-Pierre's hips move them in and out. By the time Maurice thinks that he has stretched Jean-Pierre enough he is leaking almost as much as Jean-Pierre. A sudden emptiness makes Jean-Pierre whimper and open his eyes to look at Maurice who smiles at him, pausing to stroke his leg reassuringly. "Just a moment,” Maurice reassures him, spreading the thick oil over his own cock. Getting Jean-Pierre to roll onto his stomach Maurice makes sure he is lined up properly before starting to press gently against Jean-Pierre's slicked entrance. Leaning down to kiss Jean-Pierre's spine he reassures him, encouraging him to relax and let him in. When the muscles continue to resist Maurice starts taking long deep breaths, trying to resist the urge to keep pressing into the hot tightness. "You need to relax,” he murmurs to Jean-Pierre, rubbing his back gently. “Try pushing back against me; that might help." When his head suddenly pops through Maurice moans, tightening his muscles to stop from shoving the rest of the way in. "So full. Stretched.” Jean-Pierre's voice wavers with uncertainty. "So tight,” Maurice murmurs, kissing the back of Jean-Pierre's neck. “I'm going to start moving. It gets easier,” he promises. Slowly and carefully Maurice starts to move, nudging in a tiny bit then pulling back again. He slips one hand under Jean-Pierre's hips to stroke his trapped erection and continues to kiss the back of his neck distractingly. Jean-Pierre is just starting to move, deepening Maurice's gentle thrusts, when the tip of Maurice's cock slides against Jean-Pierre's prostate and they both moan while Jean-Pierre's muscles tighten, caressing Maurice. Moving together now they catch a rhythm with Maurice brushing against Jean-Pierre's prostate with


each gentle thrust. Both of them murmur nearly inaudible comments on how it feels, how tight, how hot, how full, how good. The intensity of all these new sensations overwhelms to Jean-Pierre and it doesn't take long before he is crying out and spilling himself onto the bed, his body torn between thrusting into the friction of the bed cover or back against the thick cock filling him. The tightness of muscles squeezing around him is enough to send Maurice spiralling over the edge before his brain has finished processing the name on Jean-Pierre's lips. There is a bitter feeling in Maurice's stomach while he pulls out, taking care not to damage anything, and lies down beside Jean-Pierre. **** Rolling over to give him a kiss Jean-Pierre stops at the expression on Maurice's face and, after a moment, realises what he'd just done. "Sorry,” Jean-Pierre whispers. "Do you always call your own name?” Maurice asks bitterly. "What?” Jean-Pierre is confused for a moment. “No. Pierre...” Jean-Pierre blushes. “He ... I ... we..." "Oh,” Maurice says, looking oddly relieved. “Someone back home?" "Yes. Sort of,” Jean-Pierre replies with a grimace. "Are you ... together?" "No. I—I wish we were but no, he isn't interested,” Jean-Pierre's tone is dejected. "He must be blind,” Maurice comments, running a hand over Jean-Pierre's stomach. “To not want this." "Yes." Maurice blinks at the unexpected answer. “Actually blind?" "Yes,” Jean-Pierre smiles. “Actually blind." "What is he like?” Maurice asks. "He's older than me,” Jean-Pierre replies slowly, not sure how much he could, or should, say. “I've known him ever since I was little. He's always been my friend—let me come visit him. He plays music so beautifully, I've been learning from him but I'll never be as good." "And you're sure he's not interested?" "Yes,” Jean-Pierre replies with a miserable sigh. “I tried to kiss him last year and he just pushed me away. And, when I told him that Papa was dragging me off to Paris to find me a wife he didn't say anything.” His tone is bitter. Maurice caresses the side of his face and thinks for a moment. “What if he is interested and is holding back for some reason. Like if he thinks he's too old for you."


"He's not!” Jean-Pierre protests. "No. But if he's known you that long he might still think of you as a child." "I'm not a child,” Jean-Pierre protests again, feeling sulky. "I know that,” Maurice grins, caressing him pointedly. “But maybe you need to convince him." "How?" "I've got a few ways I could show you..." As Maurice tells him his plan Jean-Pierre starts to smile at the idea. He'll give Pierre a chance to say no, but not until he's made his point thoroughly. **** In the darkness of his basement rooms Pierre sits playing the lute. He plays songs from his childhood, spent travelling with his troubadour father and younger sister. The tunes are familiar beneath his fingers. He can almost feel the warm caress of the sun on his face and the touch of a soft breeze. Twisted into the music are his memories of his sister's laughter and his father's deep voice, commanding attention. Papa was always an entertainer. The music shifts from one song to the next and Pierre's fingers stumble as he recognises the last tune he taught the boy, just a few weeks ago. It is meant to be a cheerful tune but his fingers turn it melancholy. Like Pierre's mood. Pierre sighs and flattens his hand against the strings, stilling the music in a discordant twang. After a pause he starts playing again. A song chosen to not remind him of the boy. But his thoughts refuse to follow and he finds himself brooding while his fingers continue their long memorised patterns. It isn't more than three in the morning when Pierre puts the lute aside and walks the familiar dark path to bed. Sunrise is still hours away but he is tired of his thoughts, tired of being awake. Tired of listening for footsteps that won't come. He should go out and feed, he knows that. It's been more than a week since he hunted on the night he realised Jean-Pierre had left without any farewell. Lying in bed Pierre tries to push aside his thoughts but they keep coming back. He knows that he needs to let the boy go away, preferably far away. The silent dark presses closer on his mind. He can feel the years growing heavy with solitude, like the last few days. As he falls into the dead sleep of the vampire Pierre still wonders what would be worse. The endless solitude or taking life from the boy he loves. **** The rest of his time in Paris, Jean-Pierre spends as much time with Maurice as he can, most of it in Maurice's bedroom learning as much as possible. He manages to avoid getting pinned down by Papa into making a decision about any of the many matches he suggests, but by the time they are returning home Jean-Pierre knows that his father is getting annoyed by his evasions. Jean-Pierre is careful to avoid Claude's gaze on the journey home, letting Annette carry the conversation. When they get home the first thing Jean-Pierre does, after greeting his elder sister, is to head down the stairs in search of Pierre. It isn't dark outside yet, but Jean-Pierre knows that Pierre is normally in his


study carving or playing music by now. The room is empty. "Pierre?” Jean-Pierre calls out, hesitating in the corridor. When he was a child he'd gotten into trouble for trying to look around Pierre's other rooms. “Pierre, it's Jean-Pierre, where are you?” he calls slightly louder when there's no reply. The silence is worrying. His worry overtaking his caution Jean-Pierre moves carefully down the corridor, still calling out Pierre's name. The first door he looks through leads to a bathroom, the large tub sitting empty in the middle of the room, but the second is obviously Pierre's bedroom and from the doorway Jean-Pierre can see the vampire lying in the middle of the bed. "Pierre!” Jean-Pierre exclaims in relief. When the figure doesn't react he moves farther into the room to check if he's all right. Closer to the bed he can see that Pierre isn't moving at all, not even the rise and fall of breath and his face is much thinner than usual. Stifling a cry Jean-Pierre hurries to him. Climbing on the bed he reaches out to caress Pierre's face, the skin is cold under his fingers. "No!” Jean-Pierre whispers, cupping the cold cheek in his palm. Then, all of a sudden, Pierre moves, rolling his head to the side and burying his fangs in Jean-Pierre's warm wrist. Jean-Pierre jumps, automatically trying to pull away but his wrist is caught fast, the vampire's mouth pulling the blood from his veins. A drowsy warmth spreads through Jean-Pierre's muscles and he lies down beside the feeding vampire, pressing against him with the flush of arousal. Part of his brain knows that he should get Pierre to stop, gets worried as the vampire continues to swallow strongly, but it feels too good to stop and his brain feels like it has been smothered by warm cotton. **** The hot blood rushes down his throat with each swallow, settling in his stomach only long enough to be sucked into his starved system. Once enough has been absorbed Pierre wakes far enough from his torpor to recognize the unique taste of the blood. It takes a moment to understand and pull back, away from the delicious, vital liquid. Pull back to find the warm body leaning against his own. "Jean-Pierre?” Pierre whispers in shock, reaching one hand over to verify the identification he already knows. For one long, sickening moment Pierre is sure the boy is dead but then a breath sighs against his hand. "Pierre?” Jean-Pierre asks, his voice little more than a breath. "I'm here, child,” Pierre murmurs, his hand still shaking in fright. He nearly killed the boy. "So warm,” Jean-Pierre murmurs. “Feels so good.” He moves slightly, cuddling against Pierre's cool body. "Sorry,” Pierre whispers, brushing his lips against the boy's warm cheek before moving to take him into his arms. “We need to get you up to your bed,” he explains, maneuvring them off the bed. “Get you warm and fed.” He remembers, centuries ago, when his sister had nearly killed a servant, how they'd had to keep him warm and feed him strong broths to keep him from dying. "'M warm here,” Jean-Pierre protests, burying his face against Pierre's neck. Pierre sighs and carries the dozing boy up the stairs to his family.


Jean-Pierre wakes up while Pierre is putting him down in his small bedroom. Only half-awake Jean-Pierre leans forward to kiss Pierre while the vampire leans over him. For a moment Pierre responds to his kiss before pulling away. "Don't leave! Please” Jean-Pierre begs, trying to pull him close. "I can't stay,” Pierre mutters but he doesn't turn away. "I thought you were dead,” Jean-Pierre whispers. “You weren't breathing." Pierre smiles. “I don't usually." "Oh. I hadn't noticed,” the young man sounds sad that he'd missed something like that. "Most don't." "You're too thin,” Jean-Pierre observes quietly. “Although you look a bit better now." "Sorry,” Pierre apologises for having nearly drained him. Jean-Pierre shakes his head. “When did you last eat?" Pierre has to think about that. “About a week after your sister's birthday." "But that was weeks ago! You mean you haven't eaten in two weeks?” Jean-Pierre's voice is rough with anger and fear for his friend. Pierre presses his hand on Jean-Pierre's shoulder to forestall the young man's attempts to sit up. "You haven't been eating, Master?” comes Marie's shocked voice from the doorway where she had overheard the last of their conversation. Pierre tries to deflect their concern but neither of his human servants lets him. Marie puts down the bowl she was carrying and blocks the door while Jean-Pierre holds onto Pierre's arm with what strength he currently has. "You need to eat,” Jean-Pierre tells him in a concerned voice. "I just ate,” Pierre replies softly with a wince. "Was it enough?” asks Marie in a tone that is familiar to her younger brother. "It will do,” Pierre tells her but she isn't convinced by his tone. "You'll take some from us,” she tells him, moving to lead him from the room. “Eat your broth, Jean-Pierre. I'll send someone to check on you." "Yes Marie,” Jean-Pierre watches them leave the room, feeling jealous that his sister will be feeding Pierre, even though he knows that he's too weak to help.


Pulling the broth close Jean-Pierre manages to drink it slowly despite the weakness that makes his hand shake. By the time his papa comes in to check him he has fallen asleep again and Claude pauses to watch his son thoughtfully before pulling the blankets up and leaving him to sleep. **** It is three days by the time Jean-Pierre is strong enough to join his family for meals and a full week has gone by, before he can get away to visit Pierre. Unsure of his reception, Jean-Pierre hesitates before looking through the door. Pierre is sitting in his usual chair with his lute in his lap, not playing anything, just sitting there. Chewing on his lower lip Jean-Pierre hesitates again, trying to take in everything about how Pierre looks, afraid it might be the last time. "Are you feeling better?” Pierre asks softly, betraying his knowledge of Jean-Pierre's presence. "Yes,” Jean-Pierre answers while crossing the room. “How about you? Have you been eating?" "Yes,” the tone of his answer makes Jean-Pierre suspect that Marie has been reminding him and he grimaces in sympathy. "Marie...?” Jean-Pierre enquires, not needing to complete the question. "Yes,” Pierre confirms with a sigh. "She can be persistent,” Jean-Pierre observes, taking the instrument from Pierre's hands and putting it aside. “As can I,” he comments as he climbs up to straddle the vampire's lap. "What are you doing?” Pierre demands, moving to push Jean-Pierre away. "Trying to get your attention,” is the soft answer while Jean-Pierre caresses the side of the protesting face. “Just pay attention to me for a few minutes then, if you tell me to, I promise I'll go away and never bother you again." In the silence Pierre's unease is clear in the tightness of his mouth. "Agree?” Jean-Pierre asks but Pierre doesn't reply. “Please, give me a chance,” Jean-Pierre begs and Pierre can smell his desperation and fear. "If that's what you want,” the vampire concedes. "Thank you,” is the whispered reply before Jean-Pierre leans forward to press their lips together, gentle but insistent. **** Pierre's first instinct is to push him away but Jean-Pierre's sadness is enough to break the vampire's heart. "You promised,” Jean-Pierre whispers desperately. "You really want to do this?” Pierre asks in surprise. “But I'm old. Dead. Blind." Jean-Pierre's face twitches with pain. “You're beautiful. Interesting. Kind. And I love you,” he whispers, his hands soothing the pale, ageless face.


"But you're young. Fragile. I nearly killed you." Jean-Pierre stifles his protests with another kiss and this time Pierre doesn't push him away but neither does he help Jean-Pierre with the kiss, not until a warm tongue slides against his cold lips. Instincts suggest sinking fangs into the muscles to taste the hot, fresh blood but Pierre manages to counter them, although not before Jean-Pierre has taken advantage of his open mouth. **** With a happy moan vibrating in his throat Jean-Pierre settles closer against Pierre, his fingers caressing the side of Pierre's face while he tastes and explores the inside of his mouth. As he had expected the vampire's mouth is cooler than his own, although it is warmer than Pierre's lips had been. He tastes different than Maurice, darker, with a faint tang of blood. Fully aware that this might be his only kiss Jean-Pierre makes the most of it, drawing every piece of flavor and sensation he can—to be remembered in a lonely future. Pierre can only last so long against the assault of the boy's obvious desire for him. Giving in with a groan he wraps his arms around the warm body in his lap, pinning the boy against him. Jean-Pierre's reaction is to press harder against him and bury himself more frantically in the kiss, hope driving away the attempt at savoring for later, and Pierre copies his actions, sliding his tongue past to taste Jean-Pierre's hot mouth. By the time Jean-Pierre pulls back, desperate for breath he is aware of a shared hardness between them and is pushing his hips against the confirmation of his hope. Pierre's hands move to cup the sides of Jean-Pierre's face, keeping him close and caressing with his thumbs. When one of them runs over Jean-Pierre's mouth he catches it with tongue and lips and sucks it in, his eyes on Pierre's face. The vampire moans at the tugging sensation, his face lit with need and desire. Jean-Pierre's watching gaze catches a glimpse of pointed teeth and he leans forward to lick them daringly. A gasp is strangled in their kiss. Beneath him Pierre shifts, rubbing against him. Feeling daring Jean-Pierre releases the thumb with a final caress and slides off Pierre to kneel on the floor in front of his chair. He has an idea that should keep Pierre from thinking and, if Pierre then decides to throw him out anyway, well, Jean-Pierre will have one more memory to keep him warm. His nimble fingers have Pierre's breeches open before the other can protest and he doesn't draw Pierre's erection out so much as push the cloth aside and let it spring free. The sight of Pierre's cock standing there, the dark hair at it's base just peeking out of the clothing, the skin on it flushed and darker than the vampire's usually pale shades, makes Jean-Pierre pause to admire, licking his lips in anticipation. The skin under his light caress is warm and soft, sliding loosely over a ridged hardness. Taking a shaky breath Jean-Pierre leans forward to lick the thick tip, savoring the taste for a moment before sliding his lips over it. Pushing his head down Jean-Pierre slides his lips slowly down the thick cock. It is warmer in his mouth than he had expected, warmer than the rest of his lover's skin. There is the gasp of a moan from Pierre as he slides his mouth up and down the smooth shaft, working it in deeper each time. Pierre's enthusiastic and wordless responses surprise Jean-Pierre with their intensity but they make him feel very happy, and determined to get more. Slipping one hand into Pierre's trousers, Jean-Pierre's fingers start a careful investigation of the other treasures nestled in the wiry hair, while his head starts to move up and down. Sliding Pierre's cock almost entirely out of his mouth Jean-Pierre runs his tongue around the sensitive head before pushing his head back down until he is fighting the reflex to gag against it, holding it there for a moment before repeating the process, moving slowly and deliberately. Meanwhile his fingers are playing with the soft vulnerability


of Pierre's balls, squeezing and pulling at them with gentle care. Faced with such an onslaught Pierre's breath fails and his moans and whimpers become silent vibrations in his throat and chest. His hands are frozen on the arms of his chair, clutching tightly. His hips press forward into the willing mouth as much as the awkward position allows. As the intensity builds his shoulders dig into the back of the chair and his lips soundlessly form Jean-Pierre's name. The flood, when it comes, catches Jean-Pierre by surprise and his mouth fills before he manages to start swallowing. The intense taste coats his mouth and he can feel Pierre pulsing against his tongue. Pulling away after the last few drops Jean-Pierre wipes the spillage from his chin and licks it from his hand. When he looks up Pierre seems frozen in his chair, a smile on his face. Grinning to himself Jean-Pierre climbs back up to plant a kiss on the waiting lips. Jean-Pierre kisses Pierre slowly, hoping the other won't send him away now, but the slight chance keeps him tasting Pierre's mouth for as long as the other will let him. **** Pierre's mind is still reeling from the experience as he wraps his arms around Jean-Pierre again; his grip gentle but firm. He is aware of the fabric of Jean-Pierre's breeches against his naked groin and of the erection pressing behind that fabric. Aware of his body in a way he never has before, not even when feeding. Aware, most of all, of Jean-Pierre's hot tongue probing and caressing the inside of his mouth. Able to taste himself on Jean-Pierre's tongue Pierre pushes his tongue into the heat of Jean-Pierre's mouth to chase down more of that flavor, enjoying the way it blends with the flavor of the boy's mouth and the way it fades, slowly returning Jean-Pierre's mouth to its usual taste. Jean-Pierre smiles when Pierre starts responding, welcoming his lover into his mouth. When Jean-Pierre pulls back Pierre leans forward in an unconscious attempt to follow his mouth. Grinning happily Jean-Pierre pauses for another quick kiss before pulling back to speak. "Please don't tell me to leave,” is his intense plea. Pierre lifts a hand to caress the boy's face; his fingertips tracing the outlines of the face he has watched grow. Getting so close to a human can only mean pain and loss but Pierre knows that it's too late. To lose him now would hurt just as much, if not more, than losing him in a few short years. "You should go to dinner,” Pierre whispers, mindful of Jean-Pierre's lingering weakness and unable to bring himself to beg him to stay. Jean-Pierre blinks back tears and disappointment distorts his face. “I've already had dinner. But I'll leave if that's what you want. Go away forever." "No!” Pierre protests, tightening his arms, not willing to lose. Taking that as an invitation Jean-Pierre leans forward to claim a kiss, his tongue delving in to tease and caress. Pierre's muscles relax slightly, relieved that Jean-Pierre isn't going anywhere, and he savors the depth of feeling as he caresses and explores Jean-Pierre's mouth in turn. Jean-Pierre pulls back panting and leans against the vampire's still chest, his forehead brushing the cool skin of Pierre's jaw. Pierre holds him close, his arms tight, although no longer crushingly so, rubbing his jaw lightly against the warm forehead while long slow breaths capture the complex scent of the aroused


human. **** Once he has his breath back Jean-Pierre lifts his head again and looks at Pierre with a soft smile, running his fingertips over the quiet face. Afraid that anything he asks will get a no, Jean-Pierre slips off Pierre's lap, the arms around him loosening reluctantly to let him go. Catching Pierre's hands in his own Jean-Pierre draws them toward him, knowing that he isn't strong enough to make the other move he is glad when Pierre follows his pull. Still holding a hand captive Jean-Pierre walks slowly from the room and toward Pierre's bedroom, expecting the other to protest at any moment. But to his surprise, and relief, Pierre follows him all the way inside and Jean-Pierre is quick to close the door behind them, not wanting any interruptions. Pierre seems to be waiting to see what the boy intends to do next. Still not saying anything Jean-Pierre turns back from the door, pausing a moment while his gaze lingers on flesh still visible through Pierre's breeches before stepping close and working on the knots holding Pierre's small collar ruff on. With the ruff gone he presses a soft kiss to Pierre's lips and runs his fingers over the recently concealed skin. By the time Jean-Pierre has finished unlacing the front of Pierre's doublet his own ruff has been removed by clever fingers and Pierre leans to kiss the side of Jean-Pierre's neck, his breath caressing skin with a soft sigh. When Pierre's fingers start ghosting down the front of Jean-Pierre's doublet, seeking the knotted points of his lacings, Jean-Pierre moves them over to the big bed where he slips a glass vial out of his sleeve and tucks it under the edge of a pillow before continuing to remove Pierre's doublet. Their lips return again and again for kisses, some little more than a brush of lips, others continue the slow explorations of mouths, while their hands slip clothing off, seeking beneath each layer for skin. Jean-Pierre finishes first, pressing Pierre back onto the bed and sliding down to kneel at his feet, his hands caressing a path from Pierre's shoulders to his shins. It is a matter of moments to slip Pierre's light shoes off and pull the last of his clothing off over his feet. Then Jean-Pierre is moving back up the slow way, his eyes feasting on skin seen bare for the first time, his fingers and mouth exploring, hunting for sensitive spots. He nuzzles Pierre's quickly-filling cock but isn't distracted by it, moving on to the smooth skin of Pierre's stomach. Jean-Pierre's kisses leave marks of fire on Pierre's skin, echoes that fade slowly, leaving his skin crying out for more. His fingers leave trails of tingling skin, alive and sensitive. Pierre runs his hands down Jean-Pierre's body to fumble with still-closed breeches, wanting, needing, to have that hot body pressed against him, warming his cold flesh. Jean-Pierre eagerly helps with the knots. Two pairs of hands are too many for the simple task, getting in each other's way more than helping but eventually, between them, the rest of Jean-Pierre's clothing is removed and they roll onto the bed together with a grateful moan at the silken caress of skin. Arms and legs twist together to hold them close as lips join in a greedy kiss. Pierre moans, rubbing his hips against the incredible heat of Jean-Pierre's groin, skin sliding together with an amazing friction. When Jean-Pierre thrusts back against him, squeezing their hard cocks between them, the pressure makes Pierre moan and ancient instincts start him thrusting his own hips, grinding their needy shafts together. With all of his attention trapped between their hips Pierre stops kissing, instead pressing his face against


