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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. Spiked TOP SHELF An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers PO Box 2545 Round Rock, TX 78680 Tattoo You © 2007 Willa Okati, Possession, a Soul Mates story © 2007 Jourdan Lane, Marginalia © 2007 Laney Cairo, Beneath the Mask © 2007 Mychael Black Cover illustration by Alessia Brio Published with permission ISBN: 978-1-60370-250-8, 1-60370-250-4 www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Torquere Press Printing: January 2008 Printed in the USA

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Table of Contents Foreword by M. Rode - 4 Tattoo You by Willa Okati - 5 Possession by Jourdan Lane - 47 Marginalia by Laney Cairo - 96 Beneath the Mask by Mychael Black- 148 Contributors - 189

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Foreword

By M. Rode

Strange, different, mysterious, weird, interesting, fascinating, intriguing. Whether it’s the simpler modifications like tattoos or ear piercings, or the more extreme piercings and implants, making changes to one’s body is inherently sensual, sexual. Whether or not we have modifications ourselves, when we see someone who does, we are instantly drawn to look, to examine. We want to know what it feels like, and we want to know why. The four stories gathered in this anthology run the gamut from simple to extreme, the characters here all with their own reasons for what they do. From Willa Okati’s tattooed men in Tattoo You to Laney Cairo’s Marginalia, a cyberpunk vision of a world where body-mods are extreme and at the same time everyday, you’re sure to find something to intrigue and fascinate you. Mychael Black’s Beneath the Mask and Jourdan Lane’s Possession add in the element of paranormal, vampires and werewolves who are all the more fascinating for the way they’ve tattooed and pierced and altered their bodies. Read through this wonderful collection of body modification stories and be amazed and intrigued. M. Rode

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Tattoo You

By Wil a Okati

Chapter One "Hummingbird Studio West. This is Bristol. Can I help you?" "Morning." Whew. They're open. Good. "This is the tattoo parlor, right?" Jacob Lee adjusted the Bluetooth receiver in his ear -- he still hadn't gotten used to talking into what felt like thin air and actually having someone miles away hear him. Made driving easier, of course, but some bits of modern technology just plain unnerved him. "One and the same," the guy named Bristol agreed amiably. He didn't repeat his question, which Jacob Lee appreciated. Stalling for time, still nervous as heck about actually making this call, Jacob Lee chipped at a smudge of construction dirt on the steering wheel of his truck and turned left on Maple. "Look, I bet you get this all the time, but I do need the help. I don't have any personal experience with any kind of body modification whatevers. All the same, I've been thinking about getting a tattoo and wondered if anyone there dealt with the newbies." The man on the other end of the line, his voice raspy as if he had a two pack a day habit, wheezed a rough laugh. He didn't sound mean or mocking, though. "Yeah, sure, kid. We all do that. Gotta say not too many ask, and it's ungodly good to hear someone who'll come right out and admit they need some help. You know?" "For serious?" "The horror stories I've witnessed, kid. God knows I wish I had a bouncer some nights to just beat back the drunk roughnecks who think they'd look great all inked up." The man exhaled, telling Jacob Lee he'd been right about the smoking habit. "So, okay. You want to come in and meet with someone? Depends on when you come in as to who you'd get to talk to, but we can work with you." Jacob Lee took the right-hand-turn that would carry him off the highway and point him home. Home to his Donathan. "What about you?" he asked, already inclined to favor Bristol. "Would you have some time?" "What, you mean my charm and good nature won you over already?" "Nah. It's more that I like the honesty." Cutting into an unexpected burst of traffic -- man, riding around here was hazardous to your health some days -- he stepped on the gas and matched his pace to keep up with the thimble-sized mom cars zipping around. "You're out on Key Market Street, right? At least that's what it said in the phonebook."

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"Key Market Street, yeah, between the hippie shop full of patchouli and the secondhand vintage store. Don't ask me how we got this storefront out of all there are in the city. Dumb luck." Jacob Lee chuckled. "Okay, I really like the honesty. But what's wrong with patchouli and vintage?" Not that he really knew what patchouli was, but he did know the smell of the incense that burned in those little stores stung his nose. "You always talk this much?" Bristol didn't sound annoyed. More like amused, with maybe a dash of intrigued. Jacob Lee knew he kinda had that effect on most people. He either drove them nuts inside the first five minutes after they'd met, or they clicked right away and always would. "Usually, yeah," Jacob Lee admitted. "Sorry." "Hey, it's no skin off my nose." "Shit. I didn't know anyone still said that." No sooner had the expostulation escaped him than Jacob Lee wanted to bite his tongue. Yeah, not only did he chatter, but he didn't have much of a filter between his brain his and mouth. "Sorry again." Bristol cackled. "You're a pistol, man. No worries. I don't mind. It's not the rudest anyone's ever been to me, for damn sure. People say all kind of crazy shit when they're getting inked, like I'm a bartender or something. Or a dentist, except their mouths aren't full and I can hear the crap they're spewing. When it bugs me, it's in one ear and out the other, but like I said, I dig the candor." A beep sounded, loud, like it was played through a speaker on the Hummingbird wall. "Fuck. Hang on, would you? Got another call." "Yeah, sure thing. I can wait." Jacob Lee drew to a halt at the final stoplight on his commute from the construction site he was working on now, facing the intersection he swore had been built by Hades himself. Right of way was regarded as more of an optional suggestion than a rule of traffic. He'd have to watch like a hawk for his chance to take a left turn. "Appreciate this." "Sure, man. Be right back with you." Bristol cut off and decently melodious classic rock cut in, Credence Clearwater warbling in Jacob Lee's ear. Smoke on the Water, not bad. He'd told the truth; he had no problem taking his time and enjoying the bright, warm day, not yet too hot, the scent of pines and magnolia and coffee on the breeze, and a great burn in the muscles he'd worked hard and well that day. Even if Bristol had wanted him to swing by, he could have. Donathan wasn't expecting him back for an hour yet. Donathan. Jacob Lee didn't think adore was a strong enough word for how he felt about his buddy, his lover, his forever guy. He'd gotten so lucky with Donathan. Half the time, when Donathan beamed at him or pressed his firm lips to Jacob Lee's, Jacob Lee thought he'd float clean off his feet from pure happiness. The first time he'd looked into Donathan's huge blue-violet eyes, doubly gorgeous in the middle of the delicate traceries of plum-colored Byzantium swirl tattoos decorating his face, he'd lost his heart easy as falling off a log. Three years later he was still having the time of his life, waking up every morning with Donathan next to him, sheets rucked up around and tangled in Donathan's whipcord-lean, strong runner's legs, Donathan's face buried in the pillow. Lord only knew how he got oxygen enough not to suffocate in his sleep. Jacob Lee had lost count of how many times he'd run his fingers over Donathan's tattoos. Not just on his face, the intricate lines spiraled in plum and azure and ice-blue down his arms, his chest, his hips and his

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legs. He added a new design or two every time he had the cash to spare, the lines sometimes taking shape like one of those funky 3-D puzzles and popping to life in the form of a tiger poised to strike or a dragon coiled about his firm, cobbled stomach. As much as Jacob Lee loved them, the tattoos were their only bone of contention. Namely, how Donathan had wanted him to get one from their first night together, fingertips dancing lightly over Jacob Lee's biceps and triceps, talking sleepily of how great he'd look with some ink, how he'd love it. The problem? Needles. Dear God in Heaven, Jacob Lee hated needles. He spent hours gazing at Donathan's tattoos, fresh and weathered in, while his lover slept, but he couldn't even make himself go sit in the tattoo parlor and offer Donathan a hand to hold while he went under the gun. Donathan teased him, but Jacob Lee thought he understood. Same as he thought he caught a look of wistful unhappiness turning down Donathan's smile whenever he came home after having fresh work done. If there was one gift he could give his Donathan in this life, something to prove to Donathan he took seriously the good thing they had going between them and never, ever planned to turn away, it would be to hitch up his man-sized jockeys and face that which he feared. It would be Donathan's twenty-ninth birthday in a couple of days, and Jacob Lee figured there would never be a better time to give his lover this particular gift. Hence the call to Hummingbird West, one of Donathan's favorites. They'd done an actual hummingbird, their trademark, on the back of Donathan's neck. Jacob Lee loved it and could happily spend hours outlining the bird's blackwork lines with the tip of his tongue or nipping at the bright colors to tease Donathan. In his more contemplative moments, Jacob Lee figured that the hummingbird had to be Donathan's spirit animal, what with its jewel-toned hues and fascinating sweetness. The classic rock, done with Credence and on to Cream's White Room, fuzzed briefly into static before cutting off. "Okay, back with you," Bristol said. "Had to head back inside to take care of some flash a brat knocked off the wall after I got done on the other call." Jacob Lee listened, fascinated and tickled. Lord help them both, he thought Bristol might be near as much of a chatterbox as him. "No problem." "Okay." Bristol coughed. Oh, yeah. Definitely a big time smoker. "So, what's the situation? Do you know anything about tattoos in general, or you need the whole 101 rundown?" "I know some stuff, enough to have a general idea about how it all works in theory. My live-in, he's probably seventy percent covered in ink. He shows it off and talks up a storm every time he gets a new design. It's the only time he jabbers harder and faster than me, and that's saying a lot. He's a sweetheart, you know?" The explanation was both a statement and a challenge. Jacob Lee wasn't the kind of guy who'd go running to the papers crying "homophobe" every time he got snubbed, because for Christ's sake, he'd have to protest more than half the world then, but he'd be danged if he'd go under the needle with a guy who'd turn up his nose at the queer the whole time. "That's cool." Bristol sounded wholly unbothered.