the side of Jean-Pierre'sr's neck. Each breath, taken to hold another moan, fills his mouth and nose with the hot, pulsing, aroused scent of Jean-Pierre and, without being aware of doing it, Pierre's mouth presses against the hot skin, with the blood pulsing so close beneath his tongue. Jean-Pierre moans. His skin warmly pink and his eager erection rubs against Pierre's. His little moans and whimpers grow louder until Pierre's name spills from his throat in a shout. Scent and pressure and heat and fire and sound all blend together, topped off by the sudden touch of hot liquid and the sound of his own name, and Pierre comes. Heat and release, and muscles tighten and quiver. Fangs slide out to pierce skin and warm blood floods into his mouth, the rush of it adding to the high of the moment. Coming back to himself Pierre retracts his fangs, licking away the injury and the taste of blood. “Sorry,” Pierre murmurs against Jean-Pierre's skin. "Hmmm? Don't be. It was good,” Jean-Pierre's voice is blurred. "I shouldn't be drinking from you, sorry,” Pierre apologizes again. "You feel so good,” Jean-Pierre turns his head, blindly seeking Pierre's mouth for a kiss. The kiss is deep and slow and Jean-Pierre rests heavily against Pierre's strong body, his limbs heavy in a sated relaxation. With their mouths blended together Pierre runs his hands over Jean-Pierre's body, his sensitive fingers learning the shape normally hidden by layers of clothing. "Want to touch you, taste you. Know what you look like,” Pierre whispers, brushing his lips across Jean-Pierre's cheekbone. "Anything you want. Yours,” Jean-Pierre murmurs, his voice husky, pressing his cheek against Pierre's lips, moaning at the slight scrape of teeth. Kneeling across Jean-Pierre's torso Pierre curls down to kiss Jean-Pierre'sr's cheek again. Holding himself at the balance point, his hands are free to trace Jean-Pierre's hairline, brushing wisps of hair back from his face with gentle fingers. Brushing over Jean-Pierre's closed eye his lips are tickled by soft eyelashes. He presses a light kiss to the eyelid before tracing the edge of Jean-Pierre's eye socket with the very tip of his tongue. While Pierre's lips caress the planes of Jean-Pierre's forehead his fingers trace the outlines of his ears, hands balanced while fingers trace from rigid shell-like curves to soft earlobes. Tiny hairs feel like velvet against his fingers and Pierre pauses there, his thumbs brushing against them while his lips slide along Jean-Pierre's nose to capture the moans in that kissable mouth. Spreading his fingers down the sides of Jean-Pierre's neck Pierre slides his thumbs along the line of Jean-Pierre's jaw, memorizing its shape. The sharp curve from the base of his ears to the slow curve forward of his strong chin. Light stubble catches on his thumbs. Starting just below Jean-Pierre's chin Pierre kisses and tastes the skin of Jean-Pierre's throat. Exploring the edge of stubble blending from chin to neck. Fingers trace the hard column of stretched muscle, catching the scent of Jean-Pierre, spicy and male along with the lingering smell of sex and sweat. The strength of hot blood pulses just beneath the skin.


Following the taste and scent and the flutter of pulse Pierre maps all the veins and arteries in Jean-Pierre's neck, from the strong throb of his jugular to the weakest whisper—his tongue leaves a damp echo of the map on Jean-Pierre's skin. Blunt teeth scrape over the thin skin, almost able to taste the blood trapped beneath. Pierre moves his whole body downward. His cock, sliding against Jean-Pierre, is nearly hard again, blood redirected by the current focus of the vampire's attention. His lips now trace, by scent and taste, over Jean-Pierre's collarbones, his tongue dipping into the curves and hollows. Meanwhile, his hands trace muscles from shoulders down, lean and pliable beneath his fingers. Thumbs find nipples and Pierre spreads his hands, learning the distances and proportions from shoulder to side to nipple, pressing to catch the shape of ribs beneath the flesh. The sound of Jean-Pierre's breath grows harsher, breaking into pants and moans, when Pierre flicks his thumbs over the sensitive nubs, drawing his hands in to rub and tweak and pull. Tracing his tongue around one, he can feel the change in skin around it, the soft drawing up to the tight point. He draws it into his mouth, sucking it in, and scrapes his tongue across it, pressing and rolling against teeth and lips. The breathing grows louder, rising from a gasp to a sharp moan. Vibration rises through the skin to the examining mouth and hands. A disappointed whimper follows him when he moves away, his mouth following hands to find the edge of ribcage, the point that slides from ridged protection to the soft muscle-covered stomach. The whimper deepens to a groan of frustration and the muscles ripple and pull under Pierre's mouth and hands as they trace lightly, looking for landmarks in the flexing softness. The tip of Jean-Pierre's cock nudges the bottom of Pierre's chin, hot and insistent, marking his skin with a quickly cooling wetness. But Pierre ignores it, moving his head to the side, letting it rest against his cheek before moving to lick the curve of a hipbone that presses up beneath the skin. Jean-Pierre moans, shifting his hips to find the contact again only to find them held in place by strong hands, keeping him still for Pierre's examination. Following the scent now Pierre lets the fragrant, curled hair brush across his face. Each breath that he takes to draw in the smells blows across hair and skin when he lets it out. His fingers trace across Jean-Pierre's inner thighs, finding and delving into the fold between leg and groin. A long finger tracing back to explore the warmth trapped between. With a welcoming sigh Jean-Pierre spreads his legs to invite the hands, lifting his hips to bring their touch in closer. Taking his time, Pierre examines the area, building up a form in his mind. His fingers catch the overall shape with sweeping caresses while his mouth hones in on details, his tongue catching flavours and subtle shapes and textures. It isn't that Pierre ignores Jean-Pierre's needy cries but more that he enjoys them, enjoys causing them, as he slides his tongue over the head of Jean-Pierre's cock, tasting. Wondering how well it might fit he pushes his mouth over the flared head. He tries to smile at Jean-Pierre's choked breath. He enjoys the way his young lover's hips twitch under his hands. Still moving slowly Pierre pulls back to kiss down the length of the warm shaft. He can almost taste blood through the fragile skin. It pulses against his lips and tongue, against the smooth edge of his teeth. He has to use a hand to keep Jean-Pierre steady as his lover whimpers in need beneath him. Sliding backward the vampire finds the smooth skin behind the young man's balls, making cry out and push up demandingly. Aroused by his beloved's reactions and the intoxicating heat of his life Pierre bathes the hidden skin with his tongue, exploring both smooth and puckered flesh. Jean-Pierre's next cry


is hoarse and he pushes himself onto the welcome tongue. At first Pierre is surprised as his tongue slides inside Jean-Pierre. He almost pulls back but the young man's enthusiastic cries and the throbbing pulse of his body make him pause. Carefully he explores the tight heat, pushing deeper as Jean-Pierre does his best to ride the invading strength. The tip of his tongue brushes something and the boy bucks against the pillows with a panting cry. Smiling to himself Pierre reaches to press it again. And again. "Please ... inside me ... now ... Pierre ... oh God ... please!” Jean-Pierre's desperate cry is broken by gasping breaths and Pierre lifts his head enough to speak. "I was inside you,” he says, his voice calm. "No ... more ... need you inside me.” Jean-Pierre fumbles for the oil, curling down to give it to Pierre, his hand finding and stroking the heavy organ he wants. “This ... this inside me." Pierre moans. It isn't an idea that he had ever considered, but he is quick to understand the possibilities. Following Jean-Pierre's words and breath he claims his mouth in a sucking kiss, moving until his cock brushes Jean-Pierre's inner thigh. "Yes...” Jean-Pierre breathes against Pierre's mouth. “Need you.” He catches Pierre's lip between his teeth, tugging. “Use the oil. Quickly. Please?” the last word is a begging wail and Pierre captures the sound in his mouth. "How?” he asks. “What is the oil for?" "Stretch ... rub ... finger. Put some on your fingers,” Jean-Pierre groans, trying to find the words in the haze of need. “Yes. Like that. Put them in me. Slide. Stretch. Then more fingers. More oil if you need it. Then you. You inside me. Filling me. Please! Ah.... “his words trail off as fingers, cool oil, slide against his hole, pushing into its eager depths. Knowing what will be going in when his fingers come out, Pierre feels his cock throb and jump with each ripple of muscle around his fingers, each gasp and begging cry from Jean-Pierre. Aware of how much bigger he is than the small hole Pierre pushes his fingers apart, sliding and twisting them, trying to relax the muscles. Adding more oil and more fingers to tease it wider again. He continues even after Jean-Pierre is crying out for more, begging him to fill him, pressing back onto his fingers. When Pierre does pull his fingers out Jean-Pierre whimpers, his hips pressing into the air, his legs and hands grasping at Pierre. "Now. Please. You,” Jean-Pierre begs, his eyes wide and unfocussed. "Soon,” Pierre soothes him, his hands tracing down to bring them together. The initial resistance worries Pierre and he pauses, his fingers tracing to check he's in the right place while Jean-Pierre is nearly crying with need and locking his legs around Pierre's waist, trying to draw them closer. Remembering the tight strength of the muscle around his fingers Pierre presses harder, holding Jean-Pierre steady and listening to his cries and his scent. A moment of nearly unbearable tightness, then he slips through to the soft caress beyond. Tight. Hot. Grasping.


Pressing the last of the way in with a groan Pierre leans down, seeking Jean-Pierre's mouth, bending his legs aside and trapping his body beneath him. "So tight. So hot, burning hot. Hotter than blood,” the vampire murmurs against his mortal lover's cheek. “So good." "Good. Full,” Jean-Pierre murmurs, turning his head to claim Pierre's mouth in a biting, grasping kiss. “Now move,” he demands before plunging his tongue into Pierre's mouth again. Not breaking the kiss Pierre pulls his hips back, gasping at the feeling of skin, hot and wet and wrapped all the way around him, sliding against shaft and head, tugging at his foreskin and brushing over it. He presses back in, moaning at the way all the skin pulls back and the muscles glide over and around the curves of his head. Jean-Pierre smiles at that moan, tightening muscles to curl himself further up, trying to change the angle of entry. “You can push harder, deeper,” he whispers to the hovering ear. “I won't break." Too far gone now to worry Pierre lifts himself up onto his arms, pressing himself into Jean-Pierre again, his thrusts firmer now, gaining confidence. "Yes. More. Harder,” Jean-Pierre pants, pushing back against Pierre, his hands moving to clutch at Pierre's shoulders. Remembering the way Jean-Pierre danced on his tongue Pierre tries to find that spot again with his cock, moving his arms back to lift Jean-Pierre's legs higher. His efforts are rewarded by a loud cry from Jean-Pierre and the muscles around his cock ripple, pulling a cry from Pierre as he thrusts harder. With his next thrust he presses past it again, aided by Jean-Pierre's legs pulling against his back, and Jean-Pierre cries out again, his muscles pulling Pierre in tighter before letting him slide out for the next thrust. Their thrusts and cries grow faster and louder. Moving in unison, more like a single creature than two different people. Scent blending together. Their pleasure rising and building. Heat and fire and passion. Pierre has lost all sense of boundaries. The boundary between one thrust and the next. Between Jean-Pierre and himself. Between the living and the dead. Between one breath and the next. One pull of a shaking hand is enough to push Jean-Pierre off into the biggest orgasm in his short life. Muscle spasms ripple across his skin. A cry is torn from Pierre's throat as Jean-Pierre's muscles clench around him, milking him dry, burying him deep in that hot body. Muscle contractions in his jaw thrust his fangs out, their points catching on his lip, drops of blood licked off to dance with his nerves. "Oh God. That was good,” Jean-Pierre whispers, his hands tugging at Pierre's arms. “Down here. Want to kiss you." Pierre is glad to follow the instruction; his arms feel weak, even his undead strength shaken. Jean-Pierre lifts his head to claim the approaching mouth and guide it back, his tongue probing and caressing. Pulling out Pierre lies on his side and pulls Jean-Pierre close, nuzzling his face for another kiss and


cradling him in his arms. Breathing a sigh of satisfaction and relief Jean-Pierre relaxes in the strong circle of his lover's arms, happy and contented. "Love you,” Jean-Pierre murmurs against Pierre's lips. "Love you too." It takes Jean-Pierre a moment to understand what he heard and he pulls back to look at Pierre's face, quiet disbelief on his face. "Forever?” Jean-Pierre whispers, his heart racing. Pierre nods. “I'll love you forever,” he murmurs, cupping Jean-Pierre's head in his palm and drawing him close for a tender kiss.

Blinded by the Light By Syd McGinley I was blinded the day I was made. Tiggy isn't human, but he's my little helper. I guess we're symbiotic. He scouts, leads, and warns. I bring down the prey and we share the kill. Tiggy will let me suckle at his neck and he comforts me, but it's not like feeding for me and he seems immune to glamour and to the rush humans get. He's an animal: I hear him gnaw at my leftovers. I take the coursing blood, and he consumes muscle and organs. If he's fast he gets them still blood-plump, but if I'm famished, I drain them too. Between us we leave bone and sinew when we're ravenous. Tiggy likes human teeth. He collects them and uses them as ornaments around his part of our hole and strings them around his neck. He's a primitive little beast. He can talk, but rarely does. Too small and weak to take down the prey he prefers, he dislikes what he can manage. "Cats and dogs,” he says with disgust. “Furry, pah!” He likes how hairless humans are in comparison. “Easy skin,” he crows. He's loyal from sense and survival, but I don't know what he'd risk for me if I were in danger. I can trust him not to cause trouble or ever fail to alert me, but stand by me in a tight spot? That I doubt. So here I am: an injured predator with my own scavenger in tow, or more often, towed by him. We take easy animal physical comfort from each other. No sex. I don't think it's in Tiggy's world. He smells male, but I've never felt any physical evidence one way or another. He grunts, snarls, tears at flesh, but that's no indicator of gender. I saw him a few times before I lost my sight and now I feel his face when we curl up, sated, to digest. We're sprawled and snuggled at the same time. Like ferrets in a den. Tiggy is wizened like an apple doll. He must be about three feet tall. He has the friendly scent of old blood. He hates getting clean, and is puzzled by my attempts to stay groomed. “Water,” he says. “Ack, water."


And Tiggy has no idea of human standards. I can never tell if I'm clean, or disordered in my dress. It's getting harder to venture out with any confidence. "No mirrors for vamps,” says Tiggy and laughs. But at least other vampires can see their clothing and hands, and know what they're selecting from their clothing stash. I start to think I need a human to keep or a half-made one. One who'd be beholden to me, and would at least assist me in my grooming. Shelby kept a lost child in her cellar—sipping at it like a laid down vintage—letting it stay alive and hope. Its Goth clothes were rags, its black nail polish worried away and sandy roots long grown in before Shelby finished it. "Cattle,” she'd say to me. “If they believe our lies and fall for the glamour, why have compunction about using them?” She'd grinned, flashing her teeth. “Not like you of course, you're different." I always saw through her. Her silly “Oh I'll give you life! Immortal life!” was too funny. What a fucking drama queen. And her glamour was thin. A human who didn't want to believe could shake her easily. I'd let her feed enough to allay her suspicions. She never knew, for all her vaunted powers, that I was a lictor of the guild.Was . I bore the protective tattoo over my heart and she was too limited to know she was being deflected. All she knew was she wanted me alive for longer, valued me, wanted to one day make me, but not yet. Of course, the tattoos were a risk. They protect and pervert vamp glamour, but, if seen, they doom you. But Balti and I were determined to bring down this city's warrens. To stop the steady culling of the lost children, all disappearing into the land of milk carton pictures, street corner flotsam, all written off by this culture's preference to think their children yielded to drugs and street life than into the appetites of scum like Shelby. And she also never knew her heaving cleavage revolted me. That my eyes shut as she closed in from disgust, not desire. It was her undead flesh that chilled me, not her femaleness. I've been with women in life. They never made me want to vomit. I liked them well enough, but it was always a muscled thigh that would make me narrow my eyes and track the body across a room. Tiggy laughs when I mourn my vision. I know desire is in my mind, but how much was in the first glint of sun on the hairs of an arm reaching for a door knob? How much? "No sun,” sniggers Tiggy. He's a sort of telepath. He reads impressions of what I want, desire, and miss, but no clear thoughts. I've tested that before now. I dispassionately imagined killing him. He kept muttering and clinking his tooth collection, and a moment later when I deliberately imagined fucking Balti so well that I finally got hard after weeks of limpness, he squeaked and said “Horny!" At least the torment of missing the day is quasi-spared me. I imagine others yearn for the natural light, but the sun was a sensation too. I did enjoy the spring breeze moving the patterns of warmth on and off my skin. And blue. I fucking miss blue. Shelby's little pet Goth was her last victim. Lictors are trained to see victims as lost once bitten. We mercy kill them, and we're trained to sacrifice individuals for the greater good of removing a fiend. But


still, its pitiful attempts to groom, to smooth its matted hair and smile at its mistress when Shelby came in twisted at my gut. It spat on its hands and wiped them over the shabby velvet of its coat to look pretty for madam. I think it was a boy. Too young for facial hair. And it believed until the end that it would be made. I suppose there's some mercy in the glamour after all, just as a doctor told me dying humans think they see heaven from the chemicals rushing their brains. He told me that after we'd fucked. It's so distant now: that hot intern who offered sympathy sex after Balti died. The rush of sex endorphins carried me through the first agony of loss. He mused on chemicals as we lay glued together afterwards. Not much bedside manner to talk so clinically, but it was his in-bed manner I cared about. I consider finding him and giving him that ultimate rush of dying chemicals he said had ushered Balti over. Showing him the spice of my glamour as he slips away. It would be a mix of gratitude and revenge. And, as a bonus, a clean up in his shower and a fuck. But why would he ask me home looking as I must do now? I shrug. It's much too hard to get Tiggy to guide me to specific locations, and too dangerous for us to leave dark parts of town. We look obvious. I've not learned the art of slipping through shadows. A well-lit, crowded hospital would be impossible. I consider lurking in the parking garage of the hospital, but the security would be too good. And he lived in a swanky apartment with a doorman I'd never get by. I sneered at Shelby for bottom feeding, but now, who am I? Dependent on Tiggy and considering a caged human myself. I killed her after, but notfor , that little Goth's death. And weak Shelby is the one who did this: I was made, sight destroyed, and began my vengeance all on the same date. I have none of the guidance of a maker, nor a warren to support me. They all know who I was—or I suspect so. I can't know if Shelby told them about finding a lictor, but it's wise to act as if she did. I have my theoretical knowledge, lictor training, and Tiggy. But I've no idea how to trigger some of my powers, or even if I have them. Not all vamps have all powers, or so I was taught in lictor training. I can hear and smell better, and when I'm feeding regularly I'm phenomenally strong. Why should I care that I've lost one sense in common with humans? And my vulnerability is a perfect lure. But my taste is a slave to fresh, iron-rich blood. Nothing else interests me. I abstractly remember liking tiramisu, espresso, and brandy as a satisfying, decadent end to a romantic dinner, but the tastes are nothing. Solid food in my mouth lies there. The concept of cooking meat revolts me, and the idea of dead prey insults me. It's a survival choice similar to the Donner Party's moral quandary. Consuming something without its pulse makes me shudder. The idea of raiding a blood bank turns my belly. I suppose it would offer some sustenance, but without the life-force, I may as well bite a rat. I need to have fed recently to get hard. Once the blood is absorbed into my muscles and organs, I have none to spare for my cock. "Dried up,” says Tiggy. “No juices." He's right: even if I got it up, I'm so weak and depleted that my balls are empty. I can't even cry a tear. Not that I have any call to shed them. As soon as I was made, all grief disappeared. I know I loved Balti, passionately, and had mourned him dementedly, but now an intellectual knowledge of missing him is here instead. But anger and revenge still


burn. A fair trade. I was exhausted with mourning, and, guiltily, I'd longed for the pain to ease. Grand passion was killing me. And, in the depths of it, lurked boredom. Enough, it's enough, I can stop feeling this now, please. And now, courtesy of Shelby, I don't feel it. Desire, love, sorrow are all gone; but lust, revenge, and hunger are here. I'm weak, and hungry. Tiggy has said: “clean, vamp looks clean” and tugged me out of the lair. He wants me to feed so he can eat well. Our evening is going badly so far. It's a cold night and no one is out. It has a Wednesday feel. A dead day. I'm slow and miss our few chances. We're prowling in a loading dock. Tiggy has resignedly said: “can get rat,” but I'm hoping for a wino. There's a voice, “Mister, you and your pet okay?" It's the intern. I recognize his voice. We must be near the hospital, but I'm so tired and dulled that I've missed the stink of disease and pain that surrounds it. "Zeke? Is that you? Are you okay?" He remembers me, I should use that, I should let him take me to his home first, but I'm so hungry. He's in reach, and I snarl. His flight summons me. The predator in me follows, and Tiggy scampers along side grunting: “food goes left, left.” I'm revived enough to dive at the intern. **** I wake up in linen. It's smooth, and smells faintly of bleach. The sheets crackle crisply when I move. I've not slept in a bed for months. What is this? "Clean,” says Tiggy mournfully. I'm ashamed to say I yelp. Clear as the day I never see anymore, there's an image in my brain: Tiggy sitting on a floor cushion. He's in a white t-shirt that sweeps his ankles. Clean, he's like a little shaved wrinkly monkey. Surprisingly, he's very pink. "Scrubbed in hot water, he was,” says an amused voice. “And well fed on fresh liver." "Cow!” says Tiggy, half-delirious with delight. The bigger the mammal the better in his world. He loves humans, but says they're too salty sometimes. I remember wanting variety in my diet even if now all I crave is blood. I turn my head side to side trying to locate the voice or to get another vision. Tiggy's no longer unhappy about his clean and clothed state and is humming instead and telling at his tooth necklace like a rosary. I hear the clicks, but can't see him again. "Tigs—who's there?" "No one,” says Tiggy and resumes humming. There's laughter.