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Jacob Lee was pleased. If he was going to do this for Donathan, he'd do it right all the way, fear of needles be damned. He wondered what Bristol would say to a tattoo of Donathan, naked, on Jacob Lee's ass cheek. "Say what, now?" Oh, crap. "Did I say that last part out loud?" Jacob Lee cringed, cursing his absentminded habit and the missing screen between mind and mouth always failing to censor far less than he'd have liked. "I couldn't hear you too well. Sounds like your phone's cutting out." "I'm on the road, heading home. This truck's pretty old and she gets noisy when she's tired, kinda rattly and clanky. I like 'er all the same." Jacob Lee reined himself in. "Anyway, just ignore me when I go on and on, okay?" "Nah, I'm cool. I'm outside smoking." Jeez, but Bristol had to be one of the most patient guys on Earth. Maybe that went hand-in-hand with the smoking and/or the tattooing, learning to develop a Zen-like focus and a stoner's inability to stress the mellow. "Where's your guy go to get his ink?" Bristol asked. "Here?" "Mostly, as far as I know. I think you folks are his favorite. At least, y'all are the ones he talks about the most, and I found half-a-dozen business cards in his drawer full of sketches and empty Tattoo Goo tins." "Wait a sec." Crackling inhale. Man, this guy was a chimney, wasn't he? "Mega ink, gay guy... don't tell me you're Donathan's squeeze." "Yeah. You know him? No kidding?" "Donathan's cool, man. Goes under the needle like a prince. Doesn't move friggin' once while we're working on him, and let me tell you that's awfully damn rare. So you're his Jacob Lee. Rockin'. I can swing you a discount if you need one. He talks about how he's dying to have you get a design or three. You're finally giving in?" "Anything for my man." Jacob Lee saw his opportunity -- at last -- and gunned it, zooming fast through the intersection. Hot damn, almost home free. All he had left was a straight shot back to the shotgun apartment he and Donathan called home. "If you don't mind, can we do the 101 like I don't know anything?" "Yeah, sure. You mind if I ask a kind of personal question first?" "Er... can I decide whether or not I answer?" "Sure, man. Okay. Donathan never says as much, but from what I read between the lines, you're scared shitless of needles. That true?" Jacob Lee winced. "Not shitless. More like deer in the headlights." "So, why the change of mind? I'm not asking 'cause I'm nosy; you've got to understand that. I'm asking 'cause I figure you'll answer me straight, given what I've heard from you so far, and let me hammer this home: once you get a tattoo, it is for life. Doesn't sink in sometimes with some guys until the art's done, and then they freak. Or they get all worked up with their plans and never show to get the ink itself. If you're scared of needles -- and that's cool, a lot of people are -- what's got you wanting to do this?"

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"Donathan," Jacob Lee said simply. "I've told him I'd do anything for him, and it's the truth. This is the only thing I've ever held out on. His birthday's coming up. For all the times he's talked about how much he'd like to see some ink on me, and in thanks for how he's never pushed, and in appreciation for all the work he's had done, this is the gift I want to give him. That's the flat truth. Flat truth as told by a motor mouth, that is." Jacob Lee grinned, though he knew Bristol couldn't see, the good humor welling up inside him. He couldn't wait to see Donathan's face when he came home all inked up and looking fine. "Okay," Bristol agreed. "Good enough for me. Come by Hummingbird -- say tomorrow around noon, right when we open -- can you do that? -- and I'll block out a few minutes to show you how it all works. Sound good?" "Sounds fine to me. I'm off tomorrow. I'll be there." Jacob Lee tapped his Bluetooth receiver to end the call. He decided he was satisfied with what he'd set in motion. They said the first step was the hardest, right? It'd be worth it, the whole thing. Anything to make Donathan smile, that was his raison d'etre. The man's happiness was the bonfire that lit up Jacob Lee's life, and he'd do whatever it took to make his man happy come hell or high water or butchery and needles. Besides, now that he'd set himself to walking this path, Jacob Lee discovered to his surprise that he'd actually gone and started tingling with anticipation of even more than Donathan's delighted surprise when he saw the ink. This was going to be awesome, Jacob Lee just knew it, and he couldn't wait.

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Chapter Two It was kind of like his big, heavy truck simply glided on a slipstream of air as Jacob Lee burned rubber the rest of the way home, flying over the blacktop with a grin on his lips and darn near a song in his heart. He couldn't stop grinning or daydreaming about the surprise and the delight he knew Donathan wouldn't be able to hide -- and still more about the ways he hoped Donathan would express his happiness. The man had a serious imagination on him, and was he ever kinky when he took the mood. Jacob Lee wondered, seriously, if maybe he should get the tattoo he chose done on his ass. Definitely for Donathan only, since he didn't have any plans on anyone else getting a look at the work, and he'd probably have a lot more leeway with the design itself. Except the thought of still having an X-rated image on his butt when he was eighty and sharing space with Donathan in a nursing home kind of put a damper on that particular idea. And from what he knew of Donathan, which wasn't a small amount, Jacob Lee was sure Donathan would want to show it off. Wouldn't be able to stop petting and fondling. So maybe something on his arm or his chest or the back of his calf. Something he could display without getting dirty looks from folks at the organic market. He had a few days, time enough to figure this out, and Bristol would help. He'd gotten lucky yet again, hadn't he? Or maybe that was why Donathan loved Hummingbird West so much. Either way, the future looked mighty bright. Jacob Lee executed a neat swallow's swerve off the main road, crunching across the once-graveled but now mostly powdery dirt of their apartment's shared driveway. Donathan's bike was there, chained in place at the edge of a spindly pillar holding up the subdivided house's roof, but that didn't mean he was home. Only if Donathan didn’t feel like walking did he ride, blessed jack o' the green that he was. Today, Donathan's electric blue touring cycle didn't look like it had moved, nor was it damaged in any way. None of the other couples who rented in the house minded Donathan's bike so long as he didn't leave it lying on its side in the driveway. Good folks, all of them; he'd gotten lucky once more, hadn't he? Jacob Lee fondly patted Donathan's bike on his way up to the house. He checked the lock on the bike chain out of force of habit. Secure? Yep. Good. That taken care of, he fished in one pocket of his jeans for the house key and bounded up the three concrete steps to his front door. He caught a whiff of tangy, spicy tomato sauce before he even had the screen door open, whooshing under the off-level jamb right into his nose. He closed his eyes and moaned. Dang, but his baby could cook like a master. Jacob Lee rattled his key until the stubborn, sticky old lock gave, poked his head inside, and bellowed: "Honey, I'm home!" A peal of Donathan's delighted laughter rang out. "I gave at the office!" "Better not have." Jacob Lee stepped inside and kicked off his sneakers, sending them flying into the corner with a thump, thump. He wiggled his bare toes, loving the feel of good old hardwood under his

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feet. "Or do I have to go play the jealous boyfriend again?" "Shut up and get in here, you nut." A pot lid clattered. "Shit." "Something wrong?" Jacob Lee padded through their den, surprisingly clean, and their bedroom, the covers made and the windowsills dusted. "You were bored today, weren't you?" "Could be," Donathan teased. He looked up to beam at Jacob Lee as Jacob Lee entered the kitchen, waving a marinara-covered wooden spoon at him. "Or maybe it was just time for the semi-annual housekeeping. Who knows?" "Smartass." Jacob Lee dove for Donathan, eager to have the man in his arms again. Lord, he hadn't seen Donathan since morning, and he was still on four-hourly cravings for the man. He hoped to high heaven this would never end, that he'd roll with this much desire and eagerness when they were both old and gray. Donathan called him a soppy old romantic, but he never did complain, another thing Jacob Lee adored about him. His lover looked extra special sexy today. He wore no shirt, his wildly tangled tattoos on glorious display with dragons swooping and crouching, a samurai posing under crossed swords and a bright green pair of cat's eyes over Donathan's navel. Donathan crossed his arms, shaking his head in amusement at Jacob Lee's incessant fascination with the art. As ever, Jacob Lee couldn't resist gliding his fingers over Donathan's smooth, taut arms, tracing the interwoven strings of calligraphy, cherry blossom trees and twining cats. All that, and it only got better. For pants, Donathan wore only a pair of cut-off sweats made of light, emerald green cotton, their raveled strings trailing to mid-shin, their waist riding low on his slim hips. Jacob Lee could see the jut of Donathan's sharply cut hipbones just above where the material started, as well as the narrow trail of dark, curling hair leading underneath. The sight made him want to go to his knees on the spot to lick his way from navel to nuts and suck Donathan until he completely and totally forgot the concept of dinner altogether. "Forget the dinner, babe," he crooned, raising Donathan's hand to his lips. "Can I just eat you instead?" "Hey, watch the spoon!" Donathan wrapped his arms around Jacob Lee, sticky and sweaty as Jacob Lee was, lightly slapping his back. "If you make me spill anything, then you're the one who does the next load of laundry." "Spoilsport." Jacob Lee ruffled up Donathan's hair, finally grown out enough from his disastrous experience with a bratty kid who’d gone and rubbed bubble gum on his man's scalp. "I could almost run my hands through this." Jacob Lee bent his nose to the top of Donathan's head, breathing deep, drawing in the scent of pine-scented shampoo and warm male. Delicious. Aphrodisiac. "I wouldn't mind a bit," Donathan informed him, nibbling on Jacob Lee's neck. The man had a biting fetish, not that Jacob Lee was about to raise a fuss over his inclinations. "Feel free." And who could turn down such an invitation? Jacob Lee hummed happily, petting his lover's soft, sleek black waves, smooth and silky as an otter's pelt. Donathan murmured, deeply content, and dropped the spoon on the stove behind him.