"Your imp can't see me. I'm not in the room. And I won't be until we're sure we understand each other." I try to sit up and my wrists burn. Necro-silver chains. Finely wrought but impossible for a dark creature to break once attached and charmed. A human could tug free in a second. I snarl. I may be in a luxurious bed, but I'm a prisoner. A prisoner of someone who knows what I am and has obviously won Tiggy over. I consider what question to ask first. Assuming I'll get answers. I'm straining my senses. Touch is overwhelmed by the sheets and the necro-chains. Scent: Clorox, lavender, and the smell of Tiggy. The pervasive old blood smell from my coat and Tiggy have gone. Clean Tiggy is not a bad smell. A little feral, but like a healthy animal. Tiggy and the voice are right: no one else is here. There's no pulse tugging at me. No magnet tweak in my heart or groin towards iron rich blood or warm musky ass. I can hear Tiggy humming, the sheets crackling, and a buzzing whine—I'm being monitored. I hear a faint static and the voice speaks again. "Figured out you're on close-circuit TV? And I'm using the intercom? Good." I frown. My deductions weren't that amazing, but how did it know I'd reached them? "I've enhanced your telepathy. You didn't know how to use it before, but you've been sending to Tiggy for some time. It's not his ability to read you. And now I'm helping you receive. That was a flash of me seeing Tiggy that you had earlier. And I'm listening to you think." "Fuck!" Laughter. "You'll learn to shield. If we work together, we won't always want to know what we're thinking." Tiggy giggles. “Naughty vamps, fucking together." Stereo snarls from me and the voice. He must have broadcast at Tiggy inadvertently or maybe Tiggy is attuned to listening for us after depending on me for survival for so long. Imps don't live long without help.Did I know that or was the idea projected in? I didn't even know Tiggy was an imp before. "He's old. Although no one knows their natural span. They all fall prey before they get as old as yours." "He's notmine .” I hate that idea. That I own him or keep him in the same way Shelby kept her toy-decanters. "He thinks he's yours. Imps are real puppies if they decide to latch on, but cowardly. He's not going to be a Lassie and pull your ass from a well." I laugh despite myself. And use my amusement to try to block my thoughts. It's a male voice, and Tiggy said vamps fucking. A male vamp has me, and a gay one?


The voice is cooler, but wryly amused. “Very good. You've pieced more together. And yes, that shielding method can work, but for now it simply muffled your thoughts." I'm too tired and hungry to play games: “What do you want?" "An ally, a companion, and your knowledge." "What do I get?" "A teacher, a companion, and a better place to live than the hole you and the imp share." "Ally?" "The warrens are factions, you know that. Your lictor training is more valuable than you realize, if only you can survive. I'm impressed that you lasted this long. Shelby really did a number on you." I shrug, but he's right. She razored the skin from my chest to remove the protective tattoo, made me, strapped me in a diabolical chair, eyes held open—all clockwork orange—and trained the sun through magnifying glasses to burn out my retinas. She must have planned this for a long time. Maybe not for me specifically, but she was ready with the sun-shielded room and pinhole lights to focus and train on an immobilized victim. Vicious bitch. While she waited for sunrise she sang: “Mama always told me not to look into the sights of the sun, oh but mamma that's where the fun is...” She taunted me, fed from me, tried to stir my flaccid dick, but she was safely out of the room when the sun rose. She called insults through the keyhole while she listened to me shriek as my eyes burned. She left me there all day and the next night. My chest healed through the night. No tattoo, but I had nice fresh skin repaired in vamp quick time. But sun-burned retinas don't grow back. Her warren had a reputation for creating sun brands on captured enemies. They'd send dying vamps back home with art-wounds that killed over the next few days. They'd learned the perfect balance between sear and ash. Much good it did her when I grabbed her, strapped her down, fed, then ripped the covers from the windows. I left her in that room. I listened to every second of her pleading and begging as sunrise approached. The silly bitch mistook blind for helpless. I enjoyed incinerating her. I wish I could have seen it, but the sound and smell were good. "That's why I'm not in the room with you. Even with necro chain. You took Shelby out. A newly-made one with no sight. Sloppy as Shelby was, that shouldn't have happened. Your lictor training has made you formidable. Once you come into your new strengths, well, I'd be foolish not to want you as an ally or companion. And even Tiggy. Imps are rare in the cities. He has his uses, and he's a well-trained scout for you. He's very receptive, and loyal enough. When he saw I wouldn't hurt him, he hopped in the car with you, remember?" I frown. “No, I can't remember how Tiggy and I got here." "I saw you out hunting." I'd been subjected to glamour full strength—with no tattoo to protect me—but I'd always assumed glamours didn't work on other made ones. Or so we'd been told as lictors, or had we just assumed?


Tiggy had dutifully followed thinking I was willing. Tiggy mutters as if he can tell I'm thinking about him. “Clean,” he says, but he no longer sounds too distressed about the concept. I've been bathed too. Scrubbed in fact. And manicured. I'd almost say I felt human again, except palpably not. No pulse pounding. No wonder humans can't hear anything beyond a narrow range: their biology is so noisy. I don't trust this person, but I need to get out of these chains, and, right now, the idea of a comfortable apartment for a few days while I listen to his offers isn't bad. He could have easily killed me already. I have no loyalties or agendas anymore so, even if he plans to use me, I don't care. He can use me as a pawn or tool against other warrens, so what? If he's from the clan that killed Balti I'll wait, as I did with Shelby, and destroy him too. He can use me against the lictor guild. They're dead to me, and would kill me if they found me. About the only thing I care about apart from my own preservation is Tiggy. I'd feel sad to see him abused. "Ah, life is still sweet isn't it? Blind and a fiend, and you still treasure it with even a little compassion to spare for your puppy." I flash on Tiggy looking up at the corner of the room—he's spotted the speaker at last—then at me in the bed. The voice is sending me a vision of my loyal imp. Tiggy can touch necro silver. The voice laughs. “Yes, Tiggy could free you. Why not have him do that and then join me for dinner? The door's not locked. I'd rather not risk handling the chains myself again. It was quite the chore securing you." I sigh. Instructing Tiggy specifically is always tricky, especially when he's replete and inattentive to needs. But eventually he deigns to leave his teeth alone, and tug the chains free from me. They sear as they do so and I curse. I'll have scars on my wrists—something else that vamps can't heal. Tiggy plays with the chains and I tell him to put them aside. We're going to meet our host. "New toy,” mutters Tiggy. I hear the chains twisting through a teeth strand. “Don't let it touch me again, Tigs,” I say wearily. “It burns me." I hear the sound of him putting it round his neck and he follows me to the door. I remember the layout from the sendings. I run my hands over my clothes. Feels like silk jammies and an embroidered robe. I sigh again. Not my style, but I'm starving and curious. I open the door, and Tiggy takes my sleeve and guides me along. He seems to know where to go. "Eating place,” he says. “Vamp here." "It's called ‘dining room', Tiggy,” says the voice. “And I'm Marco." Tiggy pushes a chair against my hip, and I sit.


"Some snacks?” offers Marco. “I know you're hungry, but you should probably pace yourself after being deprived for so long. I'll order in later once we've talked." Marco has a platter of dazed pigeons for us to dine on. "Rats with wings,” I sneer. "Don't knock it until you try it. They're tasty. Here: it's in a trance. Pet it, then drain it." I'm surprised. A soothed pigeon is a treat. We drain the blissed-out little creatures like aperitifs. I bite the throat of one tiny bird and feel the blood pulse on my tongue. I pass the body to Tiggy. "Feathers,” he says, appalled. "Poor indignant little imp,” says Marco. “Here, Tiggy, I'll slit it open for you. Look: innards." As Tiggy slurps, we test each other with a few tidbits of information. Marco describes the local warrens from a vamp's perspective, and I offer some lictor memories of how they are organized. We're wary, but our information seems to mesh, and we start hashing out a deal. Marco and I will share the apartment. I'll tell him all I can about lictors and the lore they've gathered, and he'll keep Tiggy and me safe and well fed. He'll train me in vampire skills, and we'll hunt together. In time, we'll exact a well-planned revenge on the warrens who've done us wrong. Marco has nebulous grievances, but mostly he's vexed with the brazenness of the local warrens. He likes his low-key, but affluent life. He's distressed at the idea that he may have to leave to avoid being caught in their inter-warren crossfire or the lictor purge that the warrens are likely to bring down. I wonder why he's not in a warren himself, but I save the question for later. We've cleared the plate, and I feel better. I'm clean, safe, and the edge is off my hunger. I'm still guarded, but for now I'll go along with Marco. I've agreed to stay a few months at least and see how it plays out. "We should celebrate. I'll order in.” I hear Marco's smile as he says “I have a favorite pizza boy—you'll like him—he always comes when I page him." Marco places a call, and while we wait I try seeing through Tiggy on my own. I just get a headache, but Tiggy gets antsy so I must be partially reaching him. I get a brief blip of the pizza boy as he arrives—I think Marco sends on purpose as an introduction. Tony is a knife-hipped, dark-haired boy. He's no bright bulb, but he's sweet-natured, and eager to please. He giggles when Marco murmurs in his ear. I can hear it: Tony, this is Zeke. We'd like to split a pie... I hear Tiggy snort, and start telling at his necklace. “Vamps fucking...” he mutters. There's no sign of alarm from Tony—he's not fazed by the word vamps or by Tiggy's appearance, but I'm nervous. What if he sees what Tiggy's necklace is made from? "Tigs, does Marco have a TV?" Tiggy squeaks. He loves TV. He'll try to watch it through store windows when we hunt. I don't know how he's seen full shows in the past, but he mutters about them sometimes. He especially likes shows


with cars and trucks. NASCAR is a hypnotic Nirvana to him. "Does the imp love it? Tiggy—go over there in the next room. Look—big screen." There's an orgasmic squeal from the direction of what I guess is Marco's home theatre room. A few seconds later, we hear channels being surfed. Marco laughs: “Well, there's the babysitter. Zeke, come and meet Tony." He's come over after his last delivery, and seems accustomed to Marco's routine. They giggle and flirt. I can hear every word, and I know Marco knows it. Tony is sighing and moaning. I'm not sure what Marco is doing, until I get a blip of Tony, naked, dazed, and head thrown back as Marco licks his belly, trails his tongue up his chest, and nuzzles his neck. Tony is offering his neck and arching his exposed throat to Marco who is teasing him by running his lips over his collarbone, and back down his pecs. All I see is the back of Marco. He has curly dark hair, and good shoulders. I get a mental message from Marco.Come over, Zeke. You need to feed before you can fuck. Take his jugular while I use his ass. He'll love it. Sure enough, Tony moans and squirms in ecstasy when Marco times his first thrust with my puncture of Tony's flesh. His skin and vein succumb perfectly—the right resistance and right yield. I feel Tony broadcast his desire and his surrender. His joy is almost overwhelming. "My boy is sweet, huh?" Perfect, I try sending, unwilling to stop suckling at his throbbing vein. His pizza boy is delicious and quite willing. He's on his hands and knees as Marco kneels behind him leisurely fucking, and I lie beneath his throat and feed. He's close to crossing over from delight and blood loss when Marco shoots his load and I reluctantly release his life-force from my compelling tugs. His head droops and if Marco weren't holding him up by his hips he'd have collapsed onto me. I feel fantastic—invigorated, strong, full of Tony's life—and I'm unbelievably horny. I grab Tony's head and shove his mouth to my crotch. He's swoony, but eager to please, and my erect prick—for the first time in months I'm hard!—is in his hot, moist and expert mouth. He nurses as frantically as I do when I've been close to death. He's going to suck out my lost soul through my cock. I groan and cram his head against my groin. The contact is incredible—not just a dry spell being broken—but his sensation is radiating from him and Marco is sending his own satisfaction as he eases his cock from Tony's tight ass. Tony is cocksucking as if his life or soul depended on my orgasm. I wonder briefly about his first lessons from Marco, but the boy is undeniably doing this of his own volition. He's received his rush from my feeding, and his passion from Marco's cock in his ass, but neither of us have used a glamour on him. For the first time since Balti's death, I'm having an orgasm uncomplicated by grief or hindered by dried-up balls. I have pleasure and juice enough to come. Tony valiantly takes me into his throat as I shoot. My passion is spiced by knowing that the same vulnerable throat was penetrated by my teeth from the outside just a few minutes earlier, and it's his blood flowing through me that allows this throat-fucking. I fall back and relax, dazed and replete, and enjoy what Marco broadcasts to me. Marco has his head


bent down, cradling Tony, petting him as Tony strokes his own hard on. "Good boy, come for us now. Show us you like our gifts." Tony spurts at Marco's permission. Marco massages his come into Tony's belly while Tony curls up and sobs from an excess of emotion, soothed by Marco. He murmurs to him comfortingly until his boy falls asleep, and Marco places him on the sofa. I'd swear I detected tenderness if I knew no better. Marco places a hand on my wrist and leads me to the kitchen, letting me see through him the whole time. "So? You see what my life has to offer? Tony's a renewable resource. He visits when I summon him, loves to serve me, and goes away happy." Marco opens the refrigerator and gets out a bag of blood. I shudder. "Zeke—you took a lot from him. I keep a stash of his blood type for when I over-feed. While he's asleep, I'll transfuse this into his system. Don't under-estimate the value of being able to order in when you're wiped, weak, or just craving Italian." I laugh. “So you don't have a soft spot for him?' Marco shrugs. “Perhaps. I'd take out any one who took him from me, but having a willing boy on call is no small thing. Especially one who provokes no suspicions from anyone. Who thinks twice about a pizza boy visiting? And he's not my slave. I'm not like your Shelby. Tony's free. I wipe his memory of feedings before he goes, and I leave a suggestion that returning here at the end of a shift is fun and sexy. But that's all. He thinks he's turning a hot trick. He always chooses to visit." I frown. Marco seems over-scrupulous about Tony's consent. I think about it before I speak. We've moved back to Tony and Marco has expertly slid a needle into his arm and is holding the blood bag high. Marco sighs. “Don't over-think it Zeke. Tony's my Tiggy if you must see it that way. Useful, cute, but, in an emergency, disposable. Because he's mine, I'd take revenge on anyone who took him or hurt him—but because he's mine, not because I care for him." Tony sighs in his sleep, and I hear a happy yelp from Tiggy in the TV room. Marco and I send a cold confirming blip: our possessions. Ours to use, to possess, and to defend against others’ misuse. Marco sets up Tony's blood stand and we move to the sofa to start scheming out our new life. A few hours later, Tony is sent on his way with a happy memory and a $100 tip, Marco is soaking in a bubble bath and I'm luxuriating in my new bedroom with Tigs curled by my feet—after he'd been coaxed from the TV. All is well! **** Tiggy and I settle into our new lair. I'm wary, but no shoe drops. Marco is more than keeping his end of the deal. He's affluent and spends his money freely. We have a tailor come by in the evenings, and soon I'm looking sharp. A touch Mafioso, I admit: charcoal suits and jewel-toned open neck silk shirts. No bling. Neither of us like it. I have some good sunglasses, but no other accessories. Tiggy has jeans and t-shirts from the boys’ section of K-Mart. He hates wearing clothes and will ball them up and hide them on our way home. He does try to keep them on until our trips are done. Marco is well off, but he's not wasteful. If Tiggy persists in throwing his clothes away, we're going to get him disposable ones.


We go out in the evenings. We stroll around the late opening shops, and mingle with the dinner and theatre crowds. Tiggy can pass for a stunted human child. His little wizened face occasionally attracts attention and we mutter something about growth hormone deficiency. Most people are embarrassed and say nothing more. Why would the humans think they saw an imp? Tiggy usually gives an idiot grin and anyone who was tempted to dote or pat his head backs off. He holds our hands between us in public and it's as if Marco and I are holding each other's hands. We flow through him and he seems happy to be a conduit. I can see that way with little effort. If we're not in contact it takes more work, but I can do it on demand now. Often I let my other senses hum along and my sixth sense rests on standby. I can choose whose eyes to see from. Tiggy is easy. He either can't or doesn't block me. Marco can exclude me if he wishes, and it feels an imposition to enter without an invitation. In an emergency, of course, I'd barge in. I'm learning how to subtly sneak my senses into human heads and see through their eyes. I practice by sliding into other pedestrians and watching us come our way. We look elegant, sinister, or perhaps just metrosexual. People assume we've adopted Tigs: taking straight people's leavings and having the little deformed boy. I feel blended pity, horror, admiration, disgust coming at us. I stumble the first few times as the eyes I'm borrowing get closer to us, and it adds to my sunglasses after dark excuse. I asked Marco last week if I could drive his jag and see through Tiggy. "No,” he said. “Shit, Zeke, he's so short he'll have to be in the back seat in a booster chair. I've survived this long by never doing anything illegal.” He grins. “Well, you know what I mean—obey their little rules. Tiggy can't sit up front. And you know he gets distracted in cars." It's true. Tiggy loves engines. He hums and brrrms and jiggles in time to the motor. It's as close to sex as he gets. Next time I want something I won't ask or tell Marco first. It's not as if I need his permission even if he is paying for my new lifestyle. Marco's affluent. He owns the apartment building we live in. It minimizes hassles and he has a legal rent roll to look respectable with. He bought the building for cash when it was built—150 years ago. "Easier then.” He sighs. “No one cared where your cash came from. These days people check so much.” He shrugs. “I have to avoid being mistaken for a dealer or a pimp. Who would have thought too much cash would be bad?" Marco pays enough attention to the modern world to have stocks and shares. All above board. Every few decades he pays to have a new identity created—usually his own fictional nephew—who inherits after a while and he moves on to another city. He owns several old brick apartment buildings scattered through the western and eastern coasts. He avoids the flyover states. “People know each other there,” he says disdainfully. “Communities,” he sneers. I'm used to luxury, and sensuousness is heightened now. I no longer have to settle for bums and street trash. Marco shudders. “Alcoholic blood, drugged blood, disgusting." Marco never calls in rent boys, just his pizza boy. He's quite the Puritan about drugs, alcohol, and paying for sex, but he's a raunchy fuck. We still haven't slept together, but we've shared plenty of dinner dates as Marco jokingly calls our prey. We feed on the best. And we lure and seduce and rarely kill. We leave people with rapturous memories and love-making bruises where a supposed hickey just fits in.


My favorite spot is Trader Joe's or WholeFoods. Picking up foodies with their pampered diets and toned bodies is my new hobby. Sometimes we go to the organic farmer's market on their Friday night street fairs to get some crunchy kids, but they're dull to play with even as they're tender and sweet to bite and drink. We plan our trips like gastronomes and sexual connoisseurs. Sometimes we feed our playthings different foods to taste it in their blood. I find I enjoy them best after my old favorite blend of coffee, brandy, and tiramisu. It's intoxicating. I always get hard when I sip that blend and the dined-on one is always assured of a sore ass, but blissful dream-memories. Poor Tiggy. He's missing human flesh even though he's happily sampled every mammal's organ meat available. As a treat, Marco buys him raw kobe beef and he's happy for days. He spat out the expensive sushi-grade tuna. “Fish! Water! Ack!” he says, “Ack.” He's not wild about birds either even if we deliver them plucked. “Pale,” he says. He'll give a disappointed puppy look before tearing into them. So once in awhile we do kill so Tiggy has a body to dismember and teeth to add to his collection. He's a happy little beast—and smarter than I thought. Marco bought him a rock tumbler and a Dremel tool. His necklaces are becoming polished works of art: some are scrimshawed, some tumbled to pearls, but all are intricate and lovely. He adores Marco for his TV and presents, but it's me he still snuggles. Tiggy really is a halfling. I'd teased him by calling him that, but he's rare: half imp and half gremlin. Tiggy loves engines and devices, and his hands can open any lock. Now I can read him knowingly, I get flashes of his past. His mother the imp, and a flash of gremlin father. An animal passion, loving nonetheless. Two barely verbal beasts crossing species lines, meeting every few months as their paths crossed. Little Tiggy groomed and picked over by both. I get little blips of puzzled animal grief as Tigs outlives all he knows. His losses are real, and he clings to me and Marco. He knows we probably won't be gone before him, but he's a cautious beast and makes us little tools and talismans to protect us. Although he comes out with us, he always implores: “Hunt safe,” as we leave. He doesn't want to outlive anyone else. Marco's over two hundred years old. “A baby really,” he says idly. “Twenty-eight when I was changed in 1812.” He grins. “So I'm really a year younger than you." "Nine,” says Tiggy showing that many fingers. “Old,” he says. I'm glad I no longer love. I'd be destined to survive all non-vamp lovers. What a fate: forever being left behind. Balti's death destroyed me. It's lictor protocol that partners be reassigned if one dies. Staying in the same territory is foolish. No one operates effectively. I agree. It makes sense. But I didn't want to operate effectively. I wanted revenge. It may have been madness or excessive grief, but I let the lictors expel me. I'm sure our successors monitor me. They probably know I've crossed over. Playing for the other team as Balti'd say when we used to giggle when we snuggled and fucked. The guild didn't care that we slept together. They bought into the army of lovers idea. Lots of lictor partners were full partners. So long as the guild felt sure nothing would be compromised, we were free to love as we wished. We were all trained to stake each other, and in general they considered partner bonds a good thing. Any vulnerability love brings was compensated for by the enhanced team. “It's all a crap shoot anyway,” said Balti. “So we may as well love." I'd dragged his dying body into the ER. The intern had worked frantically on him—he had a whole team I know, but he's the one I remember. The one who helped me away from Balti's body after he'd truly gone. He said his shift had ended, and he drove me home. To his place, not mine. As he undressed me, he'd whispered. “You have matching tattoos—that's beautiful."


I winced. They were talismanic, not partnership marks, but I let him assume. He's a predator in his own way. Sympathy sex with the freshly bereaved. I didn't care. I needed a release after seeing Balthazar killed. And the intern's hot; Balti and I would have cruised him for a three way. Balti's presence was strong. I yelled his name as I came, and the intern just soothed me. Just as he now soothes little Tony. That was a real kick in the head and it nearly de-railed us. Marco is the intern. I felt stupid for not piecing it together since I was caught by Marco right after hunting the intern. My own anger fueled the rage I hurled at Marco when he revealed himself. I realize now Marco controlled how much I could see at first. He was restricting how fast I learned to “see.” I'd stayed dependant on his sendings either to me or via Tiggy and he'd made sure I never saw his face. But I learned fast, and Marco knew I'd soon be able to see through human eyes or use Tiggy at will. He timed his revelation carefully. It was a long summer evening and we were restless. There was still too much light remaining to hunt. Tony had gone on a Las Vegas weekend with some friends so we were deprived of his sex and blood. I snarled at Marco that it was his over-generous tips that let our dinner run off and play. We're prowling in the lounge on the verge of temper flares. I even consider my old survival habit of sipping at Tiggy. "We could make Tiggy's blurt come true,” says Marco with some uncharacteristic hesitance in his voice. “Naughty vamps..." "Fucking together...” I finish. I tease Marco by pausing, but I've also been wondering and saving the idea for a dry evening. “Sure,” I say. “Your room or mine?" At the time I thought Marco was nervous about the fucking, but now I know he was worried about his confession. We tussle briefly over who fucks whom and settle for a 69 compromise for our first time. Marco's skin is silky and cool. He smells of the real lavender stalks he sprinkles in his linen. He may like his TV and car, but he hates synthetic scents or materials and, now my senses are heightened, I agree. He's not just being old-fashioned or a Luddite, artificial things are foul and abrasive to us. I'd never knowingly fucked the undead before. The lack of pulse or even change in breathing makes blowing him strange. When we play with Tony I can hear the blood rush into his erection and its throb affects my ears, touch, and sixth sense. I feel it resound in my belly. Marco and I just get steely hard but with no pulse. I've learned we can stay that way, if we're in full health, until we want to come. We mess with each other, playing with techniques, and showing off our skills until we agree to end it together. Marco's long but slender cock is deep in my throat—ah, the throat fucking you can achieve when you don't need to breathe and your gag reflex means nothing but extra sensation to the cock banging away—and my prick is being tongued expertly. I wonder what being bitten there would be like? I wonder what biting Tony's hard prick would do, but I forget everything as we come on cue. I shout in delirium, then yell in rage: I see the intern's face contorted in orgasm. It's no hallucination—the mouth on my cock is my sympathy sex ER doctor's. I wrench my prick out, shove Marco out of my throat, flip him over, and pin my arm across his neck. I press down brutally and force his windpipe shut. Marco is grinning. I squeeze hard and shake him like a dead rat. He keeps grinning and blips me.We're harder to kill than that Zeke. Stop it and let me tell you... I'm in no mood to listen. I strangle Marco some more and even slap him around. He takes it until I finally sit back on my heels astride him, and sullenly say.You showed me your face on purpose. You didn't even truly lose control.


Marco lets me see him as he rubs his neck. He nods. “You'd have seen me soon. You're learning to see faster than I thought. I thought ‘letting it slip’ might go over better." The cold part of me agrees, but my ego is bruised. I feel stupid. I should have recognized the apartment from the sight I get through Tiggy and Marco. But on the night Balti died I was hardly noticing the décor. Thinking back, Marco had led me to the rarely used guest room that night. I've only been in there once or twice. But still, I should have guessed. Damn. Sloppy. Marco is keeping a weather eye on me, but he's letting me see him, and he's telling me his story. "Obviously I'm not really an intern. I was working night shifts to spot vulnerable ones, and to look for incoming ones who might have been attacked by the southside warren. Couldn't believe my luck when I trawled up two lictors.” He grins. “Those ‘beautiful partnership’ tattoos gave you away the instant I saw them on Balti's body." I scowl. “Did you really try to save him?" "Actually, yes. I never did anything out of place in the ER. Except drive you home. And I may have faked my way in—I killed the real Dr. Tannetti before he arrived for his new rotation and then got the idea of using his identity for a bit—but I could read enough from the real staff about what to do. And I was just an intern so there were others doing the critical stuff, remember?" "I just remember Balti and you." Marco smiles. “The thought occurred to me that if I saved the life of a lictor you, being honorable gentlemen, might offer me immunity, and as a warrenless vamp I can always use some strategic allies." "Why didn't you kill me later after we'd fucked?" He shrugs. “You'd be suffering more bereaved.” He shows his fangs, and the creature I've become understands. “And I thought in your grief you might let secrets slip over the next days before the replacements arrived. Besides, the southside warren that killed Balti are my enemies. I knew you'd go for them. I could follow and kill you later. Or let you live and be shipped out to suffer alone. But instead you hooked up with Shelby.” He sneers at the mere thought of her. “I wanted to see how you'd pace out your revenge on their clan.” He grins. “Delicious viewing. They never knew who was betraying them, never suspected their wannabe was staking them. But how did you stomach Shelby?" "Revenge is a good anti nausea.” I decide to release Marco fully, and climb off his hips. I feel exhausted, and lie down beside him. He surprises me: he lies close and strokes my hair. "I was ready to pick you up after she made you, but you disappeared. I didn't know you had little Tiggy to help you." Tiggy'd been in a cage next to Shelby's pet human for a few weeks. She didn't know what to do with him. I was still human and I'd been absent-mindedly kind to him—rubbing his head, tossing him scraps. Tiggy was watching and waiting. Shelby was too dim to notice he let himself in and out of his cage at will and scampered around her cellar. Tiggy was scoping out a new protector. Since Shelby fed him he'd stuck around, but he was taking a risk. Who knew when Shelby would get bored enough to torment him? I never said a word if I saw him scamper back into his cage as she approached, and he always gave me a solemn stare in return.


My idle fondness paid off. It was Tiggy who loosened my necro-bonds after I was blinded. "Team?” he'd said after patting my arm. I was still whimpering in pain from my burned out lenses. He repeated: “Team? Tiggy help, you feed?" He waited while I focused my brain. I wanted revenge on her more than freedom. "Kill bitch?” added Tiggy, sweetening the pot just right. "Kill bitch,” I agreed. “And feed Tiggy,” I added to show I understood him earlier. While Shelby waited for her death, Tiggy scampered around giggling, playing with her devices. The sun doesn't bother him. I heard him scoot into the sun-chamber at sunrise. I heard him jingle keys and laugh as he capered in front of her as she combusted and shrieked. She must have hurt him at some point. Tiggy's a gentle enough creature when he's not feeding. There's little malice in him. We spent the rest of the day exploring Shelby's cellars and, at nightfall, Tiggy took me to his lair. It's an underground den. I was never sure where it is in above ground terms. I've never seen it and he doesn't describe it. His human vocabulary is limited. The route in and out isn't wet or foul smelling so it's not off the sewers. Nor can I hear traffic rattle and roar, and here on the west coast it can't be part of a subway system. The walls are earth in his den, packed and patted tight. I hear him make repairs sometimes. I can smell blood in the earth. I think Tiggy uses prey residue to make a primitive mortar. Once I touched what I thought was a tree root, but realized was a tendon used as leather lacings around a basic but functional door. His lair is small—nothing but a safe place to sleep and digest. But he's decorated it. He studs the walls with animal teeth. I feel the patterns of swirls and swoops. He saves human teeth to make personal adornments. He'll sit and work at making holes in human teeth with a little metal spike he uses to poke and twist. He picks out fillings and enlarges nascent cavities and works through nerve holes. It takes him a long time to add a new jewel to each necklace strand, but what else is there for him to do while we hide? He discards the metal from fillings. I have a little stash of dental gold. The human memory in me is repulsed by their historical connotations, but the new me wonders how it can be melted and sold. I may be safe and fed, but I have bigger needs. Revenge on just Shelby isn't enough. Balthazar needs to be avenged more thoroughly. I want her whole clan in flames, and then any and all warrens can go in his honor. But Shelby's death completed my initial phase, and I am ready to plan a slower revenge now. I want to survive. I was reluctant to leave Tiggy's hole at first until the live rats he brought me reached nauseating status. I was alive, but barely. I've learned to fine tune my hearing now, but in my first days I felt deafened. Tiggy and I did ok, but, if I hadn't been picked up by Marco, I think Tiggy would have been on a solitary hunt for a replacement protector by now. Marco's still stroking my hair. I realize he's sending a mild calming glamour at me. It must be working because I can't be bothered to be angry at him for using it on me. I rest an arm across his chest, and we fall asleep until the night truly comes and we can hunt. **** Once Marco had revealed himself, my sight training went better. The practice when we go out in the evenings lets me skim human minds easily now. In the apartment I need Tiggy so that I can preserve Marco's privacy. When little Tony visits, I use his eyes, but he's usually fixated on Marco so it doesn't do me much good unless I want to join in worshipping him.


We have an idyllic summer. The long over-lit evenings are the only irritant, but they give us time to plot and scheme. I recite as much lictor lore as I can. In a pinch, Marco can dip into my mind as I think of the relevant material, but that's cumbersome and invasive to do at length. I'm surprised how little Marco knows about his kind. He knows a lot of the practical stuff—how to make humans not see you or think you're someone else, how to slip through shadows, how to fine tune the glamours and telepathy—but nothing of their lore and history. He shrugs. “Immortality can make you lazy. Why write it down if you live forever and don't forget? But of course we do die and we're not known for our sharing ways.” He grins. “So we lose stuff or the warrens—ignorant all of them—garble the memories. Your old guild has much more on us.” He sighs. “We always think there's tomorrow. Unless we're feuding, we really don't care much about each other. We're not that curious or intellectual, and after awhile it gets too hard to keep up with the world." I roll my eyes. For starters, Marco has a Jag, a home theatre system, and a stock portfolio. He's hardly out of the world. "You forget I was born before Napoleon had Waterloo. At heart, I'm a regency boy. This modern stuff..." The lictor training still runs my brain. Marco may no longer care about learning for the fun of it, but I haven't been jaded yet and I'm fascinated. I already knew Marco's age, but I pay attention. He doesn't talk about his past often. Marco yawns and rolls over. He pushes the pizza boy aside a little. They're both sated—Marco with the boy's blood, and Tony with Marco's feeding ecstasy. I've been out, and have just joined them. If I thought Marco could love, I'd suspect he had a passion for the boy. Tony certainly has a crush on him. If Marco didn't wipe most of his memories, the boy would tag along like a puppy and adore him. I think Tony would gladly die for Marco when they feed and fuck. Give Marco credit, he leaves his pet his freedom—not like Shelby and her cattle. "Regency? Are you English then?" Marco looks briefly chagrinned at letting personal details slip—even to me. He could lie and say it's a generic term these days, but he shrugs, and says, “Yes, I was a regency rent boy when I was made. Mark the Molly met a dark, wicked rake.” He laughs. “A real melodrama! All mad, bad, and dangerous to know he was, and I was all swoony for my Byronic despoiler." Marco strokes Tony's hip. “But he was inept. New himself, it turns out, and he made me by mistake.” There's bitterness in Marco's laugh. “A mistake all through my existence: my mum never meant to conceive me, bear me, or keep me. Poor slut, pregnant by her master, failed with her tonics to lose me, and never quite cold enough to abandon me. But she talked about it, oh yes, and put me to work as soon as ever she could. Ah Zeke, being a pickpocket and rent boy was fine training for vampire life." He pets his dazed pizza boy's limp cock almost fondly. I suspect his rent boy start has permanently put him off paying for sex. He's not squeamish and I doubt it's from the ethics of buying a boy, but the memory of being bought must rankle. I hide a snigger as I realize it's Marco's ego that stops him buying boys. He can't take that it's him doing the buying when once he was the purchase. He resents paying. He's still talking. He's on a rare roll so I listen attentively. "My maker was Italian. We went to Italy once Europe settled more after Boney. Not that it was Italy as such then. Piedmont I think was where we were. We had good few decades together. I learned to be a


gentleman. Learned lots of the old ways of being an aristocrat, fencing, riding, dancing. But the nineteenth century and Victoria's influence...” He spits. “Good for the underworld that everything was considered dirty, but the stink of hypocrisy—and industry, bah! And what Garibaldi did in Italy. Spoiled it all." For a moment I see him as he was then. I think he's sending unconsciously as I also see a fine Italian room with superb but battered furniture and art in flaking frames. And a dark man. Heavy but handsome with a rakehell aspect. "Claudio,” says Marco, realizing he's slipped again and I'm seeing his memory. He perks up. “But I saw Verdi premieres! I know you hate opera, Zeke, but oh! This was ungodly in its majesty and sensation. I still use Marco in memory of Claudio. I think he loved me." I don't ask what became of Claudio. Nothing good I assume. But at least I know where Marco's fondness of all things Italian comes from. By summer's end, I'm Marco's equal in vampire skills. My lictor training means I can absorb new skills fast. We're reluctant to break our golden state, but the warren feuds are getting noticed. We may not have a choice about acting soon. Marco hates how crowded his territory is getting and how sloppy many of the newbies are. He has an inherent dislike of even well-run clans and warrens. The American ones are not like Europe. "These newly made vamps...” I laugh since I'm only months old, and Marco means anyone made in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. “These newbies,” he repeats, “huddling together for protection, but being careless—no idea how to discreetly survive—how to truly live.” Marco laughs snippily. "You are such a Euro snob, Marco." I'm American, but I trained in Europe, and the American clans are different from European vampire dynastic lines whose members tend to more solitary lives. The vamps I trained on in Prague and London were almost a different species than the frontier gang mentality that lives on in these American west coast warrens. Marco snorts. “Literally sometimes. That Samson in Shelby's clan—he came out with a wagon train, and Jesse in the Crosstown Boys warren was a forty-niner." He doesn't want to leave, but suggests we could go up the coast to Seattle while the fallout from our planned purge settles. “I've even been out on a rainy day there,” he says wistfully. "We could try even further north. If they have midnight sun, then the other half year..." "Is darkness...” finishes Marco looking happier at the prospect of moving. Cold is no worry to us, and Reykjavik and Helsinki beckon. Marco hasn't had the challenge of brand new territory in a while and he's excited. We decide on visiting Seattle for a year while we develop what we come to call our northern lights plan. Before we leave town, we plot to leave a trail of destruction behind us. My revenge still burns, but it's tempered now to a hard, controlled, compelling motive. I feel an abstract fondness for Marco although I'd have killed him a few months ago if he'd crossed my path while I was in full fury. I want Shelby's old warren. We plan to target Shelby's skin-searers first, misdirect the blame to others, and leave the other


warrens to destroy each other in an orgy of blame and recrimination. As we scheme, I worry about my blind spots. Not my physical one—I'm working around that, and can even use it to lull prey as I can look so very vulnerable when I choose to do so—but my emotional ones. I'm never sure about my memories of Balti. The passion we had was real, and so was the grief over his death, but is it my new status that makes me see we lictors as dupes? Pawns? Balti was my superior in the order. Was he using me? Being used? I see our replacements around town sometimes. I've exchanged long challenging stares with one. I think I fooled them. They don't know I'm blind. One I even fucked during training, and he seems nothing now. I sigh: losing human concerns hasn't eased my confusions about love. I know I did love Balti. I lust over Marco, and I'm fond of Tigs and even feel a passing affection for Tony. But the purest feelings these days are rage and revenge. Hunger and hate. Is this who I am? I think about Marco more. Do I have some blind spots here? I thought I'd made a cool logical decision to move in with him, but was I being tweaked? I can do the glamour so much better myself now, but he could have dazzled me without me knowing it then. But, as I recall, I'd nothing to lose and had made the decision he was as good as any to team with. And he hates Shelby's clan. But now I have things to lose: A home, a safe lair, a luxurious lair in fact, Marco's ready sex, Tig's animal comfort, Tony to feed on. Shit, I have a stake in the world. "Puns,” says Marco. Crap! I've been broadcasting. I berate myself: Lazy, sloppy! Marco laughs. “Damn, Zeke, just surviving is worth fighting for, but having a good existence is worth actively defending so long as we don't get complacent. We need to act about the city clans. They're attracting attention. There are more lictors arriving next week." I groan; I know that pattern. They'll move from observing to acting if an area gets too blatant. Balti used to say,time to cull the parasites . He'd wink and claim we did the vamps a favor by keeping them contained so war didn't burst out. Thinning the herd looks different from this side even if we'd also wipe them out in a non-existent heartbeat. Although I want Shelby's clan to burn, I don't want to be caught in the collateral damage that the lictors will cause. "Should we leave?" "Pussy,” sneers Marco. “No, Zeke. We can still take out some targets, but instead we'll let the lictors take the fall. Hit a nest just ahead of them, be across town before their sweep and the warrens will blame them. We can watch the fun for a few days while we get ready to leave." I scowl. It's more fun to kill them ourselves. Will it be enough just to know the humans killed them? But Marco's right, and I agree to his plan. We spend a week sorting through possessions and plans while we track the lictors’ patterns. In addition to my and Balti's replacements, there are two trainees. Tiggy is jumpy, but Marco reassures him. Tiggy's happy with us. He's not used to warm, clean, dry, but he likes it. He still howls at weekly baths and strips off as much as he can, but he likes being well-fed and curling up on soft cushions to sleep.