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Jacob Lee noticed that Donathan's skin was warm, the color flushed as if he'd sat in the sun for a few hours, which told him what his man had spent as much time outside today as he himself had, basking in the heat like one of those jewel-colored lizards. Donathan worked in the outdoors every chance he got, far too much of a free spirit to tie himself down to a nine-to-five. He earned his bread by putting his love for shapes and colors to work in the park, painting on intricate henna designs, doing portrait sketches, sometimes fooling around with a jerry-rigged EZ-Bake oven and polymer clay, and when all else failed, face-painting kids. For his own pleasure, he'd started work on the masterpiece slowly etching its way into his skin, claiming he loved the way the colors flared to life under clement blue skies. 'Course, working outside and dealing with artistic types did have its drawbacks. One day when Donathan had decided to focus on face-painting, a bratty toddler too young for much patience had splatted a huge, soggy wad of grape Bubbilicious on the back of his head. Jacob Lee never had known whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the memory of Donathan coming home with a face like a thundercloud, sticky purple goo ground deep in his hair. "I know what you're thinking right now," Donathan warned. Jacob Lee realized he'd been petting the bubble gum spot. "I'm still pissed at you for getting so tickled over that whole disaster." "I made it up to you." "Hmm. True. Come here." Donathan pulled free of Jacob Lee's chin and wrapped his sculpted dancer's arms around Jacob Lee's neck. "I want to kiss you." "Then why don't you? Or here, I'll do it for you." Jacob Lee tilted Donathan's head up at the right angle and bent to capture his lover's firm, sweet lips with his own. He nipped them, giving Donathan a taste of his own exciting medicine, then licked them to ease away the sting. Donathan tasted of tomatoes and red pepper and the sharp tang of the red wine he mixed into his sauce. No one cooked like his baby. He got an even better taste when he stroked his tongue over Donathan's, but even better than the flavor was the sound of Donathan's small, lustful moan. Donathan sighed when they parted for air, contented as a cat in the cream. His gentian eyes had gone hazy, clouded over with the need for more; his teeth nibbled his lower lip in a gesture that told Jacob Lee louder than words: not yet. No problem. They had time. Jacob Lee popped Donathan on the ass and pushed him gently back toward the stove. "Better get that before it burns." Donathan, as always, read Jacob Lee's mind. "Rain check until just after dinner, okay?" "Red sauce versus sex." Jacob Lee pretended to be tragically struck with dismay, throwing his arm over his eyes in the universal "oh, the humanity" sign. He cackled when Donathan flicked his wrist with forefinger and thumb. "All right, all right. Back to the stove, you. Sooner we eat, the sooner I can have my wicked way with you." "Lord! Who writes your scripts?" Jacob Lee leered, deliberately over the top. "Phone sex operators." "Nut. To hear you talk, anyone would think you didn't eat anything and everything that stands still long

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enough for you to stab it with a fork. And I know what you're about to say, so zip it." Donathan winked at him. Jacob Lee hummed a noncommittal response and watched idly as his lover did his culinary thing. He plucked a cast-aside apron off the back of a kitchen chair, tied it around his waist, and wielded his long spoon like a master, stirring his pot of thick red marinara sauce. Rich tomato aromas exploded every time a bubble popped to the surface while it went through the rolling boil stage. He blew on the spoon and thoughtfully touched the tip to his tongue. Jacob Lee could have moaned at the sight of his lover's careful tasting, the memories of Donathan's luscious mouth kissing him all over zinging directly to his cock. "Only you could make wearing an apron look sexy," Jacob Lee informed his best guy, leaning over the small kitchen counter and crossing his legs at the ankle behind him. He caught one loose tie on Donathan's chosen apron, plain and utilitarian save for the trailing strings, and tugged. "I've seen my share of chef porn. You put them all to shame, darlin'." The corner of Donathan's mouth tip-tilted up. He blew a kiss at Jacob Lee, the minx. "You're not so bad yourself." "Show me how much you appreciate me later." Jacob Lee waggled his eyebrows, making Donathan snicker. He breathed in the delicious, tangy aroma. His stomach growled. "Is there anything I can do to help? Salad? Garlic bread?" "Got 'em both covered. The salad's in the fridge and the garlic bread just needs toasting." Donathan took another contemplative taste of the sauce. "Try this and tell me what you think." He offered Jacob Lee the wooden spoon and leaned back on the edge of the stove, his smirk giving the lie to what kind of input he really wanted. Jacob Lee played along with due gravity, slipping the spoon between his lips. He didn't in the least have to fake his groan of pleasure at the layers of taste, tomatoes and wine and onions bursting over his tongue. "God, I love you. This is amazing." It was like the sun shone in Donathan's eyes. "Love you, too. So much I might even let you share this feast I've prepared." "Is that all you're gonna let me enjoy?" Jacob Lee feathered his tongue over the spoon, not at all playing fair, sucking on the wood and lavishing Donathan with his best, smokiest eat-you-up come-hither look. "For now," Donathan allowed, his small shiver betraying the naughty thoughts Jacob Lee could see flashing through his lover's mind. He'd hold him to those notions by and by. "I might have a few other things in mind for later. Right this moment, all I want is for you to reach me down the box of mixed rigatoni and shells, and get the crushed garlic out of the fridge." "Garlic, yum. You know how much I love you? I'll kiss you after you've eaten a bellyful of garlic spaghetti. That's how much." "You would, too, wouldn't you?" Donathan's expression softened. "You would, and not think twice about it." "Damn right, I would," Jacob Lee murmured, gauging Donathan's readiness. He could see, easy as

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reading the page of a book, how close Donathan was to giving him what he wanted. A nice guy would stand back and politely wait until after dinner had been served. That'd be the gentlemanly thing to do. When it came to Donathan, however, and the pressing urge to taste and to touch, Jacob Lee's scruples flew right out the window. "Are you gonna help or not?" Donathan asked softly, licking his lower lip. "'Course I am. Let me just do one thing first." Jacob Lee didn't give Donathan a chance to protest or to flinch back, falling to his knees lickety-split. Before Donathan knew what was going on, Jacob Lee had untied and discarded the apron, then caught the nearly-falling-off drawstring waist of Donathan's cut-offs and drawn it down over his lean hips. "Jacob Lee, I swear, I don't know what I'm gonna do with you." "Are you gonna stop me?" Jacob Lee nosed and nuzzled through the crisp black curls surrounding Donathan's cock, more than half erect already and fast on its way to full hardness. He licked through to the salty skin beneath, reveling in the warmth rising from Donathan's skin. "You taste better than anything ever cooked, gorgeous." Donathan looked as if he wanted, despite his body's demands otherwise, to chastise Jacob Lee. "Dinner's gonna burn," he complained, but in a low, husky tone. "I mean it, hon." "It can keep for now, can't it?" Jacob Lee murmured. He licked a quick, choppy path up Donathan's cock, deeply satisfied at Donathan's abrupt jerk of the hips and one hand seizing his head. "I'd rather start with an appetizer, anyway." "You will be the death of me." Donathan swatted Jacob Lee's cheek with what Jacob Lee knew to be love. "Then you'll die happy, and so will I." Jacob Lee lipped the head of Donathan's cock in his mouth and took a good hard suck. Donathan didn't get back to cooking for a good few minutes, but in Jacob Lee's opinion the sauce turned out just fine regardless.