"Domesticated,” teases Marco. "Nice nest,” says Tiggy solemnly, well aware Marco is tweaking him. “Don't want to leave." He's a sharp beast. Just not very verbal. "New nice nest,” promises Marco. He shows Tiggy a picture of the Seattle monorail, and says, “Tiggy ride." Tiggy nods. The monorail is the perfect bribe. He leaves and comes back with some of his artworks. “Vamp present. Hunt safe.” He has made us each a lethal garrote. Necro silver wire is hidden under strung together bones and teeth with handles for us to safely grasp made from finger bones. It looks like a miniature jump rope for a spoiled undead princess. He has his own rosary of teeth round his neck. It too is entwined with necro silver. He's made the teeth into coral-like beads. They look like tiny globular roses. I pat Tiggy's head and thank him. We set off, a black-clad trio adorned in silver and bone. We've figured out where the lictors will make their first sweep, and we lie in wait for the vamp victims to return. They're from Shelby's warren and are out hunting. We know the lictors will trail them back, then attack when they think the vamps are replete and sleeping close to dawn. Marco's Jag is parked in a back alley and we're waiting in the vamps’ lair. It starts smoothly, but goes wrong within minutes, and everything happens in a blur. Later, I replay it, and see Marco hesitating in the face of the last vamp standing who manages to get a death grip on me while Marco stays still. Tiggy shrieks and leaps on the vamp's back and chokes him with his rosary. The necro silver sears his throat, and I fight free. The vamp's head is nearly severed, but the necro silver has cauterized the cut as it passed through. His head lolls, but no blood spills. I'm yelling at Marco and don't see an eager lictor trainee bursting in early until he's stabbed Tiggy. I pull Tiggy away, but pause a second before I snap the lictor's neck. I'm still not sure why I pause. Perhaps to fuck with Marco or from old lictor loyalty. I've scooped Tiggy up, when I hear Marco shout: "Another fucking lictor.... Shit..." I scan for vision: Marco's on the ground bleeding from his ribs with my old lictor fuck buddy standing astride him reading for a second shot at his heart. This time I don't delay, and I throw him down the stairs with a casual sweep of my free arm. Tiggy smells dead, but I tuck his body under my arm and drag Marco out. I make it to the Jag barely ahead of the other lictors. Marco stays conscious so I can drive through his eyes. We race ahead of the dawn to get free of the lictors and to clear town. Marco feebly insists we go to his apartment, but I ignore him. I make it forty miles from the city limits when the light becomes too imminent, and I check us into a cheap motel. Marco is stupid enough to bitch about his apartment again, and I back hand him, injured as he is. He falls onto the bed. "Shut the fuck up, Marco. Tiggy's dead, don't you get it? If we go back, we'll be dead too. The other two lictors saw us. We'll be the next targets regardless of what their plan was before." Marco sulks on the bed. And I sit in the skunky motel armchair and brood. Why did Marco hesitate?


Was he being duplicitous? Was I meant to die? "I was surprised." I just snarl. I really don't care about his excuse or that I've been sending. "Zeke, really. I was surprised to see Shelby's sire. I thought he was dead. And, and well, I remembered making him. I think he dazzled me for a second. He was always good at that." I shrug. I do believe him. I can read his lies. But I'm consumed with guilt about Tiggy. All our speculating about the limits of his devotion, and it was Marco and I who wavered and postured, and Tiggy who acted. We'd always assumed he was craven, but at his end he was loyal and brave. Tiggy saved me. Marco and I sleep the day away, and Marco heals up some. He's been stabbed deeply enough that he's still in pain at nightfall. An inch to the left, and he'd be ash. He still has the brass balls to argue for going back to the apartment. He hurts a lot and has some precious personal items there. He wants a last sleep in his apartment. He's not thinking clearly and I override him. Marco snarls, but can't do much. He needs to rest another day and heal. "No,” I repeat harshly. “Tonight we'll feed, and we'll sleep another day here for you to finish healing. No vamp or lictor will look for us so close to home, but you know the apartment's watched. Tomorrow, we'll drive as far as we can get on the way to Seattle. We'll make it to Oregon at least before we need to find a place to sleep." Marco sends a sullen psychic pout my way, and I simply point to where I know Tiggy's body is at the foot of the bed. "We need to give Tiggy a decent send off. He saved me." Marco is man enough to accept the topic change, but we still bicker about how to dispose of Tiggy's body. "I won't dump him in the ocean. You know how he hated water. I'm not being fucking sentimental. I'm honoring him." Marco hides his feelings under another sulk, but I drag him out so I can steal a new car—a boring sedan to drive unobtrusively to Seattle. Vamps may not think of tracking the vehicle, but I know the lictors routinely hack into police databases, and Marco's Jag, while understated, isn't the almost invisible vehicle that the stolen Corolla is. Tiggy's resting place is the trunk of Marco's Jag, and we feed it through a junk yard crusher. Tiggy would have loved the junkyard and its machinery, and, apart from being in front of the big screen TV, the Jag was his favorite place to be. I couldn't give him a finer funeral had I all our resources available. Marco winces as his precious car disappears, but I prefer to think he's hiding his feelings about Tigs. Tiggy was a mayfly to us. His little life burned up in a blink of Marco's existence. "It was long for his kind,” says Marco, consolingly as he reads my thoughts. He's finally shaken from his


sulk. “Zeke, you gave him another year of life." I nod and reply: “And you made the last months into Tiggy heaven. And he didn't have to outlive anyone else." After we give Tiggy his funeral, we hunt, drive the boring car back to the motel, and hole up for another day. We're both tired, and shaken. After a few hours of awkward silence, we agree: we both hesitated, we both fucked up, we both doubted the other. "We should open our minds,” says Marco. I frown. “What do you mean?" "We should fuck to get the orgasm flowing, feed from each other as we come, and open ourselves to each others’ sendings as we do. We'll bond. We'll know for sure we can trust each other." I gawp at him. My training never covered that. Marco shrugs. “Well, it's rare. We hardly ever trust each other enough to even consider trusting each other with a bond.” He gives a short bark of laughter at that paradox, then rubs his sore rib. I stare at Marco. Do I want to bond with him? Have his mind and fate entwine with mine? Will we always know what the other's thinking? "No,” says Marco. Then we laugh as we realize we listen to each other most of the time anyway. "Okay, let's do it." We tumble onto the bed. No longer tired, we're invigorated at the prospect of a fuck, as well as anticipating the blending of our minds. It must have already begun as Marco has no hesitation about lifting his knees to his chest for me. It may be that he knows he's the one who screwed up more and is conceding to that, but I feel the vibe: I'm the top dog here. He's content to take his natural position under me at last—no arguing about who does what—all the stress about jockeying for position has gone. He's truly happy. His feet are by my ears as I slide in. I'm mindful of his sore ribs, but soon our ecstasy takes us and the rhythm controls us. I'm seeing through his eyes whenever I wish. Marco is whimpering—I'm in deep and pounding hard—and we ride our passion until we can't take it any higher. "We bite,” gasps Marco as I thrust. “We bite, we come, we open minds—all together—the feeding, the orgasm, the openness—they push us together for the time it takes to finish coming, then when we separate we're bonded to each other." "Now!” I yell, and lunge for his throat. His blood is like an aged Bordeaux. Deep, oaky, full of the many lives he's taken. Mine must be Beaujolais nouveaux in comparison, but he's drinking deep. Our loads shoot—mine deep into his belly, and his against my chest. Fuck! I'm lost. It's like the LSD we had to take in lictor training so we could simulate fighting out of a glamour. I'm living Marco's life. It's slow, an eternity, and it's rushing by so fast, I'm dizzy. I feel my life replaying simultaneously, and I feel Marco's reactions to my grim childhood, full of beatings, and shunting


around foster homes, and finally induction into the lictors. I was all but purchased from my last foster family by the guild. To be fair, the fools thought they were sending me to a good apprenticeship. I feel myself fucked and made by Claudio. I live through an eternity of Verdi operas. No matter what Marco says, I still hate them. I feel myself as Marco making Shelby's sire—one of the very few Marco ever made so it does genuinely shake him to see him appear at the warren where Tiggy dies. We're both roaring as we come back to reality. It's been a few seconds—my spunk is still shuddering its last spurt into his bowels, and his hasn't yet dried or cooled on my skin. Our fangs are still in each other's veins. I've felt every second of his two hundred plus years. We know everything the other does. We release each other's throats, and, lips still bloody, I trail my mouth up his neck and kiss his mouth hard. His eyes fly wide open. After all we've shared, a kiss is something we've never done together, and he's shocked at the intimate vulnerability of the moment. His tongue yields after a moment, and we share a moment of tenderness. We nap through the long day, waiting for night to begin the drive toward his Seattle apartment. He still makes a half-hearted attempt at lobbying for a visit back to the old apartment. "Hey,” I snap, “I've saved your life by dragging you awayand I'm saving it now by not letting you go back.” I'm surprised, but my new authority seems to carry over out of the bedroom. His vibe feels crushed at my rebuke. “Marco,” I say consolingly, “we'll send the apartment key to pizza boy. He adores you. You'd almost finished packing anyway, and Tony will get it for you. Once he's safely got your stuff, we'll send him a plane ticket." Marco grunts. “What if he walks into a trap?" "Better him than you,” I say coldly. “And we'll send him the plane ticket after he's made it out of town to minimize the trail. Tony's a sweet treat, but not worth worrying over." I suspect Marco cares more than he'll admit. He's suddenly less concerned about his favorite suits. After twenty minutes of silence, he mutters through plans for getting his stuff. He is after all the building owner. Soon he's determined that the building concierge will ship a crate of packages to a storage unit and later Tony can be sent the unit key. Then he can come for a vacation to us in Seattle carrying Marco's favorite possessions. I agree and say, “He may as well bring my new suits and the Patek Phillipe watch I acquired last month." A single good watch hardly violates my no bling style, and it reminds me of the fun I had taking it from the pampered wrist of a trust fund baby. "You'll send him home, right? No keeping him or finishing him. I want our trail dead, not him." "Right,” says Marco, drawling the word enough that I doubt him—even if he could hide anything from me anymore. I send him a cold blip of Tig's last moments to let him know I'm in no mood for his selfish melodrama and to remind him of what could happen to Tony. Marco has the grace to look chagrined, and he agrees no harm will come to Tony through his agency. We feel abashed at caring about pizza boy, and exchange thoughts: he'd be missed. He has friends;


friends who know from whom he got his gambling money. It's just sensible to protect him. Cold hearts or no, Balti and Tiggy haunt our old city. Seattle will be good for us. Our kind don't grieve, but I'll fondly remember my little halfling every time I destroy an enemy with his necro silver handiwork, and every one I take down will be in honor of Balthazar. It's hard to be morose for long when eternity awaits us.

Guapo By BA Tortuga The night was still. Too still for Dieter's taste, as he preferred a light breeze, one that carried the scents of the night to him. There was much less work to it that way. They were much easier to find. Tonight he was in one of the worst parts of the city, searching for someone who might have spice. Someone who might fight. Dieter was bored. So very bored. So far he had passed up a stocky older man who wandered down the street past him singing El Rey, and a woman who was probably quite strong, as young as she seemed, both rejected because of their scents. He had enough despair of his own. Just when he thought he would give up, go home, Dieter caught something on the air. A man. Young, feral, full of heat; someone composed of pepper and lime and sweat. Perfect. Dieter stepped out from the doorway he stood in, flicking his cane out and immediately dropping it, standing frozen, as if lost without it. "Dios mio! You dropped you stick, man.” The clack of his cane sounded, then it was pressed into his hand. “You gotta be careful, yeah? Bad dudes out here after dark." Oh, yes. Young enough to still think he was invincible, Dieter could tell by the voice. "Oh. Thank you. I ... I appear to be hopelessly lost." "Where you trying to be? You're at Gonzales and 3rd.” Cocky, self-sure. In return, Dieter gave uncertain, almost panicked. “I was to meet someone. A friend. Is there a station nearby?" "Like a bus? Sure, man. Two blocks down and one over, by the little taqueria.” A warm, callused hand touched his shoulder. “What time's your bud supposed to show?" Smiling just enough to look wry, Dieter turned toward the touch, hand reaching out. “Perhaps an hour ago?"


"Oh. You been stood up. Come on, Guapo. I'll take you to the bus stop.” His hand was taken. “You gotta be careful." Groping, Dieter took the young man's arm. “Thank you so much. What is your name?" "Eh? My homies call me Mago, the magician. You?” Oh, strong, warm, male. Stroking absently at the warm skin, Dieter breathed deep, feeling his hunger stir at the musk and tequila scent the breath brought to him. “I am Dieter. Why Mago?" "Mamma says she couldn't keep me in my crib, in the house. She says I'm always disappearing and reappearing." "Ah. How intrepid of you.” They were nearing the bus stop far too quickly, and it was the main exchange he'd guess from the diesel fumes. That would never do. "Okay. Thanks, I think.” The chuckle was low, sexy, deep, unaffected. He chuckled as well, fingers moving, testing the resilience of muscle and bone. “Did I offend? My English sometimes is poor.” Certainly his accent made it sound so; though faint it was still strong enough to mark his speech. "Oh, my spanglish is wicked, so we're cool, man.” The kid moved faster, moving him toward the bus stop. “Almost there, Guapo." Damn. Dieter stopped, his hand popping free as he sniffed the air. “Is that a restaurant?" "Eh?” He heard sneakers squeak on the concrete as the boy turned. “No ... Oh! Damn, man, you got a nose on you! That's Jade Gate, four doors down." "Is it any good? I ... well, you have been so nice, and I hate to impose. But I should like to have some food to take home. I missed my dinner.” Grimacing, Dieter made a vague gesture with his hands, indicating his embarrassment. "Good sweet and sour chicken, yeah. Okay. Sure. I ... What bus you taking, man? It's getting late." He wasn't taking the bus, had no intention of it, and could not for the life of him remember what route he might need to get home. His house was a beacon to him. He could get there from any part of the city. Evading, he reached for Mago again, pushing slightly toward the restaurant. “I have time. If you do. I understand if you have some place to be." "Nah. Not really. Going home. I'll help you out, yeah? Good deeds and all.” Mago started towards the restaurant, moving slowly. This one was almost enough to give him second thoughts. The boy was ... kind. It was a rare enough thing that it intrigued him. Still, Mago's scent was addictive, and Dieter wanted to see if the boy tasted as good. He would pay for Mago to eat, then eat himself. "Thank you." "No problem. Whatcha doing in this part of town anyway? You don't look low rent, Guapo."


"I was to meet a friend, as I said. My part of town, it makes him uncomfortable.” The small restaurant they entered was warm and steamy and had a strong odor of cabbage and sticky sweet sauce. Underneath it all there was still Mago, and Dieter only just caught himself leaning to take another deep whiff. Really, it was not like him to be so careless. "Yeah, friends are like that. You want it to go? You know what you like?" Letting go, reluctantly, Dieter moved toward a seat, carefully feeling his way as if he needed to sit rather desperately. “Well. Have you eaten? Perhaps ... well, no doubt you have. The sweet and sour chicken would do nicely. And if you wish, get something for yourself." A wad of bills accompanied that statement, and Dieter pressed it into Mago's hands. "Oh. Oh, Jesus. Man. You gotta be careful. Shit.” Mago sat him down, voice stunned, sitting across from him as a waitress came up. “You're gonna get mugged. Shit. Uh. Two number sevens and you wan’ a drink?" "Water, please. Bottled, if they have it." The waitress had squeaky shoes and a high, sweet Asian giggle which told him Mago must look as good as he smelled, and she smelled of garlic and bubble gum. "Water and ice tea, yeah? Thanks.” The money was pushed back into his hand. “Take your money, man. I'll buy my own. I ain't bumming off a blind guy." Drawing himself up stiffly, Dieter took the money, tucking it away. “Of course. I apologize." "Oh. Oh, dude. I didn't mean nothing. I mean, you don't know me or nothing and you shouldn't have to buy a guy food for being decent, yeah?” Oh, there was a genuine concern, a rich worry. The difficulty he would have with this one became more and more plain. Mago caused a spark of interest he had not felt in so long as to forget that it existed. It was ... exhilarating. "I am sometimes quick to defense. I simply hate to eat alone and would be happy to share with you." "Well, that's cool. I'm all about meeting new people. Where you from, Dieter? That's German?" "Yes.” Was where he was from even there anymore? Sometimes he had difficulty remembering. “I have only lived here a few years." "Yeah? I've lived here all my life, but Mamma and Poppi come from Chihuahua.” The waitress brought the drinks, the scent of lemon as Mago squeezed it in sharp and sour. "Do you like it?” Terrible, his polite attempts at chatter. Stiff, formal, even to his own ears, Dieter wondered how long it had been since he'd had a conversation. A year? Two? "Here? It's okay. I got my friends, my job. One day I want to go to LA or something, but right now? I'm hanging." Dieter reached for the water, fumbling just enough with the cool glass to make it real. “It is much the


same to me. Does that sound bitter?” He laughed. “Everywhere is noisy and dark." "That's gotta suck, man. You do pretty good, though, yeah? Get around okay?” He could hear Mago's fingers sliding along the chintzy tablecloth. "In familiar surroundings, yes. As you can see, I don't do as well when I am lost. Thank you again, for helping.” The arrival of the food stopped him from reaching out, touching that hand as he wished to. "Do ... Is there anything I can do to uh ... help you? Eating, I mean?" The food smelled good, which surprised him, as usually it made him faintly sick. “If you could just orient me. Tell me what is where." "Okay. Your rice is at the top, the chicken at the bottom, sauce in the bowl in the middle. You got chopsticks and a fork.” Mago's stomach rumbled, making them both chuckle. “I guess I was hungry, yeah?" "It sounds it.” Beaming, Dieter picked up his chopsticks and snagged rice, wanting Mago to eat heartily. The motions of smiling and nodding and eating came easier to him that he would have thought. He was enjoying himself. "Do you work? I paint windows—advertising, you know?" "Really? Is that why your hands have paint on them?” Work. What a foreign concept that was to him now, when once he worked until his fingers bled. "Yeah. I...” Mago's voice trailed off. “Hey! How'd you know?" "I felt it. When you grasped my hand. Dried tempera. I once had a dear friend who was a painter.” That should cover him. It was only part of the truth, but the truth nonetheless. "Wow. Wicked!” Mago's laugh was low, rich, sensual. That laughed worked up his spine, making him gasp, making him want to rip the boy's throat open right there on the cheap plastic table with the ripped vinyl cloth. Dieter clamped his mouth shut, afraid of what might show. Dipping his head, he ate a piece of chicken, grimacing at the soggy, soft bread taste. "Man, you've got to have sensitive fingers. Mine? Are all nicked from the razors." "I no longer work with my hands. I have not been very good at it since...” Trailing off, Dieter shrugged, listening to Mago shift uncomfortably. “Are you a good painter?" "Yeah. Yeah, I am. I mean, I ain't got the training that some guys do, but I got heart and it's what I love, yeah?” The passion in the low voice was audible. Delicious. Edible. "Yes. The best art comes from love.” If he was not mistaken, he had consumed enough of the food to make it real, and Mago was finished. The food would make Mago slower to react, would make the blood harder to draw.


"Yeah.” Mago finished his tea. “Come on, then. You'll miss your bus, and I don't have a car." "Yes. I've kept you long enough.” Mago took his hand when he held it out, helping him up, and Dieter savored the warmth. What a shame it would be to feel cold. They settled the bill, Mago paying half, then helping him to the door. “Thanks for inviting me to eat, man. It was nice." "It was.” Why it should still surprise him to find it so he didn't know, but there it was. All that was left was to pull Mago into the gaping mouth of the alley he felt loom next to them, the breeze of the suddenly open space and the smell of a ripe dumpster giving it away. Dieter was shocked to find that he could not do it. “Perhaps we will meet and do it again sometime." "Sure. I got a business card with raised up letters. Would that work for you? You could let me know if you're in my part of town again.” A cheap card was pressed into his hand. “Oh, the name on there's Javier. That's me. Not as cool as Mago, but business, yeah?" "One must be serious for business, indeed.” He hoped Mago was sharing his smile and not offended by it. He took the card, feeling the thin stock and raised print. “This will do just fine." Pulling a thin silver case from his pocket, Dieter returned the favor, handing over a thick vellum card with what he was told was gold script with his name and number. “And you must call me if you have the urge." "Oh, wow. That's a great card.” They made it to the bus station, the smell of fuel and oil strong. “Do you need me to stay?" "No, no. I can get there from here. Thank you so much.” He took Mago's strong hand in his and squeezed, enjoying the last bit of contact, letting the scent settle into him. He would be able to find Mago anywhere now. "Okay. Goodnight, Guapo. Safe journey. Call me, we'll have lunch. I'm painting a Wendy's later this week and they'll feed us for free!" Bemused, Dieter felt the air move warmly as Mago left, making him wonder at himself. Really, it wasn't at all like him to play with his food. **** Mago wandered along ritzy streets, looking in windows of frou-frou shops, and trying to come up with a reason to dial the number on the card and call Dieter. The dude was ... haunting. It was creepy, really. The dude was fine—long, silvery hair, great skin, muy Guapo—but he wasn't the out of the closet, moon around for fine guys type. That sorta shit got your ass kicked. Hard. Still, he was uptown in his best jeans, wasn't he? Looking for a reason to talk to the dude.


Mago shook his head. Looking for a reason to talk to the uptown Guapoblind dude. Shit. He was still fingering the fancy embossed card and thinking when he thought he caught a glimpse up ahead of long hair, bright in streetlights, and heard the tap, tap of a cane. No way. Fucking A. Mago moved up a little closer, waiting for the man to walk near a lamp post. “Hey, Guapo. You looking for the bus stop again?" Dieter, because it really was Dieter, stopped immediately, turning toward the sound of his voice. "Mago! Wonderful. I was just thinking about having some dinner. Now I shall not have to eat alone." Oh, cool. The guy remembered him—just by his voice, too. Too cool. He reached out, shook Dieter's hand. “I could do dinner, sure. How you been, Guapo? I worried about you getting home safe, glad to see you did." "Oh, yes, thanks to my stalwart rescuer.” A small smile creased Dieter's cheeks, and the man held onto his hand for a few moments, the skin cool and dry. "Yeah, well, it was my ... uh ... pleasure.” He was blushing, getting a little hard. Maybe the fact the dude was blind wasn't all bad. “Where were you thinking about eating?" "I was thinking about getting something on the way home, maybe Thai food, and eating there." The cane got folded up, Dieter turning a bit more and pulling him close to tuck one hand through the crook of his arm. “Is that too forward? To ask you to come home with me?" "Thai? Is it good?” He gave Dieter's hand a pat. “Where are we going, exactly? And if you don't mind inviting me in, I don't mind coming." "Yes it is, we're going toward Eighteenth, and I certainly would not ask if I minded." They pressed together from shoulder to hip, and if he wasn't losing his mind, Dieter was kinda ... sniffing him. Weird. Sorta sexy, in a way. But weird. "What all have you been doing today? Working hard?"


"Oh, I am afraid I was a man of leisure today. I slept in." They stopped, Dieter pulling him to a halt and sniffing the air before pointing. “The restaurant should be just over there. Do you see it?" "The Noodle House? Yeah. Neat dragon on the sign.” He pushed the button on the light pole, waiting for the walk signal. Jaywalking with a blind dude? Probably not cool. “Sleeping in sounds good. I painted a car dealership today." "Really? What did you paint?” Those fingers tucked into his elbow started moving, stroking him lightly. "Goofy sixties flowers, smiley faces, paisleys. They're having a VW bug sale.” Good money, too, and the painting was inside and the head guy owned eighteen lots—damned near fulltime work. "Oh my. Well, so long as it pays the bills, I suppose.” The light changed, the little chirping sound for the blind starting, and Dieter began to walk. He wasn't sure who was leading who. “You don't smell like paint." "I took a shower.” He blushed again. Of course, he'd had to use Mama's rose soap, so he probably smelled like a chica. "You smell like flowers.” Dieter turned a smile on him again, and though he couldn't see the eyes behind the glasses, he could tell it was the real thing. “But it does not overpower." "Oh, good. I'd hate for you to gag ‘cause I smelled like an old lady. Watch your step.” They stepped up onto the curb and headed for the restaurant. "Thank you. And you could never smell like an old woman. You are ... spice. Musk. It is most enticing." "Oh.” He blushed all over, prick goingsproing . Damn. “Thank you." "You are welcome.” They managed to get inside without him tripping them up, even with the tented pants. He swore Dieter moved closer, hip and thigh rubbing against his, that sniffing thing happening again, but it could have just been because of the good smells of the food. "Uh, do you know what's good here?” The food was named stuff that didn't make any sense. Pad this and curry that. "The Pad Thai is good if you like noodles. The spring rolls are excellent. And they have a coconut shrimp that I particularly like. Shall I simply order for us? Is there anything you will not eat?" "Nope. I'm not picky. At least I don't think I am.” He grinned, hoping Dieter could hear it. "Excellent.” Dieter ordered, speaking quickly with the young woman across the counter, calling her by name. He ordered the Pad stuff, and the shrimp, and some roll things and some kind of banana dessert in coconut milk’ to go. Mago pulled out a twenty and pressed it into Dieter's hand. “There's my share. Can I get an ice tea to go, too, please?" Dieter didn't say a word about the money, simply tucked it away, and they got drinks and went to sit


down to wait for their food. Dieter slid into the booth beside him, rather than across from him, arm brushing his just like before. Keeping contact. It was arousing, aggravating because his stupid body kept responding, kept tingling and shit. Weird. “Man, winter's going to be here soon. The daylight sure is fading quick now." "Yes. I confess, I find winter rather comforting. Maybe it is because I cannot see the light, only feel it, so the dark suits me." Man, any other guy got as close to him as this and he'd get twitchy, at least in public, but Dieter just seemed ... natural. "Well, Guapo, with your coloring? Your hair? Youglow in the night. I'd love to paint you." Paint him naked, spread out on a black velvet cloth, hair shining... Shit. Down boy. "Really? Oh, that would be lovely. I fear I do not photograph well. I turn stiff and formal. Sitting for portraits is much more my thing.” Long, white fingers just touched his leg, above his knee. He shivered, breath catching, and damn, this was just never going to work. He'd die of blue balls by the end of supper. Dieter's fingers clenched for just a moment, then disappeared as the man moved away an inch or two, right in time for the food to arrive. “Shall we?" "Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure. I ... Uh. Lemme hit the bathroom and I'll be right out.” He shot down the aisle and into the stall, one hand in his mouth to keep him quiet, the other pumping his cock hard and fast. When he was done, and not panting anymore, he went back out to find Dieter waiting for him, frowning in the direction he'd disappeared. The frown cleared when he reached Dieter. “Are you all right?" "Yep. Just needed to take care of business.” He took the bag of food in one hand and put Dieter's hand in the curve of his elbow. “Where to?" "Not far. We go out to the right.” That little smile was back, and he wondered if he still smelled like roses. It wasn't far to Dieter's place at all. About four and a half blocks, and whatever the guy did it must be okay, because there was a doorman and everything. "Wow. Pretty place. What floor do you live on? In? Whatever." "Eight.” Swank. Elevators, cushy carpet, and the door to Dieter's apartment was all carved wood. That was really smart, because none of the rest of them were that way, so Dieter could feel that he was home. "Cool.” No one would fucking believe this; Thai food in a swank-assed apartment uptown. Wow.


"Welcome to my home.” The words were oddly formal, Dieter opening up and leading the way into a sweet apartment, full of really cool shit. Chrome and glass mixed with antiques, African art and fine cut glass shared space. The one thing it all had in common was texture. It was all touchable. "Oh, man. It's beautiful...” He looked, blinking and trying to take it all in. Man, he needed a sketch pad. Maybe the napkin from the food... "Thank you.” Dieter patted his arm. “Do you mind if I take my glasses off?" "Mind? Why? It's your house, Guapo.” He put the bags on the table, started taking the boxes of food out. "It unnerves some people.” Those eyes were silvery blue. They went with the hair and the skin so well that his fingers itched to paint them. “Oh, that smells good. Thank you for coming with me." "Thanks for inviting me.” Those eyes were fascinating, beautiful. Bright. Wow. The food was really good, full of light layers of flavor, and the company was good too, mostly quiet, but not uncomfortable. Relaxed and full, Mago let his eyes wander through the rooms, admiring the colors and shapes. The lamp light was soft, golden, filling the room with a glow. The windows were covered in heavy curtains, the fabric textured and dark. The colors were rich, deep, and Dieter contrasted with them sharply, standing out like a ghost. “Would you like to have dessert on the couch? I could make coffee." "Oh, that would be cool. You need help?” He was going to have to watch the time. The busses would stop running when it got late. "Oh, if you could just take the bananas over to the coffee table, I can manage." The cupboards were pretty bare when Dieter opened them to get coffee and filters, but if the guy ate out as much as it seemed, then that was probably easiest. Mago settled on the couch, bouncing a little, enjoying the softness, the cushion. “Love your sofa, man. It's softer than my bed." Water ran, and the smell of coffee came to him as Dieter opened the can. “Oh, yes. I love soft things. Of course I love fuzzy things and rough things and smooth things as well. Texture is important to me." "Yeah, I imagine.” He closed his eyes and ran his hands over the fabric on the sofa, feeling the seams, the cloth. "It's nice that you can appreciate it as well.” Shit, Dieter was right there next to him and he hadn't heard a thing. "Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun. I was just...” Feeling? Well that would sound stupid as fuck. "I did not think you were.” The couch dipped as Dieter sat next to him, hand coming up to touch his


face. “You're a very sensual person, Mago. It pleases me very much." "Oh.” He almost pushed into the touch, then almost pulled away. “Is ... is that how you see what I look like?" He'd seen that in a movie once. "Yes. Terribly rude of me to touch without asking, but I could not seem to help it. May I see all of your face?" "Okay. Yeah.” He wiped the end of his nose quick, then his lips, making sure there wasn't oil or grossness or something. "Thank you.” Still cool and dry, though now smelling of coffee, Dieter's fingers worked down from his forehead to his eyes, his cheeks and nose, finally tracing his lips and chin. The exploration was thorough, and just when he though Dieter would pull away, the very tips of Dieter's fingers touched his lips again. "So soft." His lips parted instinctively, a gasp leaving him. Yeah. Soft. Except, not really. Not where it counted. "There is another way to see you, for me at least. That is to taste you. I want that very much, Mago." Oh, God. Yeah. So very fucking not soft. "I can handle that.” Would have been smoother without the moan, but it worked. "Oh, good.” Then Dieter's lips replaced his fingers, closing over his, kissing him lightly, then deeper, hand cupping the back of his head. Oh. Wow. He moaned, lips opening up, hands sliding over Dieter's arms. They moved without him even knowing it, not until his back hit the couch anyway, and Dieter's weight came down on him, the kiss going really hard and deep. His heart started pounding, hammering in his chest and he fought to keep up, to match Dieter's hunger. As if sensing his struggle, Dieter backed off a bit, licking at his lips and letting him breathe. “If I go too fast, you must tell me." "Oh. Okay. Yeah. That ... that was ... Wow.” He reached up, fingers sliding in the soft, shiny hair. "Yes. Very much wow.” They kissed again, Dieter's hair falling loose around them, soft, cool lips pressing his mouth open so Dieter's tongue could push in. Moaning, he let Dieter in, tongue sliding against Dieter's, eyes closing as he sank into the kiss. It just went on and on, finally breaking again for air, though he seemed to be more out of breath than Dieter. "Oh, Mago. You're quite dangerous." "Dangerous? Me? No. Just an artist.” He was panting, fingers petting the long hair, stroking Dieter's cheeks and forehead.


"To my peace of mind, you are dangerous. I want you far too much.” Dieter bent to his neck, nuzzling the pulse that beat in his throat. Oh ... He arched, humming low, tingles sliding over his skin, nipples drawing up tight. "You smell ... oh, Mago. I can smell you.” Licking at his skin, Dieter tested his heartbeat, tongue pushing. "Guapo...” He was flying, petting, purring. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so fucking turned on. "Oh, Mago.” They were moving together, Dieter on top of him, and he could feel Dieter as well, could tell he was not alone in it by the hardness against his thigh. "Oh. Hard.” He pressed his leg against that heat, offering Dieter friction. Oh, shit. His belly was shaking, trembling. "Yes. Hard for you. Thinking about you this last week has made me hard every time.” Sharp teeth stung him, Dieter biting lightly at his throat, hands sliding down to pull at his hips, bringing him close. He whimpered, gasping. “Yes. Dr ... dreamed about you.” The admission made him blush dark, made him turn his lips to Dieter's hair, silencing them. "Good.” The word was more moan than anything, and Dieter was kissing him again, moving against him hard and fast, not letting him hide at all. If he hadn't jacked off earlier, he'd be creaming. As it was, his cock was aching, pushing against the zipper of his jeans, leaking against his skin. "Mmm.” That sniffing thing was making him crazy, because it shouldn't be hot, but it was. Dieter just breathed him in, nose moving along his skin as Dieter's hands began freeing him from his clothes. He returned the favor, fingers working at buttons and zippers, finding cool, smooth skin and stroking it. "Yes. Yes, please.” Dieter spread him, fitting between his legs easily, their cocks coming together once they were free of wool and denim. Mago wrapped his fingers around Dieter's hip, thumb stroking the long, hard prick. “Yeah. Damn. Feels good." "It does. I ... Mago.” Damn. The man had the smoothest skin he'd ever felt, like glass. Those teeth weren't smooth, though, they were sharp as Hell against his nipples. "Oh. Oh, I...” His fingers tightened, the flash of pain smoothing into a bright pleasure. “Damn." "Mmm. You taste like you smell. Spicy. Male.” Licking, Dieter worked down his belly, chin nudging his cock. “Hot. So hot." "Oh. You. Fuck...” He whimpered, thighs spreading wide, eyes fastened onto Dieter's mouth. Dieter took his invitation, lips and tongue sliding down over him, wet and smooth. He was tasted


thoroughly, Dieter's tongue pushing into the slit, gathering up all of his wetness. Then Dieter sucked him in deep, deeper than anyone ever had before, pulling him all the way into Dieter's throat. He gasped, twisted, head rolling as pleasure took him. God, it was going to make him crazy. That sweet mouth kept at him, tongue working the vein underneath, lips sliding all the way up to the head before pushing back down, leaving nothing untouched. He was making noises, low and harsh—almost cries of pain except not, because madre di dios, it was good. So good. Better than anything. When Dieter touched his balls, lightly, carefully, pleasure shot up his spine and exploded in his brain. Dieter made some noises then, too, enthusiastic ones. Encouraging ones. He came hard enough he saw stars, bright and swirling behind his eyelids. Moaning, Dieter licked him clean, sliding to nuzzle his balls, the thin skin of his inner thighs, and there were those teeth again, sharp, bright pain stinging his leg. He moaned, shivering and spreading wide. “Dios." That deep, rumbling sound had to be coming from Dieter, but it sounded so hot. It resonated in him. Damn. Dieter had bitten him, like hard, and was licking at it, and that should bother him, right? His thigh throbbed, toes curling up, and he could hear his heart pounding, cock slowly filling again. One last lick and Dieter rose, moving up over him again, kissing him hard so he tasted himself, come and blood mixed together. “Thank you, Mago." "I ... For what? You didn't ... you know. Yet.” He brushed his fingers through Dieter's hair. “Guapo." "That can wait. Tasting you could not. It is better than seeing, though I wish I could see you, Mago. You're beautiful." He blushed, shook his head. “Just a guy. You though? I could paint you." "I would like that very much.” Those fingers were still moving on him, finding his cock and playing it, sensitive though it was. He whimpered softly, hips shifting. “Oh, I will. I'd love to—your eyes, your hair, so ... Oh, that feels good." "Your eyes must be brown, yes? I see them as very dark.” Dieter touched him, learned him, voice low and deep, blind eyes seeming to search him. "Yeah. I'm all dark—hair and eyes and skin. Little chico boy." "Oh.” Rubbing against him, Dieter nodded, hands working on him, hard cock against his hip. “How we must look together." "We look fine.” He stared pumping Dieter's cock, wanting to give as much pleasure as he got. “Feel


even better." "Yes. You feel very good, Mago. Taste incredible. I did not hurt you, did I?” The guy could talk, even when he would be way too out of breath to form words. "Stung a little. You got sharp teeth, Guapo, but it's all good." "Mmm. Yes. Good.” Dieter's hand moved in time with his own, faster and faster, Dieter's hips bucking up so Dieter's long cock pushed against him, making them both moan. He was burning, licking and kissing and rubbing and moving. Loving it. No way could he be so close to coming again so soon, but he was, just ready to go as soon as Dieter did. And man, Dieter did, a low, animal sound coming from him, needle-like teeth sinking into his shoulder as Dieter's come filled his hand. "Guapo!” Mago jerked, eyes wide, shooting again as his shoulder burned. It took him forever to come down, and when he did Dieter was murmuring to him, petting him, lips and tongue still moving on his bruised skin. "So beautiful, Mago." "Oh. Shit. Man. You melted me.” He nuzzled, hummed. “Just melted me." "Good.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in the single word, and Dieter wrapped around him, holding him close. "Don't let me stay too late, now. The busses stop running at eleven.” God, he was warm. Relaxed. Melted. "It is almost midnight now." Fuck. What the Hell had happened to all that time? When he stiffened, Dieter soothed him, hand stroking his hair, his back. “Stay." "You sure? ‘Cause yeah, I'd like that. I'll take you to breakfast." "Yes. I am sure. I want you to stay.” They curled together, Dieter covering him with that smooth, cool body. He wrapped his arms around Dieter's body, purring and happy. “Cool. Way cool." He didn't know what it was about this guy that made him do stuff he wouldn't normally even think of, but he did. Dieter pulled him even closer, nuzzling into his neck, and he decided he didn't really care. At least not tonight. **** Dieter smoothed his lapels, and briefly wished he had a mirror he might check. He was unaccustomed to such things, having long ago accepted his lack of sight, just as he accepted the fact that his body knew when the sun went down.


Mago was coming tonight, however, and Dieter was going to take him out to dinner—not with friends, Mago was not ready for that yet. But Dieter would still get to show Mago off, listen to the whispers that accompanied them, smell how others wanted Mago. He could hardly wait. Wait he would, though, for Mago to come to him. It was hard for Mago to accept things, especially when they involved money, and though Dieter had received an affirmative on his invitation, he was not sure Mago would come. He was late already. Dieter found his cane, knowing if he was to go out in public he would need the ruse, and it gave his hands something to do as he sat. And waited. He heard the sound of Mago's feet outside, then the tapping at the door, Mago breathing hard, panting. “Guapo? Am I too late? The bus broke down and I had to walk from 38th." Dieter stood, quickly opening the door, holding out a hand to Mago as it swung open. “Oh, you should have called. I could have paid for a cab." "Oh, you waited!” He could smell the heat pouring off Mago, the hot hand sliding into his. “Don't you look fine, man? Let me wash my face real quick and I'll be ready." "There's no rush. We do not need a reservation where we're going.” Dieter breathed deeply, taking in male sweat mixed with Mago's own unique spicy scent. If he was not careful, he would be unfit to go out. He made sure the door closed and latched before using Mago's hand to pull him close. “You might also greet me first." "Oh. Hey, man. Good to see you.” Mago pushed up, lips sliding against his own. Yes. Dieter licked at Mago's lips before sliding his tongue in between them, pushing in to taste. He stroked Mago's throat, feeling sweat and grit before stroking down Mago's arm, feeling the stiff fabric of what was probably Mago's one good jacket. "You make a fine appetizer, Mago." "Better than fried cheese?” Mago's laughter smelled sweet. "Oh, yes. While fried cheese has its fine qualities, you are much more substantial. And tasty.” Dieter smiled, kissing the fine skin just over Mago's throat, just where his pulse beat. "Oh. Oh, you make me sound all sexy and shit.” Mago swallowed, throat moving under his lips, fingers sliding over his hair. "You are, make no mistake.” His rising need proved that quite well. Honestly, the way Mago aroused him was astonishing. Dieter could not remember such a fascination, not in years. He took one of Mago's hands in his, bringing it between them to the front of his gabardine slacks. "You see?" "Oh...” That hot hand began moving, rubbing, stroking him. “Oh, that's fine." Fine did not really begin to describe it. Dieter widened his stance, pushing into Mago's hand. “Yes."