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Chapter Three "Turn on the cellar light for me, would you?" Jacob Lee called back to Donathan from where he stood halfway down the rickety old wooden steps, his arms full of hammers, boxes of ten penny nails, and a magnetic measuring tape. "Sorry, darlin'. I forgot again." "You're lucky I love you," Donathan ribbed. Jacob Lee listened to his lover's bare feet padding over the hardwood floors, and the creak of the pantry door opening. "Don't know what I'd do without you," Jacob Lee replied easily, comfortable in the truth he held to be self-evident. He knew it worked the exact same way for Donathan. A bulb flickered into life over the stairwell. "Did that get it?" Donathan called, voice muffled from inside the deep, walk-in pantry. "Or do I need jiggle the switch some?" "Nah, I'm good." Jacob Lee shook his head, tickled. For some reason he had never been able to figure out, when the owners had installed up-to-date wiring in the divided-up shotgun house, their electricians seemed to have taken an almost perverse glee in mixing up which switches should have gone where. Example: a flip-style switch on the bathroom wall lit up the bedroom. A dimmer dial for the main bedroom lights illuminated the kitchen, and so on and so forth. As far as the lights to the cellar went, he and Donathan had had to run around testing and flipping through near about all of them before they found the right one. In the pantry. Lord have mercy. At least they'd found some reasonably new and tested-safe Coleman lanterns stored near the front of the cellar; the location told Jacob Lee that they hadn't been down there for more than a few years. All the same, he'd insisted on he and Donathan taking the lanterns outside to test them out. You never knew in an Aladdin's cave like the underneath of their home. The way their landlady -- a guardedly nice middle-aged type who had a sparing hand with the Avon and a preference for brown-sugar scented perfume -- had told the tale, ever since the house had been constructed nearly a hundred years earlier the cellar had been where absolutely everything went into storage. Everything. From the original owners who had some pretty intense pack-rat qualities to renters through the forties and on up, they all gave in to the urge to squirrel everything away and leave the whole kit and caboodle in the cellar when they moved on. The result was floor-to-ceiling and very nearly wall-to-wall junk. A fire hazard, their landlady claimed, and Jacob Lee well believed her. The deal they'd struck together swung favorably in his and Donathan's direction. For every month they worked on sorting through the piles, organizing the good stuff and carting the bad out to the Dumpster, their landlady promised to give them a sweet discount on the rent. It'd been a heftier job than they'd anticipated, seventy days in and still going, but to Jacob Lee's pleased surprise he'd ended up having two tons of fun. Sorting through the cellar was like getting a sneak peek through old photo albums. He'd make up the stories to go along with the things these folks had left

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behind, and Donathan would draw pictures to accompany his tales. Jacob Lee reached the bottom of the steps and carefully fired up one of the lanterns. He took a quick scan around for snakes -- you never knew, down in dark, hidden-away places like this -- and didn't see any, so he hollered the all clear up to Donathan. "Are you coming down here with me tonight?" "Thought I already went down with you before!" Donathan appeared in the door to the cellar, a long, lean silhouette that looked good enough to lick off a spoon. He leaned against the frame, slyly trailing a finger up his chest, between his nipples. "I could stand to go again. You're sure you want to start cellar work so late in the evening?" Jacob Lee drank in the sight of his luscious man, admiring the way the light from the apartment proper cast a warm glow over Donathan's shoulders and illuminated the saturated colors in his tattoos. "Don't worry. This won't tire me out too much to give you a good going-over before you conk out." Believe him, he planned on coming up with things to do to Donathan that they didn't write about in sex manuals. "Besides, I thought you liked seeing me all sweaty, working hard for my living." "Lord, yes, I do. You know I sneak down to the construction site when I can." "Twisted little perv," Jacob Lee said fondly. "I swear I can tell just from the change in the air when it's you ogling me from down below." "The air, huh? Or maybe it's just practice?" Donathan purred wickedly. "I might say the same about you when you try to sneak your lunch sandwiches in the park." "Yeah, well." Jacob Lee lifted his chin, daring Donathan to rib him any further, though he'd not have raised a fuss if Donathan chose that option. "Are you helping me or not?" "I'm coming, I'm coming." Donathan good-naturedly abandoned his attempt at seducing Jacob Lee out of the cellar. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of the jean shorts he'd switched to, he ambled down the steps. His bare feet made slap, slap noises on the boards. Jacob Lee rewarded his lover's good behavior by swinging him off the last step and wheeling him around in a spin. Donathan yelped, kicking his feet. "You asshole!" he laughed when Jacob Lee put him down, feigning a punch to the jaw. "You almost scared the heart out of me." "You can take your revenge later." Jacob Lee popped Donathan lightly on the ass. "Help me remember. Where'd we leave off last time?" Donathan scratched his jaw, his short stubble rasping deliciously. He got a spiderweb tangled in his hair when he lifted his head, which made him look ten kinds of adorable. "I came down here and opened a couple of boxes yesterday before you got home. In the far right corner, as I recall. We can probably finish over there tonight. You think?" Jacob Lee clapped his hands together, briskly chafing the palms. "Let's do it." "Only you would get this worked up over getting all mildew-grimy and choked by dust." Donathan softened the gibe with a kiss to the nape of Jacob Lee's neck. "Do I have a cobweb in my hair?"

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"It looks good on you." Jacob Lee skipped ahead before Donathan could whap him one and headed for a likely-looking place to start, a pile of wooden crates so old they were like to splinter apart in a man's hands. Apple crates, from the looks of them, a faded red globe with a dim green stem just about visible every now and then if he squinted. "Did you look inside any of these yet?" "Nuh-uh." Donathan met back up with Jacob Lee and hip-checked him. "Someone's feeling feisty." "I've had a good dinner and a spectacular blow job, in reverse order. Right now, there's no pain in my life. Unless there's a spider in this web and you haven't told me." "I'm not letting any brown recluses or black widows near you, my boy," Jacob Lee informed him. "You're safe." He turned as much of his full attention to the crates as he could spare while still keeping an eye out for Donathan. The man tended to forget the need to protect his hands, the tools of his trade, while they were unpacking and sorting through all this rubbish; he got too enthusiastic to remember his better sense. Donathan said it for him. "Where on earth do we start tonight?" Jacob Lee shrugged. "At the beginning, I guess." He ran his finger through the thick, almost felt-like layer of dust on the box slats, and sniffed the heavy mustiness rising from the top crate. "I think this one's full of books." Picking it up just enough to get a sense from the weight, he knew he'd been right. "Watch your feet. I'll put it on the floor and you sort through there, all right?" "Works for me." Donathan folded gracefully down, tucking his legs beneath him. "You want to set out a few more? I'll look while you lift." "When could I ever tell you no, about anything?" "You mean in the last day, the last week, the last year, the last three years, or ever?" "Smartass." Jacob Lee carefully lowered the heavy-ass crate in front of Donathan. "Go to town, hon. Enjoy." Donathan dove right in, tickling Jacob Lee's funny bone at the eagerness with which he always, always approached these looks into the past. "Jacob Lee, look at this!" First dip in, and he'd lit upon a ledgershaped parcel wrapped in ancient, crumbling paper. His eyes were huge, studying the leather binding as it came free. "I can't believe this. It looks a lot older than the house. Think maybe someone brought it with them?" "Could be." Jacob Lee hefted four more boxes down, finishing the stack. He arranged each one between them, all within arm's reach. By the time he'd dusted his hands on his jeans and sat before Donathan, Donathan still hadn't progressed past page one of the very first book. "Hey," he said, gently tapping Donathan's knee. "Are you gonna get lost in there all night?" Donathan flashed him an unrepentant grin. "I might. Seriously, Jacob Lee, you have to check this out. I think it's a housekeeping record. The date written on the inside of the cover is 1861. 1861, Jacob Lee!" The delicate, tattooed spirals on Donathan's cheeks darkened with the flush he developed when he was this excited. "And here, look." He carefully held the ledger out for Jacob Lee to take. "Check it out."

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Jacob Lee took the book, mindful of the crumbling leather's edges, and held it to the lantern light to see what had Donathan so worked up. His lips parted, then formed an "o" of amazement. The first of the moldering pages was filled with crabbed, cramped handwriting, cross-hatched in the common method used back when paper was still somewhat of a luxury. In the middle, someone had used pen and ink to draw a rough sketch of a young man with huge dark eyes and a cheeky smile. "Son of a bitch. You would go right to the treasure trove, wouldn't you?" Jacob Lee stroked the likeness of the inked man, this stranger who'd lived and died over a century ago. "I wonder what his name was?" Donathan bounced, gleeful as a kid. "Bet it's in there somewhere. Hand it back over and we'll see what's what." Jacob Lee did so, indulgently amused at his Donathan. He knew they wouldn't be getting much more sorting done that night, if anything, but he wouldn't begrudge Donathan this great a pleasure. "Are there any other books I can look at?" "I think so," Donathan replied, already eyeball deep in deciphering the tiny, scrawled writing surrounding the sketch of the man. "If you find any others like this one, tell me?" "As if you wouldn't sniff them out right away." Jacob Lee nudged Donathan's bare foot, tickling the sole. Maybe he could coax their landlady into letting Donathan have this particular ledger. Truth to tell, he only ever knew Donathan to light up so bright after sex or after getting a new tattoo done. Granted, that meant he was lit up a lot, but still. Whatever made his baby glow was worth any amount of effort. Jacob Lee extricated a similarly wrapped parcel from the crate, blew what had to be a quarter pound of dust off, and opened the bindings with as much care as he could draw from his sturdy fingers. A book, equally as old as the one Donathan cradled to him, possibly older, as this volume's binding showed considerably more wear and tear. He thought some kind of monogram or logo might at one time have been stamped in gold leaf on the front cover, though it had long since faded away to a mere glimmer of dirty gilt. Cautious, respectful of the slice of history he held in his working-man's mitts, Jacob Lee opened the book. He stopped stock-still at the sight of what the old binding had hidden, the breath hitching in his lungs. Lord have mercy, he breathed to himself. If the sketch inside Donathan's book was a wondrous thing, this beat it hollow. The same man who'd been immortalized in the first drawing had been rendered nearly true to life in the book Jacob Lee held. The artist had drawn him, whoever he was, with the kind of careful, reverent attention that told Jacob Lee right off he'd been adored to the point of worship. He drank in every detail, mesmerized: slim legs in knee-high riding boots, fitted trousers, an open vest and a gentleman's shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. The man lay on what appeared to be a grassy slope, head tilted back, face raised to the sky, no doubt basking in the sunlight that shone upon him in 1861. He was a good-looking fellow, no doubt about it, young and healthy, with mischief written on every line of his limbs. A doodle in the corner of the page caught Jacob Lee's eye. The artist had placed it right where Jacob Lee would have expected to see the sun. Not a doodle, he saw on closer examination, but an intricate weaving together of initials clasped by a claddagh ring. JM, he saw, squinting until he made out the RS entwined