"Do you want ... before we go, I mean.” The hunger in Mago's voice slid down his spine. "Yes.” There was a whole world of yes there. They could clean up together before they went. Dieter kissed Mago again, teeth prickling that lovely lower lip, hips rolling against Mago's touch. Mago opened wide, fingers working his slacks open, searching for his skin. The feel of Mago's fingers was unbearably rough, hot, making him moan. By contrast, the skin of Mago's neck and cheek was soft, sweet, the smooth, close shave he'd obviously given himself making it seem almost babyish. "Oh. Guapo. Man, you feel so hot.” Mago arched, chin lifting, offering more skin to him. "No. Oh, Mago, you are the hot one. You burn. I do not need my eyes to see it. I must only feel.” Dieter pulled at Mago's jacket and shirt, wanting more skin, feeling what he could touch with his lips give under the press of his teeth. Mago's fingers wrapped around his cock, sliding the skin over the nerves beneath, sending sparks through him. One of his own hands finally worked beneath Mago's clothes, sliding up Mago's back, feeling each rib of spine, pulling Mago still closer. The other wrapped around Mago's neck, holding him still for his teeth to slide into the flesh. "Oh...” Mago gasped, went still and trembling in his arms, fingers squeezing his prick. Oh. The finest aperitif there was. Dieter sipped delicately, pulling at Mago's essence, his cock throbbing in Mago's hand as he spent. "Dieter.” His name was whispered, moaned, the sound shaped by desire. "What do you want, Mago?” Licking at the bruise he'd left, Dieter petted, stroked, breathing in Mago's scent mixed with his own. "Touch me. Oh, man. You're gonna make me mess my good pants, Guapo." "No. No, I am not.” Feeling his way, Dieter sank to his knees, opening Mago's trousers and nuzzling his face into the gap, searching. "Dieter!” Mago's hands found his hair, hips rubbing against his face. The richness of Mago's scent intensified here, earthy and dark, and Dieter found Mago's cock with one hand, pulling it out so his lips might slide over the head. The taste mixed with Mago's blood in his mouth, causing him to moan, to rock. Sounds poured down over him, sweet and needy, almost hymns of need and lust. He loved those sounds, loved the feel of Mago's muscles flexing under his hand. He pushed down with his lips, sucking hard, teeth just threatening. Mago jerked, taking his mouth, crying out, his name echoing. So good. So utterly perfect. Dieter took in the cry as he took everything else, licking Mago's flesh,


practically purring. "Gonna. Soon. I ... Please.” The sharp, accented words heralded the throb of Mago's cock, the wail as his mouth was filled. So like blood. Like life. Dieter drank it down, petting and soothing, holding Mago as he sagged. "I ... You ... We ... It's good, Guapo. So good." "It's very good, Mago." Dieter rose, pulling up both of their pairs of pants, walking them unerringly toward the bath. “Very, very good." Mago nodded, following him easily, body relaxed and warm beside him. Dieter smiled. Mago had no idea how good it was. They would go to dinner. He would wine and dine Mago, listen to him laugh. And then, Dieter decided, he would convince Mago to stay overnight. At least. **** "Are you sure everything is as I asked for it?" Dieter's friend Amelie patted his arm, her roses and talc scent falling about them, familiar as his own. “Of course, Dieter. Canvas, paints. Velvet on the chaise. Are you certain I cannot stay?" He smiled, shaking his head slightly, moving her toward the door. “This is a private thing, Amelie. You will meet him soon, I have no doubt." She kissed his cheek, just a soft brush of painted lips, and she was gone, murmuring a goodbye and leaving him alone. Waiting for Mago. He could only hope his preparations would not upset his mercurial magician. Mago may very well be in the wrong frame of mind to paint, but he had said so many times that he wished to that Dieter had finally arranged the scenario. It was partly selfish of course. Just the thought of being nude, stretched out before Mago as his young lover shaped his form on the canvas made him unbearably hard. Restless. Made him ache. The knock at the door gave him no more time to worry, and Dieter opened it eagerly, waiting to hear that much anticipated voice. "Hola, Guapo!” Mago sounded happy, horny, heat pressing into his arms. "Mmm. Hello, Mago.” Oh, how he loved that spicy scent, the sharp need that rose in him to taste and feel. Mago kissed him, long and hard, the pleasure and arousal maddening. Hands stroked through his hair, admiring, loving him. The wonder of it hit him, as it did every time. This was his prey, his target, something weak and fragile in his hands, and yet he could not get enough. There was no way he could harm Mago. “Come in, Mago. I


have a surprise for you." "Yeah? Wicked!” Mago slid one arm around his waist, pressed close. “I found something for you, too." "Really?” Dieter turned them back in, trusting Mago to close the door, and led him carefully into the main room. “Look." "Oh. Oh. Oh, man. You're going to ... I can ... Oh, Guapo,look !” Mago's voice was ecstatic, rich was pleasure. “Oh, I'm going to paint you..." He could feel Mago's compact body vibrate against him, could hear the absolutely happy thump of Mago's heart, and he smiled, turning for another kiss. “I was hoping you'd like it. I got you acrylics and oils, because I didn't know..." "You spoil me.” Mago's hand drew him closer, the kiss deep as still water. “Can we start now?" "Of course we may.” The kiss disoriented him, heated his mouth with the warmth of the blood under Mago's skin. Dieter laughed. “You will have to show me where Amelie moved the chaise. She is so anxious to meet you." "Is she? Let's get you undressed first. The velvet will feel fucking sweet on your skin.” Fingers worked his blouse open, fingertips teasing his skin. "Oh, yes. She wanted to stay and watch you work, but I thought that might ruin the mood.” Arms dropping to his sides, Dieter stood and let Mago disrobe him, let the cool air hitting his skin make him shiver even as Mago's hands heated him. "Mmm ... This will be good just us, yeah? So that we can rub together after?” Mago knelt, working his pants off. "Yes.” That sounded divine, rubbing against Mago, rich velvet against his backside. “I thought about that when I sent Amelie for the fabric. You'll have to feel it." The tip of his cock was kissed, just the barest caress before Mago stood. “Yeah. Let's get you posed." The muscles in his thighs shook for a moment before settling, and Dieter nodded, reaching out. “Help me?" "Always.” Mago let him to the chaise, eased him down onto the soft fabric, fingers arranging him, carding through his hair. He felt decadent, spread out on the sumptuous velvet, legs spread just so, hair fanned around him. Powerful. Hard. “Oh..." "So beautiful. You make me hard.” A finger trailed along his shaft, his inner thigh. “I'm going to paint you. Tell me a story, Guapo, while I work." "Mmm.” His hips arched, rolled, reaching for the touch even as Mago moved away and began to arrange things, if the clink of jars and brushes could be trusted. “What sort of story, my own? Shall I tell you about the last artist I knew?"


"Oh, yeah. I'd like that.” He could hear the whump of Mago's clothes hitting the ground, the scent of Mago's skin growing stronger. Dieter breathed deep, letting the scent feed his hunger, letting it mix with the paint Mago opened. Oh, good. He would use oils. "He was Italian. By all accounts he was an awful portraitist, but as I never saw his paintings, I did not care. He always smelled of rosemary and oregano." Mago chuckled, the sound happy and rich as sweetened cream. “He smelled like lunch?" "He was an appetizing morsel.” How could he not join in that laughter? “Very hot-blooded. He insisted that I sit for him. It was not until I encouraged him weeks later, though, that he thought to paint me nude. Not like you. You knew the first time we saw each other how you wanted me." "I did. You're beautiful. You glow." Digging his fingers and toes into the velvet, Dieter kept himself from rising and taking Mago to bed through a show of sheer will. “Thank you, love. You bring out the best in me." Mago made a soft needy sound, the noise vibrating. “Tell me about the basil painter." "I sat for him for nearly a month. Then I suggested he paint me without the stiff formal clothing.” Dieter laughed, remembering the eager young man perfectly. “He spent all over the canvas the first day and had to start over." Mago chuckled. “Yeah? I can see that. You're like pure sex and shit, all brought to life." "Oh, Mago, you have no idea what you do to me. You are the sexy one.” So hot, his Mago. He could feel it even over the space separating them. “He tasted like garlic and desperation when I took him." "I think wine and honey sounds better. How long did you sit for him?" "Perhaps another two months. Sadly, they tell me his portrait of me was no better than his others. You are a much better painter, my own.” Amelie had gone and looked at Mago's paintings, and even though those were commercial, she said he had talent. Amelie had a real taste for artists, and for their art, and he trusted her taste. And Mago had that spark about him, one that bespoke talent. "That's a shame, you're so fine with the light in your hair.” The sound of brush on canvas was rhythmic, soothing. “Oh, I found you something. I was in a junk store and found a neat old hairbrush. It's soft and silver and I thought you'd like to feel it." Heat bloomed in his belly, building on the fire already there. “And you say I spoil you.” He shifted minutely, his cock stiff against his lower belly, wet and needy. "Mmm ... I can smell you. I was looking for old canvasses and I saw it, thought about sitting with you on your bed and brushing your hair, touching you." "Yes. What a lovely image. I love when you brush my hair.” The sound of Mago's brush on the canvas was very much like the stroke of a brush through his hair, and the correlation made his scalp tingle.


"It's like silver, but not sharp or itchy...” Mago started humming, working harder. The noises soothed him even as the scent of Mago and paint and his own musk enflamed him. His skin rubbed the velvet, every tiny particle of the nap distinguishable from the other, maddening him. It was torture of the sweetest kind. "You're so fine.” Mago hummed. “I'm painting your legs now, so long, so fine." "I fear we may have to take a break soon.” He had no idea how much time had passed, but it seemed only moments and yet endless. He strained to hear Mago moving, strained to catch every hint of Mago's scent as it changed. Soon he would simply burn up from the sensory overload, without even being touched. “We should try out your gift, too." "Oh, yeah. I'd like that.” Mago stretched, groaning a little. “I'm going to go clean the brushes in the other room. Turpentine stinks." "Very well.” His conscientious Mago. Of course, it was unlikely his Mago had ever had the quality of brushes Amelie would buy for him, so he would want to care for them properly. Dieter stayed where he was, only relaxing the pose, letting one hand fall between his legs. He heard Mago washing and humming, the sound happy, relaxed, aroused. Then those quiet footsteps came closer, soft hands sliding on his legs. “Dieter." "Yes.” He reached for Mago, hands finding hot, hot skin over lean muscle. “Oh, so warm." A burning tongue slid up his stomach, Mago stretching over him. "You were ... oh. Supposed to bring the brush, lovely one.” He could barely think. When was the last time he'd had a lover who affected him so? Soft bristles tickled his hip. “I remembered." "Excellent.” Working up Mago's back and neck, he found the soft curls at the base of Mago's skull, pushing his fingers into them and pulling Mago down for a kiss. Mago opened to him, tongue sliding against his, low moans filling his mouth. They kissed long and deep, Dieter pushing his tongue into Mago's mouth, tasting, savoring. The only thing stopping him from pushing Mago to the floor and taking him was the urge to let Mago use his gift, and Dieter pulled back, both of them shaking. "Oh. Oh, Guapo, you make me need." "Yes.” He felt down again until he found Mago's hand, and the soft-bristled brush in it. “I would feel your gift." "Oh, yeah. You wanna sit up and let me brush?” Mago nuzzled, hair brushing his shoulder. Nodding, taking one last kiss, Dieter sat up, shifting so Mago could sit behind him. He shook out his hair, knowing it would brush Mago's thighs. "Oh...” Mago kissed his shoulder, then the soft bristles started stroking through his hair, slow, steady


motions that set his nerves alight. His whole body tingled with it, and Dieter let himself go and simply felt, leaning back with his hands on Mago's legs. “So good, love." "Love how you feel stuff, Guapo.” Mago was vibrating with quiet moans, fingers carding behind the brush. The brush was soft, so soft, horsehair, no doubt. Mago's skin was fine and smooth under his hands, the tiny hairs prickling his palms. Rich and heady, Mago's musk rose between them, strong and hot. Dieter licked his lips, hips rising as his head fell back. The brush tickled the small of his back, bristles raising goosebumps on his spine. Good. So good. Balancing on one hand, Dieter moved the other between Mago's legs, stroking lightly. "Oh...” Mago spread, thighs trembling against his hips. "Mmm. Keep brushing.” Mago's hand had slowed, and Dieter wanted him to keep on, even as his own hand moved faster. "I ... Yeah. Yeah.” Mago's breath came quick, light upon his shoulder. They moved together, their rhythms matching, Mago brushing as he pulled at Mago's cock. His own prick was hard, so hard, and demanding. He wanted to turn and push Mago down, slide inside him, drink deep from him as they came. But he could wait just a while more. Mago started jerking, started bucking against his touch, little sounds filling the air. That was his cue, that and the pull of the brush at the bottom of his hair, making him wince. Dieter turned, taking the brush, the cool silver warmed by Mago's skin, and dropping it next to the chaise. He pushed Mago back and down, pressing against his shoulders, leaning down for a kiss. Mago arched beneath him, a flame, hands pulling him closer. Hot, soft skin rubbed against him everywhere, his cock pressing into Mago's belly, his nose going to Mago's throat to take in the scent, tongue sliding out over the pulse at the base. The low moan vibrated his lips, Mago gasping his name. Oh, he wanted a taste. And yet he wanted other things as well. Kissing, nipping, Dieter slid his hand down, pressing between Mago's legs again. Mago was hard, heavy, the hot flesh throbbing in his hand. Thumb brushing the tip, Dieter stroked, moaning at the feel, pressing biting kisses against Mago's chin. “Such a feast." "A ... always so hungry, Guapo.” Mago's fingers found his nipples. "Always.” His nipples tightened, drew up under Mago's touch, and Dieter moaned again. He moved from Mago's cock, down to cup the heavy balls. Those thighs spread wider, Mago's hips tilting, offering.


He pressed against the skin behind with his fingertips, his teeth just scraping the skin at Mago's pulse point. “I want all of you, Mago." "Yes. All.” Mago's fingers pinched his nipples, tweaking hard. "Oh.” He wasn't certain that he could wait to prepare Mago, to be inside him, so instead he sat up, straddling Mago's thighs and pushing back to take Mago inside him. "Dieter!” Mago gasped, hands falling to his waist. "Yes. Oh, my Mago.” His. His own. His hands rested on Mago's chest, holding him up as he pushed and pushed, opening to take Mago in all the way. "Yours.” He could feel Mago's heart beating, pounding beneath his hands. He had to taste. Simply had to. The need was a biological imperative, calling to him, making his hips jerk and his cock jump. Dieter bent, needle-like teeth slipping past the defense of Mago's skin, drinking the spice and heat right in. Mago jerked up into him, hands holding his mouth close, offering himself to Dieter without the slightest hesitation. That flavor made him cry out, made him move his hips back and forth to get more sensation, more of what he craved. He would have to let go, soon. Would have to stop drinking. "Love. Dieter.” Mago humped up into him, sending electricity up his spine. Groaning, he pulled back from the deadly kiss, his head falling back as he rode. Necessary. That was what Mago was. He had to have more and more. "Gonna. Come on. Gimme.” Mago's hand slid over his cock, tugging good and hard. Dieter came hard, his teeth bared, his back bending almost to the point of pain. So good. Mago grunted, heat flooding him, that cock throbbing inside him. Gracious, but he loved the feel of this man, the taste. “You've painted me now for sure." "Mmmhmm. You're fine.” Mago smiled against his lips. “Thank you." "You're quite welcome.” Tracing the smile with his tongue, Dieter resisted the urge to take another bite. "Mmm. You gonna let me spend a couple days, Guapo? I don't got a job ‘til Tuesday." "You can spend all the time you want.” Stay here with me and live, he thought, but did not ask. Mago was close to his family. Sweet boy. "Good. I like hanging with you, Guapo. It's good." "I like it, too, Mago. Very much.” So much that he had to fight his urge to drink Mago down, make his


magician like him. It was disconcerting. “We'll have to think of more amusing things to do, hmm? If you stay." "You got ideas, I can tell.” Yes. Yes, indeed. He had many ideas. And he would carry them all out in time. For now he would be content to let Mago come up with a few ideas of his own. He could wait. Time was on his side. **** "Javier. Mijo! Where you going?” Mama came bustling around the bar of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her jeans. “You ain't got no girl out there, do you?" "No, mama. I got plans. Dinner, yeah? Uptown.” He straightened his shirt and headed for the door, fast as he could. Mama'd been squawking since he'd spent three whole days in a row uptown with his Guapo. "Uptown? Again? You ain't doing the drugs, are you? Them things is scary, now." "No, Mama. I ain't.” And if being with Dieter and spending long nights kissing and touching was like one, well, Mama didn't need to know about it. "You be careful with you, yeah? There's scary folks out there." "Mamacita. I'm careful. Promise. I'm just busy, yeah? I'm working hard.” He'd been giving her money, helping. "Si, si. Go on. You be good." He nodded and headed out, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Poor mama. She just wouldn't understand. Not even a bit. He hopped the bus, heading straight uptown to the big buildings and fancy restaurants and long-haired men with hungry lips. Dieter was waiting for him, if the way that door opened right up before he knocked told him anything. Dieter's face turned toward him and that nose twitched before Dieter smiled. "Mago." "Guapo.” He grinned. Damn, the man was fine. “You been missing my ass?" "I have been missing everything about you.” Pulling him inside, Dieter pushed him up against the wall, seeming to need his touch as much as he craved Dieter's. He tangled his hands all in Dieter's hair, making sure not to pull. “Good. Kiss me, man. Then we'll do whatever." Maybe Dieter'd want to order in. Curl up and eat naked. Mmm.


"Mmm. Yes.” Dieter kissed him like a starving man, stealing his breath, tongue pushing right in. Maybe it would be a while before supper. Worked for him. He'd eaten tortillas and eggs anyway. Mago groaned, framing Dieter's face. Sorta ... lifting him, Dieter pushed his legs open, one muscled thigh sliding between his to press up against his cock. The kiss went deep again, almost burning, his lower lip prickling. He couldn't help his groan, whether or not it made him sound girly. A soft smile was pressed against his mouth before Dieter moved on to taste the skin under his chin, at the base of his throat. The touch of Dieter's breath made him shiver, made his fingers curl some, tugging Dieter closer. Those too-sharp-to-be-real teeth scraped over his skin, setting his nerves on fire. That man had a thing with the teeth that he just couldn't believe. His cock went stone-hard and his balls hurt from being so tight. Lord. “Dieter. Guapo. You ... You gonna make me come, yeah? Just like that." "Oh, yes.” Delicate as a needle, those teeth sank into him, right into the meat where his neck met his shoulder, the tingling feeling spreading out like ripples on water. "I...” He shuddered, the weird and what and why part fading right away as his cock bobbed, spunk pouring from him. "So sweet and hot. So spicy. I love the taste of you, Mago. Too much, I imagine.” Dieter was moving against him, hips rolling hard, hands like a vise. "You. You ain't scared of getting sick?” He wasn't a player, but still. Damn. Oh. Oh. "No. You're quite clean. I have no fear. And there is nothing that you will get from me.” Pulling back, Dieter smiled, those eyes no longer hidden behind glasses with him looking like blue mirrors. "Nothing?” He chuckled, lips tracing the line of Dieter's nose. “You sure?' "Well, nothing catching, hmm?” That laugh was wicked, man. Just wicked, Dieter's fingers tracing up his ribs. Mago twisted, laughing hard, the tickling making him crazy. “Oh! Oh, Guapo! Uncle!" "I do not feel avuncular to you at all.” Rocking up again, Dieter reminded him that there was still something rising between them. Something hard as Hell. "A-what?” He reached down, fingers pushing at those slacks so he could get him some. Moving so he could get better access, Dieter chuckled. “Like your uncle." "You ain't nothing like my uncle. He's greasy." "Well, we can't have that, can we? Though grease can have its uses.” Okay, he got that, but it still made him think of Uncle Joe, and that was gross.


He finally got his fingers around Dieter's prick and he started rubbing, up and down and up, working Dieter good and hard. "Good, Mago. Good.” That cock was stiff for him, thick and long and better than supper. "You want me to?” He slid down, kneeling on the floor there, lips parting to take that cock right in. "Yes. Please. Sweet.” Cock pushing at his lips, Dieter shifted, widened his stance. Fucking hot, because it gave Mago a wave of scent, all man, musk, and a hint of citrusy soap. He rolled Dieter's balls with one hand, steadied the man's hip with the other, encouraging him to push in deep. A rough sound, almost a growl came to him, Dieter starting to swing back and forth, pressing deep into his throat. The man could really go for it at times. Good thing it was fucking hot, or it could be sort of scary as hell. Rocking harder and faster, Dieter held his head cupped in one hand and braced the other against the wall, swearing in some guttural language. Mago held on, swallowing and sucking, lights twinkling around him as he gasped for breath. Dieter came in a sudden rush, pressing so deep that Mago had to breathe through his nose and fight to stay upright. It was fucking sexy, seeing Dieter lose control that way. Salt. Bitter. Heat. Good. He managed to swallow it all down, nose buried in Dieter's curls. Stroking his hair, Dieter praised him, bent to kiss him when he pulled off the softening prick. Dieter's kisses were like smoking weed, they made everything fuzzy and tingly and wild. He barely heard Dieter when they separated, but it sounded like the man said, “...an or Greek?" "Huh?” Greek what? "Food.” Laughing, Dieter pulled him up and swung him around, unerringly avoiding furniture. “Italian or Greek?" "Italian.” He didn't know what Greeks ate. Spaghetti was cool, though. "There's a menu hanging on the refrigerator. Amelie left it. Choose whatever you like and dial for me, and we shall order.” Tucking himself away, Dieter made his way to the couch, sprawling out and looking comfy. “I have a robe if you'd like to clean up." "Yeah, I ... I sorta ... Yeah.” He grinned, fingers trailing through Dieter's hair as he walked by. "Oh, no. You definitely. I would have you stay nude after the food comes. I love to feel your skin when I reach for you.” Man, Dieter was on a roll with the demanding shit, but it wasn't bad. Nope. It was good in the freaky kind of way. "Where's that robe, Guapo?” His body was already trying to wake up, pay attention. "On the back of the bathroom door in the bedroom. Amelie tells me it's icy blue. I wish I could see you in it."