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therein. Jacob Lee traced the design, enthralled. Who had been who? Was JM RS's sweetheart, or vice versa? Lord, but JM or RS had been naughty, drawing a sketch like this back in the day. You'd have to be a damn fool not to see the passion in every stroke of the pen. Whoever'd drawn this had known the darkhaired, devil-smiling young man, known him in the sense the Good Book hinted at, and they'd loved him dear. Jacob Lee knew this for sure, as it was the exact same hunger he'd seen when he came across sketches Donathan drew of him. He wanted more than anything to show Donathan what he'd found, and it was with a huge effort of will that Jacob Lee shut the book and tucked it aside. It'd keep until Donathan's birthday, and come hell or high water he'd sweet-talk their landlady into letting him keep this one to give as a gift. The look on his lover's face when he cracked this one open would be something Jacob Lee planned to cherish for the rest of his life. And, he thought, with a secret smile, recalling the intertwined initials, I think I have an idea as to what kind of tattoo I want to surprise my Donathan with...

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Chapter Four Donathan yawned wide enough to make Jacob Lee fear he'd dislocate his jaw, and stagger-stumbled to the right. His shoulder smacked the frame of the cellar door. Jacob Lee didn't think Donathan would fall, but all the same he moved into catching position just in case. While he was there, he took the opportunity to nestle up behind Donathan, close and cozy, and sneak in a bear hug. For the fun of it, although it didn't seem like the wisest idea, he lifted Donathan briefly off his feet. Even Donathan's startled laugh sounded tired. "Let go of me, you overfed ox," he griped, wriggling jerkily. "You'll tilt over backward and kill us both." "Never gonna let anything like that ever happen to you." Jacob Lee seized Donathan's earlobe between his teeth and tugged, only teasing. He knew darn well Donathan wouldn't be up for anything more, at least not before he'd had a nap. Donathan could be worse than a kitten for needing his beauty rest. As Donathan liked best to rest in his arms, Jacob Lee didn't feel any kind of need to complain. "Yeah, I know," Donathan faux-bitched, his words belying the sleepy shimmy in his hips when Jacob Lee gently lowered him back to his feet. He leaned almost all his full weight into Jacob Lee's chest, snuggling in sleepy-child fashion. Lord have mercy, his Donathan had some endearing ways. If the guys at the site ever saw how lovey dovey they got around each other, they'd rib him sixty ways to Sunday and probably plaster his hard hat with pink-and-red Valentine's stickers. With fat, smarmy-grinned Cupids. They'd think they were the latest thing in humor. Still, if it came down to a choice between getting a razzing from the workers or being there for his Donathan, Jacob Lee knew which he'd choose each and every time, no contest. "Think I'm gonna take this to the couch," he offered, putting his hand over Donathan's to fondle the old book Donathan hadn't been able to let go of and couldn't bear to leave down in the damp and mold of the cellar even for one night. "I'll look through the entries and see if I can figure out some of the handwriting up here in good light." And now, an excuse for Donathan to enjoy some down time. "Want to join me?" Donathan sighed, sleepy and happy. "Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe I'll watch some TV. There's an indie documentary about textile painting in the Philippines at ten." "Good God, it's that late already?" "So says the clock on the wall." Donathan yawned a second time, adding a chest-deep groan. "Be damned." Jacob Lee hadn't worn a watch. Rarely did. He'd gotten out of the habit on one of the first sites he'd worked, where he'd learned real quick what could get caught and snagged and end up hurting you bad. He nudged Donathan forward, angling his head to get a peek at the clock they'd hung up in the hallway for lack of anywhere else to stick the thing. Hammering nails into plaster walls this old could be a royal bitch; they'd split and splinter and make a plain awful mess. Not even the old trick of nailing through duct tape really worked in this place.

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Donathan nudged his ribs. "See? I'm not the only one who loses track of time down there in Wonderland. It's like Alice going down the rabbit hole." Jacob Lee couldn't help but snicker. "More like Alex going down a hole, or for preference, myself doing the same thing. Except I have something snugger and hotter in mind." Tired or not, he just had to tease Donathan a little by seizing the man's hips and tugging him back to fit his ass in the cradle of Jacob Lee's legs. He liked being taller sometimes, he really did. Donathan fit against him as perfectly as a man could. Donathan hesitated; Jacob Lee could nigh see the argument he entertained within his head. "Love, don't I wish I could turn around and pounce your bones right now. I need a shower first, at least -- I'm all dusty and I'd love to stretch out on the couch, if you're still up for that." He peeked hopefully back around at Jacob Lee. "Yeah?" Jacob Lee kissed his Donathan's temple. Who gave a damn what the roughnecks he worked with thought? He could be as sappy around Donathan as he dang well pleased, screw them. Not that anyone had objected thus far in reality. It was the principle of the thing. "Yeah," he agreed, stroking Donathan's soft, dark hair, twining a longish curl on Donathan's nape around his finger. Drove Donathan batty, that did. Pretty as he was, he hated being called feminine. "Let's crash out for a while. Zoning in front of the TV sounds good. Lord knows I'll doze off watching pottery making in Portugal--" "Philippines," Donathan corrected him. "And it's textile painting." Jacob Lee hadn't even known they did textile whatchamacallit in the Philippines, but whatever. His mind had already moved on. "Where do they make pottery?" "Lord have mercy, pretty much everywhere. Me, I like the Mexican pottery. Gorgeous colors and such tradition." Donathan yawned. Jacob Lee figured he'd best get Donathan settled before he did keel over. He did get one last dig in, "You know, of all the things I'd like for you to teach me, I could go for pottery." "Huh!" Donathan's face was turned away, but that didn't stop Jacob Lee from picturing, perfectly, his puzzled frown. "I might regret this, but I'll bite. Why pottery?" Jacob Lee nibbled at Donathan's neck. Too tasty to resist, that man, and he tasted oh, so sweet. "You've never seen Ghost?" Donathan's groan was music to Jacob Lee's ears. "Dork." "Your dork." "Wouldn't have it any other way." Donathan raised Jacob Lee's hand to his own lips and licked between the webbing of the fingers. "Let's get to the couch and make out like horny teenagers." "I think I like that idea much better than pottery." Jacob Lee goosed Donathan's fine, firm ass. "Let's go." ***

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Pretty much as Jacob Lee expected, the spirit might have been willing, but the flesh was, as ever, weak. No sooner had Donathan gotten situated proper, his head in Jacob Lee's lap all ready for the kissing, he'd sighed, closed his eyes, and dozed off faster than a tabby in a sunny patch. Jacob Lee chuckled quietly, stroking loose strands of hair off Donathan's forehead. "You rest, hon," he whispered. "I'll work on your birthday surprise." Knowing Donathan wouldn't budge an inch with his head cradled in the warmth of his lap and the TV turned on low, accented narrator's voice soothingly extolling the virtues of textile painting, Jacob Lee felt safe in pulling out and cracking open the book he himself had sneaked upstairs, tucked in the small of his back. For a second he wondered if the musty smell the old pages released would wake Donathan, but Donathan only mumbled once, pulled a slight face, and sank ever deeper into his snooze. Jacob Lee satisfied himself of Donathan's unconscious state, then turned ninety percent of his attention to the book and the fascinating sketch on its first page. "Can't stop wondering about who you were," Jacob Lee murmured, tracing the faded old ink lines with the roughened pad of his work-worn finger. "And who drew you. Lord, there's a story there, I know." Curious, he flicked through a handful of pages in search of clues about JM and RS. Ah-ha! Pay dirt. Though at first he'd seen only sketch after sketch of the dark-haired, devil-eyed rogue, on page seven he found his first sketch of who he could only assume was the original artist, for this drawing had been done in a different style altogether. Reminded Jacob Lee of what would happen if he tried to draw Donathan. Heavy, clumsy strokes of the ancient fountain pen rendered the second figure thick and graceless. No skill there, but as Jacob Lee saw it, an abundance of love. And mischief, for this new character had crossed eyes and a mouth so far open in a grin that he looked clownish. And how about that, it was another man. As best as Jacob Lee could tell, he'd been taller and thinner than the devil-may-care lounging subject rendered with such reverent attention in all the other pages. Possibly fair-haired, possibly older, and far less blessed with wealth given the artist's rendering of loose, patched farmer's pants and worn hat at his side. The dark devil, bless his hide, had gone and drawn a big cartoony heart over this farmer's head. Once again the initials were intertwined, clumsy but still legible. Best of all? Underneath the drawing, the same hand which had done the sketch had scribbled his signature: Randolph Sampson. Hot damn! He knew which was which, now. "Randolph, you wicked fellow," Jacob Lee chortled to himself, careful not to disturb Donathan, well pleased. "I wonder how long you two got away with your spooning back in the day?" Make no mistake, now that he looked for it on the other, better rendered pages, he could see JM's careful attention to the length and supple grace of Randolph's legs, his reverent detail of Randolph's smile, and Lord knew only a blind man could miss how JM had always drawn Randolph lying down like sex incarnated in flesh. Jacob Lee flipped ahead to the back of the book, frowning when he found the pages going blank about halfway in. He persisted to the final page without really looking at what came before, a growing uneasiness wiggling in his belly. They'd have died well before Jacob Lee's time even if they'd grown old and gray together, but he purely hated the thought of them getting caught and punished and driven apart. "Damn glad we don't live back in those times." Jacob Lee thumbed the lazy, slowly beating pulse in

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Donathan's throat. "I'd be lost if you... hell, it's not gonna happen, so I won't think on it." He went back to examining the pictures, starting after the sketch of JM and carefully cataloging each one in turn. JM's fancy turned to action drawings after a while; Jacob Lee could well imagine Randolph had been a cat-like sort of man, as given to wild bursts of energy as he was lazing about in the summer's warmth. Much like Donathan. Jacob Lee chuckled his way through pictures of Randolph trying to gentle down a huge black stallion with meanness stamped on every foaming line of his muscles and in his wicked hooves; pictures of Randolph running foot races; pictures of Randolph sneaking a pie from a windowsill and eating as much as he pleased, sticky-sweet juice licked off his fingers. The last sketch of the series changed the mood abruptly. JM had sketched Randolph asleep in his bed, quilts and blankets rucked down over his bare belly. The man's full cock was securely in hand, possibly exaggerated through the eyes of love. If not, Randolph had been a lucky son of a bitch in more ways than one. Randolph's eyes were closed and his lips curved in a sweet grin. Directly above, JM had drawn the claddagh heart with initials. Down in the right-hand corner, he'd written words for the first time: My heart's love, tonight, August 31, 1861. Never to be forgotten no matter where I roam. Jacob Lee had thought there was nothing beyond that point, but he'd been wrong. The next over but one had the tiniest cartoon in pencil, so old and faded it'd be easy to miss. A Civil War flag, roughly drawn. He sighed, air whistling out between his disappointed lips. Ought to have known. War, they said, was hell, and one of its worst devils was leaving loved ones behind. Easy enough to figure that JM, rest his soul, had likely gone off to fight, leaving Randolph behind. No idea what had come next for them, but there were no records of death or aught, so Jacob Lee chose to believe they'd made it through, hooked back up somewhere far away, and lived out long, healthy lives until they were both old and gray and satisfied with the time they'd spent on this earth. Donathan, of all folks, wrinkled up his nose and smiled fondly when Jacob Lee spun such daydreams. Jacob Lee didn't care. He liked his happy endings and he'd not suffer anyone to take them away from him. Now, normally Jacob Lee would never think of defacing a book this old, with so much significance in its pages. All the same, he found himself reaching for a soft lead pencil he'd noticed before on the lamp table beside the sofa, a short nub with just enough point left to do the job. Ever so careful, he turned back and forth between the first set of intertwined initials and the first truly blank page, copying as best as he could, substituting S and J. Didn't look so hot when he'd finished; he didn't care. It made for a fine start, in his opinion. Jacob Lee carefully got up, cradling Donathan's head so he wouldn't fidget or wake. He clasped the sketchbook close to his chest and went in search of first some tracing paper, knowing Donathan had a few tablets somewhere, and then his Bluetooth phone. He had a tattoo artist to leave a message for, and an appointment to get set up. Men should leave behind records of their great loves, Jacob Lee thought. Randolph and JM, he was sure, would approve of his plans. And Donathan? Well, picturing Donathan's reaction filled Jacob Lee with a heady buzz of arousal.

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Maybe after he made his calls, he'd wake Donathan up after all.

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Chapter Five Hummingbird Studio West turned out not to look a single thing like what Jacob Lee had expected. He knew better than to expect to see skulls and crossbones and flaming daggers painted on the window, and he'd not looked to find a grizzled old man inside wearing a dirty undershirt, wielding a foot-powered needle, nor a parking lot full of Hell's Angels choppers. He'd been sort of right, and sort of wrong. Hummingbird had a plenty of paint on their windows, but the flaming dagger was surrounded by thorns and held by a tale, pale man with wings. The jewel-colored bird they took their name from flew over the angel's head, its bright hues contrasting richly to the chalkiness of the avenger underneath. Celtic knotwork traced every corner in intricate loops of gold and green. Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he turned the cool, slick brass knob and faced up to his own personal music. A bell chimed as Jacob Lee stepped inside. He blinked, startled somehow by the homey sound. If he'd have thought of anything, he might have suspected a guitar riff. Maybe he hadn't stayed as free of stereotypical expectations as he'd prided himself on. At least among the waiting clients ranged about reading magazines or listening to mp3 players, some were multi-pierced in fascinating places, some had spiked hair, and some where covered in wild, bright maps of inked-in artwork. And some looked like schoolteachers or soccer moms. One resembled his favorite aunt, a comfortingly plump lady as sweet as sugar pie, dressed in a pretty lavender blouse and loose, comfy jeans. She looked up from her copy of Reader's Digest and smiled at him, welcoming. Jacob Lee, though he faced down nail guns and cement mixers and grouchy-ass foremen every day, made as direct a beeline to her comforting presence as he could. "Mind if I...?" "No need to ask, baby." She patted the chair beside her. "I know you." "You do?" Jacob Lee blinked, surprised. "I've never been in here before." Up close, he saw that she had small dimples in her cheeks. When she spoke, one of her incisors sparkled with a tiny sapphire chip. "I've seen your picture. You're Donathan's honey, aren't you? He and I have a good chat every time we meet. He's a sweetie pie if ever there was one." She held out her hand. "So you're Jacob Lee. It's a pleasure to meet you at last." Jacob Lee's aunt had raised him to mind his manners around proper ladies, but he'd have shown her due respect regardless. She appealed to him like a mother. "And you, ma'am." She dimpled at him. "Sweetheart, you don't need to call me ma'am. I'm Bethannie. Bristol said you'd be by today. He got pulled off for a family emergency, so he asked me to take care of you." "You work here?" Lord help him, no matter how he'd tried to keep an open mind, he couldn't help but be a little shocked. "I surely do, and I'm good at my job." Bethannie stood and stretched, blouse riding up slightly over her maturity-rounded belly, exposing a navel ring with a dime-sized portrait of Bettie Page attached. "How about you follow me, sweetheart, and we'll get this tour going."