Oh. Oh, man. He squeezed those long fingers, nodding. “Shit, man. Me, too, but you make do, huh? You do real good." "I have always been a man of the senses. So it was natural to compensate.” Kissing his fingers, Dieter sent him off with a little push. “Change so I can touch you through silk." "Pushy, pushy. You want spaghetti?” He headed into Dieter's bedroom, washing himself up real good before sliding on the robe. Oh. Soft. "That would be fine. Some bread and salad, as well. If you please.” Guapo could be so formal. "I like bread.” Not as much as he liked that robe. Man. Every step was. Damn. "You like the robe, hmm? I can tell.” That sniffing thing was happening, Dieter scenting the air almost like a wolf with a stiff breeze. Oh. He said stiff. "I ... Uh-huh. It's soft.” It was maddening. Crazy-making. "Yes. Just think, my magician, of how many times I have worn it while thinking of you..." He was never gonna make it to the menu. “Guapo. Man.” He took a step toward that voice, fingers clenching and relaxing. "Do we need another appetizer, love? I could eat you up.” Dieter's cheeks had heated, and one hand reached out to him again, beckoning. "You get me hot, man.” He went, like there was a line from his prick to Dieter's hand, tugging good and hard. "And you make me hungry. So hungry, Mago. I have rarely been unable to resist my desires. You are a fine exception.” Catching him, Dieter reeled him in, hands sliding over the silk covering his thighs. "I ... Uhn.” He spread a little, bracing himself on Dieter's shoulders. "Smell so good.” Parting the silk a little, Dieter leaned down to nip at the tender inside of his thigh, sending sensation zinging up his spine. "Always biting.” He had the oddest little marks, bruises where Dieter broke the skin. "I'm a little oral." Man, no shit. A little didn't cover it, not the way Dieter was mouthing him.


"Uh-huh. ‘sokay. I like it.” In a serious way. In a serious, stay a couple nights to play way. "Oh, good.” A sharp sting had him jumping, that little flash of teeth enough to make his cock push up and out of the robe. His knees buckled and he ended up straddling Dieter's thighs, cock nudging the flat belly. "Hello, love.” Laughing, Dieter gripped his ass, pulling him closer so they could rub. “Oh, that feels marvelous. It will feel even better when I am bare." "Mmmhmm.” He opened Dieter's shirt, pushed it off Guapo's shoulders. “You hungry right now or you wanna wait to eat?" "I want you more than food.” Those hands were everywhere, slipping beneath the robe to touch his chest, fingers pinching his nipples. "Bueno. Bueno. Damn, Guapo. You just ... Damn.” He watched the way the silk moved, the way his cock bobbed as Dieter pinched again. "What? Tell me? I need to hear ... since I cannot see.” For a guy who couldn't see, Dieter found his cock pretty easy though, pulling at it. "It feels so good. So...” He searched for the words, hands just flying. “Big, yeah? Real big." "Indeed.” Shit, now Guapo was laughing at him, giving him a squeeze. But it wasn't mean or anything. It was hot, a little breathless, Dieter's body moving under him. "I ain't real smart, huh? Not with words.” With other things, sure, but not with words. "Stop. I was only teasing.” Those pretty hands, one so warm from touching his cock, framed his cheeks. “You are an amazing man. Truly. If you were not...” Something flashed across that face, something like a fighting dog just out of the pit. He shivered a little, reaching out himself and stroking under those pretty eyes. “Easy, Guapo. Easy." Now Dieter was all puppy, rubbing against his hand, one cheek turning right into his palm while Dieter hummed. “I like you just as you are." "Good, ‘cause I'm right here.” He leaned in for a kiss, groaning as his cock rubbed against Dieter's belly. Dieter took that kiss and made it huge, just like before by the door, made it deep and hard. He went all swimmy-headed from it. He felt like he was falling, chest working for breath, cock just swelling and throbbing. Dieter reached down for his cock again, pumping it, making him wonder how many times he could come in night. "Guapo...” He arched his back, pushing close and rubbing. He just. Lord. "Love. Sweet. You feel so good. Smell so good. I could touch you forever.” He couldn't last forever,


but that sounded so fucking hot. He tilted Dieter's face, licking at those parted lips. “Good. So good." "Mmm. I'm glad. I want to taste you again.” Lips sliding down his throat, Dieter rubbed over the spot he'd bitten earlier, sending a shiver through him. "You...” It twinged, ached, but made him so hard that he sort of shook. “Tender there." "Is it?” Just the air and the damp brush of Dieter's lips had his balls pulling up and flushing so warm he'd bet they were even warming Dieter's cool skin. "Uh. Uh-huh.” His head fell back, eyes rolling a little. "Just one more tiny taste,” Dieter murmured, licking at him before biting, and oh. Oh, God that made every nerve ending in his body scream. He shot hard, cock pulsing in time with the rhythmic suction at his throat. The world got distant and foggy and he moaned, holding onto Dieter as he floated. "Shhh. I have you, Mago. I took too much ... Oh, sweet, you are my opium.” Nuzzling his throat, Dieter eased him down on the couch so he was on his back, then opened the robe and licked him clean, balls to belly. “We'll have to order you the beefsteak Florentine." Oh. He liked steak. Steak and carne asada and enchiladas and... Yeah. Yeah, he might need to get the steak. **** The dawn was pushing him. Dieter could tolerate sun, that was not the problem. In small amounts. No, it was his utter terror of it that had him pushing Mago along, trying to get them inside his building before the dawn that had broken made its way through the buildings and found him. He'd been foolish enough to face the sun full on only once since his making, and that had cost him dearly. His skin had recovered, becoming smoother, more like polished stone. His eyes, though ... Well. He had never regained his sight, and that was not worth the beauty people found in his sightless gaze. They were so close. He could feel the shadow of his building, as familiar as the steps to his home in Bavaria had once been. He tugged at Mago's arm. “Faster, love. I fear I overindulged, staying out until dawn with you." "You gonna be sick, Guapo? Come on, we're almost there, love.” Mago tugged him along, footsteps speeding. "I just need to get inside." His hand was on the door when it hit him, a scent so strong that it stopped him in his tracks. Old sweat,


fear, and a healthy dose of rage, somewhere off to the side. “Mago?" "Huh? I...” Mago went stiff and still. “You go inside, now. Your door's right here." "Mago, what is it?” He kept his grip on Mago's arm, his fingers digging in. “Come with me." The air moved, and Dieter knew someone else was there, not just passing by, but moving in on them. "He'll hurt you. You get in there. Now.” The words were whispered, hissed, and then Mago's voice got loud. “Don't you do it, hombre. You chickenshit enough to go at a blind dude? You come on, fight me." "You think I won't, little fuck?" No. No, he couldn't let that happen. Mago would lose. Dieter smelled the desperation, heard the way the man's voice grated. “Does he have a gun?" "Yeah, you rich fuck. I have a fucking gun." "Leave him alone, puta.” Mago moved away from him, the sound of flesh hitting flesh sudden and loud. The sun broke free just then, beating down on him, the early morning rays weaker than late day, but still enough that Dieter could feel his blood boil. “Mago!" He had to help Mago. "Go, Guapo. I ain't joking." He heard the click before the bang, the scent of gunpowder sharp and acrid in his nose, almost covering the scent of Mago's blood. His forehead and hands were blistering as he reached for Mago, but Dieter didn't run. Mago was his.His . No one was taking him away. Mago landed hard in his hands, the sound of footsteps running echoing in his ears. “Dieter. Guapo. I...” Mago coughed, the sound wet and bubbly. "No.” Oh, no. He felt along Mago's body with one hand, searching his torso, looking for ... there. Right where the right lung would be. The smell of burning flesh assaulted him, mixing with Mago's blood, and if he were still human he would have gagged. Instead he howled his rage and fear, pulling Mago back toward the building, knowing no one was there to help because there were no voices, no running feet. "You're burning. Sun's bad for you.” Mago coughed and blood splashed on his hand. “We're at the door." "Inside.” They had to get inside. Dieter fumbled for the stupid keypad that protected his building from just such men as the one who had done this, his fingers slick, blistered, thick with pain. The door beeped, and Dieter dragged Mago inside, easing him down on the steps. "I have to call. I have to ... someone must come."


"Yeah.” Another cough and another splash of blood sprayed over him. “Stay outta the sun, Guapo." "I will. I...” There was no security man before the people started to their work. He had chosen a building without one so no one would notice if he came and went. There was no desk, no lobby phone. Cursing his choices now, Dieter scooped Mago up again and eschewed the elevator. Even counting the steps he could move faster than that thing. Mago rested heavy against him, muttering in broken Spanish about love and light and random words beyond Dieter's knowledge. His Latin had never been strong. He was briefly disoriented when he reached his floor. “Mago. Mago, love, I need your eyes. I need you to find my number." "Tu nombre?” Mago's head rolled. “Down hall, yeah? Three doors is yours." "Yes, yes, all right. Count for me, Mago. Be my magician.” He needed to hear Mago's voice, to know he was still there. "Uno. Dos. Es muy frio, Guapo, si?" Was that ‘cold'? He thought it was. Oh, please just let him get to the phone. “Here, yes? Here.” He had to hold Mago with one hand to tear the door open and stumble through, hitting the coffee table hard on his way to the couch. Mago went tumbling from his hands, landing on the floor with a dull, wet thud. Going to his knees, Dieter reached out, the smell of blood maddening him, the blisters on his hands breaking, running. He sobbed, feeling blood bubble from the hole in Mago's skin. Too much blood. The ambulance would never make it in time. "Mago..." "Shh. ‘s okay, Guapo. It's cool.” The words had no breath behind them, Mago's skin growing cool beside him. "No. No.” This was not how it was to go. He was to decide when Mago went; he was to decide whether to feast on him or make Mago like he was himself. He pressed his hand to the wound. “Stay." The wound sucked at his palm, Mago gasping, getting a breath. Cursing viciously, Dieter made his decision. He did not want to be without the one man who had intrigued him in more than a decade. He bent, his knees slipping in the blood on the floor, and he whispered in Mago's ear. "Don't hate me, love." Then he sank his fangs into Mago's throat. ****


Itched. He itched. Burned. Mago shook his head, groaning, struggling to open his eyes. Wake up. See. Something. He. The lamp light hit his eyes and he screamed, the brightness spiking into his head. "Shhh. Close your eyes. I forgot...” Guapo. He knew that voice. It echoed in his bones. "Dieter.” His own voice sounded hollow. Wrong. Echoing inside his head. “Guapo." He itched, arm scrubbing his eyes where they hurt from the light. "I know, love. You're aching, yes? Burning.” Dieter stroked his belly, hand on his bare skin, and it eased him somehow, like they were connected by that invisible string. "Burning. I got hurt, Guapo. Real bad.” Dieter hadn't seen. The bastard outside had shot him. Shot him right in the chest. "I know, love. I had to do some rather, er, extreme first aid.” Something clicked and the relentless orange glow let up on his eyelids. "Are we at the hospital?” It didn't smell like the hospital. "No. We are at a hotel, actually.” Well, that explained the bright light, because Dieter didn't have any fluorescents in his place. "Hotel?” How did he? How did ... But. “He shot me." "Yes. There was much blood, and I did not want to have to answer the inevitable questions.” One hand moved up to stroke his hair off his face. Oh. Oh. The touch. He could feel every one of the hairs on his face move with Dieter's fingers. Dieter smelled of him. Of blood. Of water. "Let me get the cloth. It will make your face itch less.” Cold. Fucking cold water on a rough hotel washcloth. His eyes flashed open again, watered against the dim light. “I ... I don't...” He didn't understand. "Shh.” Bending, Dieter kissed him, lips soft and cool on his. “You were dying, Mago. I had to." "Had to?” It must've been worse than he thought. He must've been in the hospital a while and just couldn't remember. "You'll forgive me. I shall give you all the sights I never had.” It was almost like Dieter was talking to himself.


"Forgive you?” He tried to sit up, tried tothink . "Yes. I am sorry, love.” Easing him up, Dieter let him lean. His chest didn't even hurt. "For what?” He blinked down, a pink-skinned scar on his chest. Scarred. Jesus. “How long has it been?" "Not quite a day and a half. I know you must be hungry, but you slept so well.” The man just couldn't seem to stop touching him, his cheeks, his chin. His throat. "A day...” No. No, it couldn't be so. “I gotta call Mama. She'll be worried." Hungry. Oh, God yes. Hungry. "Yes. Yes, you must call her and tell her you are leaving town, and that you love her, but not to speak to anyone about you." "Huh?" "She must think you're dead, love.” Dieter sounded dead serious. Dead. Him. "Why? That'd make her cry, Guapo." "I know. But it would be worse for her to know.” He could see the distress on Dieter's face, the way the corners of that fine mouth pulled down. "To know what? I didn't do nothing, Dieter. The cops would know, yeah? I didn't hurt him back." That hunger in him flared, driven by fear and the beginnings of panic. "Oh, love. You need to feed. It will not give you everything you need, but here.” Dieter pulled at him, cradling his face in the crook of neck and shoulder, the scent there amazing. Shudders rocked him, his lips open, tongue sliding on Dieter's ... Oh. Oh, he wanted to. Fuck him. He couldn't. But he wanted to. "Now, Mago.” That voice brooked no argument. It compelled him, just like Dieter's hand on the back of his neck. The weirdest fucking sound came out of him, raw and wild and the light went red when he bit down, Dieter's flavor filling his mouth. Body going stiff against him, Dieter held him, rocked him, letting him drink his fill. Hot, metallic, salty, it was like Dieter's come but a thousand times stronger. He lifted his face to breathe, to meet Dieter's eyes, when the horror of what he'd done hit him. “Guapo. I'm sorry. I...” What was wrong with him? With everything?


"No. No, this is what you need. What will make you stronger.” So careful. Dieter treated him like he was made of glass. "Stronger?” He leaned closer, licked the drops from Dieter's skin, so careful, so gentle. "Oh yes. Much. You will need more, and you will need it fresh, but this will do for now.” A soft moan followed the words, Dieter pushing against him a little. "More? I don't understand.” He scooted closer, wrapping himself in Dieter, tongue still working, licking. A low growl vibrated against his mouth and then he was on his back on the floor with Dieter on top of him. “Too sensitive, Mago. Enough." His own growl surprised him, muscles tensing to fight, to push Dieter away. What the Hell? "I said enough.” Like the man weighed a million pounds, Dieter pressed down on him, suddenly way heavier than his mass allowed for. It was like being buried in wet cement. "Dieter?” His eyes rolled a little, something in him shaken, deep down. "Shhh.” Soft kissed landed on his cheeks and chin, Dieter suddenly back to normal, loving on him. Like nothing had happened. “I know, it's terribly confusing, love. I know." "Yeah.” Yeah. He was all fucked up. Maybe even scared. “I don't get it, Guapo. I'm missing stuff." "Missing what?” They sat up, Dieter pulling him up, hands on him, and it was almost like Dieter was a little off balance, like maybe he needed some reassurance, too. "What all happened. We were going home to your place, then that dude mugged us and I don't remember shit after that.” He grabbed Dieter and held on, squeezed the man tight. "The man, he shot you. I took you upstairs, I was going to call the ambulance, but you were cold...” The man's shoulders were shaking, for God's sake. Oh, shit. That must've scared the shit out Dieter. “Well, it must've worked out, huh? I'm here. I'm alive. Hell, I don't even hurt." "Yes and no.” A muttered curse in what sounded like German came, then. “You are now what I am, love. Vampir." "What?” Oh, man. That had to mean something in German that was different than what it sounded like it meant in English. "Vampire, Mago. That is what you are now.” That face turned to him, Dieter leaning like he was trying so hard to see him. "Did that guy hurt you, Guapo?” His hands started sliding over Dieter's skin, searching for wounds. Jesus, what if Deiter'd hit his head or something?


"No. I am not injured. I know what I am saying.” Lifting one of his hands, Dieter rubbed it over those soft lips, then over some very, very sharp teeth. Okay. Okay. No. No, now that didn't work. "What game is this? I don't ... This ain't cool, Dieter, teasing me now." "I would not. Not about this. I didn't want to, Mago, but you were dying and I ... I am sorry.” Man, Dieter was always with it, always confident. This was kinda scary. "Okay. Okay. You relax. We're okay.” He patted and tried to think. Okay. First. Uh. Damn. First. Come on, Javier. Think. "We will ... We will both feel better if we feed. I can find someone." "Huh?” Food sounded good. “Why're we at a hotel, Guapo? I coulda made you food at your place." "I'm afraid not. I took you and anything I might need and left. We cannot go back there.” Leaning in, Dieter kissed him, soft, sweet, and kinda careful. "But...” He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? “Will the cops come?" "I imagine. You lost a lot of blood. I'm not sure anyone saw us, but how could I know?” Yeah, with not being able to see, that was a good question. "But we're the good guys. At least you are, huh?” He'd have a harder time. "Am I?” Dieter laughed. “I suppose in this case.” A sigh lifted Dieter's chest. “It is not like me to mope. We must feed you. Help me up?" "Sure. Okay.” He stood up, got Dieter to his feet. He just needed to take Dieter home. If Mama couldn't help, Uncle Eazie could. "Thank you.” Strong hands latched onto his arms, Dieter leaning to kiss him again, this time deep and hard, making his cock spring to life in a surprising rush. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Mago groaned, touch going from helpful to needy, just like that, and he found himself rubbing, needing to be closer.


They moved, Dieter backing him right to the bed and pushing him down, crawling on top of him. God, his skin was just on fire, making him buck and push, trying to get more. He tugged hard, needing so bad it was like ... Like. Like nothing ever. “Guapo!" Mago wanted to bite and bite andfeel . "Yes, love. That's it.” Fingers digging into his hips, Dieter covered him, kissed him, biting at his lips until he could taste blood. Things went weird about then—red-tinged and wild, both of them slapping together, Dieter the finest thing he'd ever known, enough to get lost in. They just tore into each other, cock to cock, skin rubbing skin. And biting. Dieter bit down into his neck, didn't even make a sound when he bit back. Every fucking nerve came alive, buzzing and burning, so alive. So awake and real and... He groaned and shot, arching so much he thought his spine would snap. Dieter moaned for him, more come splashing between them, wetting his belly and thighs. When his head stopped spinning they were licking each others’ skin, moaning and holding on tight. "Love...” He felt like he could do anything. Anything. "My magician. Such things you'll see. I could not let you go.” Dieter held him tight, just held him, solid as a rock against him. "I ain't going nowhere, Guapo. You know that, yeah? You ... You're special to me.” Real special. Real fine. He wasn't. And Dieter was his. “Mine." "Yes, love. As much as you are mine. The rest is just details.” Smiling, Dieter kissed him again, hands framing his cheeks, and for at least a little while he could forget how weird this all was. Yeah. He'd just ... Yeah. He'd worry about it all in a while. Tomorrow.

About Our contributors Angel Angel is a regular contributor to Torquere Press and has several single shots as well as anthology stories. She's a truck driver who uses her loading and down time to scribble. Sara Bell Sara Bell is a thirty-something freelance writer living in upstate Alabama with her sexy, baldheaded husband and two beautiful, exceptionally bright daughters. When not busy chugging away at the keyboard, Sara can be found burning cookies for school bake sales and logging time as the family taxi


driver. To learn more about Sara and her work, or to contact her directly, please visit her discussion group atgroups.yahoo.com/group/themagicinyourtouch/ Jennifer Joyce Lives at the unfashionable end of the Pacific Rim, down where the penguins nest. No, we don't actually have any hobbits here. She keeps the editing half of her brain in another body, making sure to provide it with regular doses of smut to keep it from running off with her wits. Rob Knight Who is this Rob Knight guy, you might well ask. Good question. I am a writer. An editor. I am a connoisseur of fine gay fiction, both erotica and mainstream. Lately I've bent my talents toward assembling anthologies for the e-publishing venture Torquere Press. In the past I've worked for newspapers and publishers, websites and magazine distributors. Why gay fiction? Well, it appeals to me on a lot of levels. Aside from the purely physical that is. Though that's a big part of it. There's still a certain amount of subversion to writing and editing gay fiction, an underground excitement. An element of the taboo. And it's an area of literature that deserves more discussion and recognition. The relationships in gay fiction are rich and deep. They resonate with emotions that everyone feels at some point or another, but the intensity is just that much more. Of course, on a purely shallow level, I like men kissing. Syd McGinley Syd McGinley has lived in the USA since 1989, teaches college in a red state, stays sane writing erotic stories and wrestling a novel, and under-appreciates beloved Joe far too often. Syd has several other Torquere stories: a single shot,,, Mimosa °/°°, a story in Play Ball called “Swordsmen", and a selection in the Men in Uniform anthology, “Mis en Place." Sean Michael Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and persuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to “Chicago." A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys. Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark. Star Star is a Return to Vendor clerk who spends her workdays fantasizing about hot stockboys and her evenings writing.


BA Tortuga B. A. Tortuga enjoys indulging in the shallow side of life, with hobbies that include collecting margarita recipes, hot tub dips, and ogling hot guys at the beach. A connoisseur of the perverse and esoteric, BA's days are spent among dusty tomes of ancient knowledge, or, conversely, surfing porn sites in the name of research. Mixing the natural born southern propensity for sarcasm and the environmental western straight-shooting sensibility, BA manages to produce mainstream fiction, literary erotica, and fine works of pure, unadulterated smut. With characters ranging from supernatural demons to modern-day cowboys, alternative illustrated men to Victorian dandies, the addiction to history and atmosphere is ever present, and laced through with sensual pleasure.

Visit www.torquerepress.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

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