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"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Bethannie." Jacob Lee had the strangest urge to bow to her. Donathan always laughed at how old Southern manners seemed hardwired in Jacob Lee's DNA. "Where do we start?" "Right this way." Bethannie led Jacob Lee past three cubicles, each one blasting out hard-core alternative rock and metal, waving at the men firmly ensconced within. One fulfilled every typical dream of a tattoo artist, burly and bald, a grinning skull tattooed on the top of his noggin. "Crandall," she explained, "only call him Cujo, 'cause he's just that pretentious." The tall, slim man with the sweet smile was identified as "Jay", and the neatly compact African-American with a goatee was called "Roger". Jacob Lee kept his peeks inside their workspaces as discreet as he could, which meant he caught only glimpses of what struck him as psychotic geometric art on the walls and clients with pained expressions tightening their lips, their hands white-knuckled on chair arms. They paused a couple of feet past Roger's work space. Bethannie glanced back at Jacob Lee, a dare-you in her twinkling eyes. "Fear of needles aside, are you afraid of the actual pain? I'll tell you straight up that yes, a tattoo does hurt. Some places more than others." "I hadn't imagined it couldn't hurt," Jacob Lee refuted. He did have his pride. "It's the needles in and of themselves, I think. I'm no stranger to pain," he brazened despite nerves he knew had to be miserably obvious. "I've shot a nail gun in my foot before." Bethannie winced in sympathy, but her warning expression didn't change a whit. "I'll bet that did indeed hurt. Tattooing is still different. For one thing, you'll be sitting still while I work on you, or at least you'd better sit still if you don't want some messy, messy art forever on your skin." "You'll do the tattoo?" "Unless you don't want me to, I will. You could wait for Bristol if we don't get along, although I think we'll be fine. Thing is, I don't have a clue when Bristol might be back." She looked momentarily worried. "He's a good guy. Hope he's not tangled up in anything too bad. Never has called out a work a day in his life that I'm aware of." Bethannie shook herself. "Listen to me, going on and on. I'm sure he'll be fine. All right, we're in here." She drew back a crisp red drape hanging over the doorless frame. "Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly." Jacob Lee liked Bethannie more and more by the minute. "Yes'm." "I'm not breaking you of that, am I?" Bethannie mock-sighed, walking in. "I do have to admit it's nice to see country manners. My lord, kids these days. Someone raised you right." Her tone softened. "'Course, I should have known. Anyone who sweet Donathan loves so much would have to be a good man." Jacob Lee's chest warmed with pleasure. That sealed the deal. He'd have Bethannie to do his artwork and none other. "Thank you." She flapped her hand at him. "My pleasure, sweetheart. Now, where do you want to start? Your basic walk-through of what it's all about and how it works?" "That'd be perfect." For all he trusted and liked Bethannie, Jacob Lee thought he might need to sit down once she started talking about needles. He glanced about until he spotted the padded table, not unlike what you'd see in a doctor's office. Come to that, everything in Hummingbird West, from the waiting room all the way back here, was clean as a whistle. He smelled a hint of cigarette smoke but mostly antiseptic tangs in the air, rubbing alcohol and freshly mopped floors. "May I?"

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"Sure thing, sweetheart." Bethannie patted his shoulder. "Make yourself at home. You're a big, big guy, so we'll see how comfortable you'll be down there." Jacob Lee tested the sturdiness, and it wasn't overall bad. "Much obliged." He looked around again, observing the framed Bettie Page, Deanna Durbin and Marilyn Monroe posters on these particular walls. Bethannie had style, for damn sure. "You have a nice place here." "We try." Bethannie busied herself retrieving various bottles and machines, lying them out on a crisp sheet of sterile paper laid over a stainless steel table. "Tattooing has changed a lot since the old days. If any studio you walk into doesn't keep it as clean as a hospital, you walk right back on out, hear me?" "Yes, ma'am." "Sterile is the word. Now granted, if you want the whole cultural experience, they still use the old ways in some places. I got this here on my right shoulder down in New Zealand." She shrugged, the loose collar of her lavender blouse slipping off to reveal a heavy, dark, spiky spiral. "It's not for the faint of heart, let me tell you. He used a needle on the end of a carved stick and a hammer." Jacob Lee shuddered in time with her. "Let me take this opportunity to say how glad I am that we're not in New Zealand." Bethannie chortled. "I wouldn't recommend it for a first tattoo, no sir." She took a sly peek at Jacob Lee, who realized she'd been testing his nerves, and looked pleased at his not bolting. Tickled, he grinned back at her. Not going anywhere, nope, no ma'am. This is for my Donathan and if I'd walk through fire for the man, I can face up to a needle. He'd keep telling himself that until the deed was done, if need be. "Mind if I ask what all those are for?" He pointed. The array of paraphernalia didn't look too unnerving, not even the thingamabob that resembled nothing so much as an industrial glue gun. "That's what we're here for." Bethannie kicked a stool out from under the table and sat. She held up the glue gun thing and pressed the trigger. A buzzing whir made Jacob Lee jump. All the same, he stayed put. "This is the business end of the bargain. No needles in it right now, naturally, but that's what it sounds like. Think you'll be okay with the noise?" Jacob Lee considered the question. He didn't guess it was much worse than a dentist's drill. "I believe so." "Good!" Bethannie patted his knee. "All right, that's the worst of it. Now, let me show you these..." Slowly and patiently as a natural-born caregiver, she led him through explanations of ink types, likely color combinations, ink caps, sterile solution, and aftercare. He'd have to guard his tattoo in the sun so it didn't fade, but Jacob Lee figured he could make the compromise. When she'd finished, Jacob Lee would have dared to say he was starting to get excited all over again. Lord, what had he been nervous of? Might not be easy as a snap of the fingers, no, but it wasn't near the bugbear he'd feared. "What about designs?" he asked once he'd been satisfied, fingering the crinkling scrap of tracing paper he'd tucked in his shirt pocket. "I can come up with my own idea, right? I know Donathan does." "You bet you can. Got something particular in mind?"

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Jacob Lee nodded, handing her his carefully sketched copy of the initials he'd found in the book of lover's drawings. He had to admit his artwork more or less sucked. Hopefully he'd gotten the general idea right. "Like this, only better." Bethannie chuckled. "Sweetheart, reading between the lines of a rough draft and figuring what the customer wants is like a pharmacist learning how to interpret how doctors write out prescriptions. I'll take good care of you. Now, let me see." She pursed her lips, studying the sketch. "Oh, I like this, I do. Small, I think, but not too small, since you're a beefy guy. On the bicep?" Jacob Lee hesitated. Did he dare go this soppy in front of Bethannie, sweet country woman or not? "Spit it out," she prodded. "Tattoos are forever, son. If you don't want it on your arm, then for God's sake you'd better tell me now." "Over my heart," he admitted, cheeks warming up. "It's for Donathan's birthday." Bethannie lit up like a candle, giving him to know he'd pleased her well. "You truly are good enough for Donathan." "Sounds like he's made an impression on you," Jacob Lee had to observe; not that he minded a whit. "All of us would have had him in here to work in a heartbeat if he'd agree to an apprenticeship. He's got a great eye and a sense for spatial proportions second to none I've ever seen." Bethannie exhaled heavily. "I've asked, believe me. He always says no. Truth to tell, I don't know if he's as much of a free spirit as he claims, or if he's scared he'll mess up." Jacob Lee thought that one over. Bethannie shook off her momentary gloom. "Tell you what, how about you give him a push our way? He'd be a star, for sure." "I'll see what I can do," Jacob Lee replied slowly, choosing his words. He wouldn't make a promise he couldn't keep, but that didn't mean he didn't intend to take it under careful consideration. "Good man." Bethannie returned to her study of Jacob Lee's sketch. "I think we've got something fine in the making here." Jacob Lee thought she might be right.

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Chapter Six For once in a rare blue moon, Jacob Lee got home before Donathan did. A critical examination of the sky told him Donathan might not yet return before the sun went down, as the day was bright, not too hot, and thus perfect for folks to indulge themselves with a walk through the park. Hopefully right past wherever Donathan had set up camp for the day with his paints and pencils. He did love his work. Jacob Lee couldn't get Bethannie's wishful dreaming about Donathan working for Hummingbird out of his thoughts. He did see why Donathan would get crawly-skinned over the thought of being confined within four walls throughout the day. You couldn't and never should try to cage a wild bird; he'd had the selfsame argument many a time when guys from the site or his own family got tetchy about how he "supported" Donathan, like Donathan was a no-good bum or something. Money didn't worry Jacob Lee. They didn't need much, and they made do. Neither did he think Donathan "needed" to better his station in life. What did niggle in his thoughts was Bethannie's offhand comment about Donathan maybe being afraid. Why? Jacob Lee couldn't think of a thing, though granted, he did see his lover through deeply rosecolored glasses. Might even spoil him rotten, though Jacob Lee didn't let that bother him. But, afraid? He couldn't make sense of the concept, and didn't know if he wanted to ask. To take his mind off the conundrum -- no sense in thinking something over until it grew into far more than what it was -- he got busy. Donathan had tidied up and cooked yesterday, and although they didn't keep a tally sheet as to whose turn came when, it pleased Jacob Lee to try and fix up something good for Donathan to come home to. Dinner, that was a good place to start. He couldn't cook like Donathan, no, but he had a mean hand with a Crock-Pot. Hard to mess up Crock-Pot food. Chicken breasts and thighs thawed in the microwave, chopped up into ragged-edged chunks, a can of chicken broth stock, a good handful or three of sliced onions and carrots, two tubes of biscuit dough sliced quarter-wise. All of the above went into the pot, which he turned on to simmer slowly through the afternoon. Chicken and dumplings, one of his favorites. He'd even fix up a pot of fresh green peas later, and maybe see if he could heat up a frozen peach pie without burning it black. Well-satisfied with his efforts, Jacob Lee went the extra mile of tidying away his dishes. He still had a plenty of nervous energy left over when he'd finished, though, and with no Donathan in sight, needed to find something to occupy his time. Otherwise, he knew damn well he'd get lost in staring at Bethannie's much-improved rendition of the claddagh and initials sketch, or worry himself over the upcoming work until he'd lost all his taste for the deed. After a few moments' worth of thought, Jacob Lee snapped his fingers. He had it: wash the truck. Lord knew he'd put the job off for far longer than need be during pollen season. It depressed him to spend hours with soap and wax only to wake up the next morning to see all his hard work coated in fresh yellow dust. Still, it'd keep him occupied for the time being and that was what mattered. And the look on Donathan's face when he came home and saw Jacob Lee stripped down to the waist, covered in soapy water, that would be priceless. Jacob Lee cackled and got to work. ***

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"Now there's a sight for sore eyes."

Jacob Lee looked up, grinning fit to beat the band, at the sound of his Donathan's voice. Donathan smiled

back at him, blazing bright, sunburned across his nose, daubed from head to toe with smears of paint in every possible color, and happy as a kid in a candy store. "Hey there, good looking." "Hey good-looking, yourself," Donathan retorted. He carefully stowed his canvas satchels full of art supplies and his easel by the side of the porch. "So, do I need to buy a ticket or is the show free today?"

Jacob Lee wiggled his ass at Donathan. "Go on and sneak in the theatre. I won't call the cops."

Donathan laughed, a sound Jacob Lee loved, bubbly and young. "Is today's performance interactive?"

"If you play your cards right." Jacob Lee perked up. "Or if you play them wrong. I'm easy."

"You're a man-whore, is what you are," Donathan teased. "Give me a minute. Those sidewalks get hot in

the late afternoon sun, and these sneakers are wearing pretty thin."

"Take your time." Jacob Lee didn't mind a good, slow build-up. "You look like you had a good day."

"One of the best." Donathan said, lazily happy. "I met an older woman, maybe in her sixties, who sat and

talked with me for a while. She does henna, too. We talked recipes." He chortled. "Remember when I first

started? How awful the mess was that I made with the pre-mixed paste in a tube?"

Jacob Lee shuddered. "The slimy greenish-brown goop that smelled like ass?"

"Ugh. Yeah."

"I recall your saying it was like painting with pudding."

"Or worse. It's a shame, the way things go down in businesses sometimes. The pre-mixed paste isn't

regulated, you know? All kinds of weird chemicals end up in there."

"Jesus." Jacob Lee's heart sped up a notch. "You never said. What do they put in there?"

"Depends. Might just be food coloring, or in worst cases it's silver nitrate to make the stain turn black.

You could get a nasty rash, or it might just burn you."

Jacob Lee pointed backward. "I ever see another tube of that enter this house and I'll beat your ass with a

belt."

"Ooh. Promise?" Donathan's question held all the salacious stopping power of a bump and grind.

"Mind your manners, young man. I'm serious."

"My hand to God," Donathan said, acting out his promise. "I'll mix my own now and forever. Pakistani

henna powder, tea tree oil, lemon juice and patience. Now, lighten up, hon. Serious is fine when serious is called for, but you've got to admit that it's not half as much fun as misbehaving."

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Jacob Lee had to admit that was true. "Then how about you come over here and act up with me?" he asked, throwing back tease for tease, not caring that his was somewhat less than subtle. "You don't need much time to rest up, as I know very well." "You know way too much about me in way too many respects," Donathan grumbled, pretending to be irked. Warm, solid, paint-daubed arms wrapped around Jacob Lee's waist, Donathan's lips landing soft and ticklish between his bare shoulder blades. "Good thing I've decided to keep you." "Just you try to get rid of me." Jacob Lee bumped backwards, snugging his ass into Donathan's groin. Oh now, looked like someone wasn't half as worn out as he'd claimed, didn't it? He did feel hot, though, in more than the usual way, sun radiating off his skin, the smell of long hours in the bright light rich and musky in Jacob Lee's nose. He'd have to hog-tie the man down and rub in some aloe later. Not like he'd complain. "So how can I help?" Donathan licked a stripe up Jacob Lee's neck, humming contentedly when Jacob Lee shivered from pleasure. "I could drop the soap." Jacob Lee hooted. "Lord, you nut. Here." He reluctantly freed himself from Donathan and plucked a sponge from his bucket of soapy water. "You start on the hood. I'll work my way up from the tailgate and we'll meet in the middle." "Parting is such sweet sorrow," Donathan sighed, melodramatic as a Shakespearean actor. He kissed Jacob Lee on the forehead, then took the sponge and sashayed away, shaking his sexy ass. Baby had some delicious back going on. Jacob Lee had seen this many times before, so it must have been the devil on his shoulder that made him wait until Donathan reached the hood of the truck, then he raised his hose, pointed the nozzle at Donathan, and let the water fly full blast. The hefty jet hit Donathan square in the face. "You asshole!" Donathan howled, laughing, shaking his head like a shaggy dog. "You're going down for that." "Bring it, soggy boy." Jacob Lee lowered the hose so that the water played over Donathan's chest. "What are you gonna do to me, hmm?" "Tear you to ribbons, for a start." Donathan's brilliant grin belied his threats. He pushed wet hair out of his face. Lord, he was pretty when he was happy. Made Jacob Lee's heart, and other parts of his anatomy, swell in appreciation. Even more so when he trailed the stream of water down Donathan's stomach and over his legs. The thin, pale blue board shorts his lover had chosen to wear turned almost translucent, thin enough to outline a sturdy, promising hard-on. Jacob Lee whistled, approving. "If you ask me if I've got a paintbrush in my pants or if I'm happy to see you..." Donathan threatened. "Never crossed my mind." Jacob Lee flicked the water in a quick up-and-down over Donathan's shoulders. "Pay me back already, would you?" "Oh, I will." Heedless of the cold water Jacob Lee had yet to release him from, Donathan slinked back toward him. He tossed his soapy sponge on the hood of the truck and canted his hips, thumbs tucked in the waist of his shorts. "See this? See me?"

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Hell yes, he did. Jacob Lee licked his lips. "Already told you," he husked, horny as a buck in musk. "Bring it. I can take you." Donathan placed a finger over his lips. "Where's the punishment in that?" He waited a beat before winking at Jacob Lee. "No, I think the way to pay you back is just to walk away..." Donathan made it maybe three steps before Jacob Lee had dropped the hose and lunged after his lover. He tackled Donathan and threw him backward into the truck's grill, crowding up close and personal before Donathan could know what was going on. "Got you," he breathed. "This is two for me." "Then I suppose I'll have to think of something better for later," Donathan breathed. Little faker; he was as hungry for this as Jacob Lee. "What are you going to do with me?" "Every damn thing I can think of, starting with this." Jacob Lee manhandled Donathan about, pushing him face-forward. Donathan braced his arms on the hood and spread his feet, distributing his weight and pushing his ass back so shamelessly that Jacob Lee had never been quite so proud. He popped Donathan's ass purely for the delight of hearing him squeak, and then those shorts had to go. They proved slightly difficult to remove, sticking to Donathan's skin in the way of wet cotton, but the rewarding sight of what lay beneath more than made up for any other inconvenience. "My God, you are the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen." Jacob Lee went to his knees, heedless of the rough gravel beneath and uncaring of any neighbors that might be around to see them. Not like they hadn't seen this and more before. As for the gravel, well, he'd gotten down and dirty on worse, for less worthy reasons than worshipping Donathan's sweet ass. He cupped the cheeks in the palms of his hands, massaging the strong glutes, and bent forward to kiss them in turn. He nipped at one, loving the way Donathan strangled out a curse. Biter liked being bitten, he did. Donathan liked what Jacob Lee did next even more. He didn't give Donathan any warning, simply parting the man's cheeks wide and plunging his face between them. Donathan's shriek was music to his ears, as was the rapid gasping and chanting his name that followed fast after. Jacob Lee gave him no quarter, licking fast, nasty stripes and thrusting his tongue deep. He pushed one finger in while his lips worked wicked magic, then two, scissoring him good and open. Bless him, Donathan never struggled once, only tipping his head back and moaning, begging for more, if anything. When his curses reduced down to "Fuck, fuck, fuck; Jacob Lee, come on. Fuck..." Jacob Lee knew he'd accomplished his goal. Jacob Lee stood a little shakily, his knees none too steady. "Call this an early birthday present," he whispered in Donathan's ear. He fumbled his jeans open and pushed them down, hissing in pleasure as his aching cock finally came free of the confining denim. "Ready for me?" "You kidding?" Donathan gasped. "Please, Jacob Lee, please." He never could and never wanted to tell Donathan no, especially not when he begged so sweetly for a fucking. Jacob Lee sank his teeth into Donathan's shoulder, lined his cock up with Donathan's ready ass, and slid home sweet as one could ever hope for. He groaned at the hot snugness surrounding him.

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Lord, he hoped Donathan didn't have his heart set on a long, slow screw, because Jacob Lee didn't think he had it in him to play Marathon Man right then. He made it last as long and as sweet as he could, his awareness of the world slipping into a collection of sensual impressions -- Donathan's wet skin sliding warm and slippery under his hands, skating everywhere he could reach, the urgent, needy grunts Donathan uttered when Jacob Lee plowed into him, his own hungry growls as he hammered home, searing constriction blissfully squeezing his dick, the smell of soap and sweaty outdoor-heated skin, and the taste of the sweat on Donathan's skin. He came to himself in time to comprehend Donathan's desperate babbling and reached in front of them to wrap his slick fist around his lover's rigid cock. He got in two good, hard jerks before Donathan howled from deep in his gut and hot stickiness flooded over his fingers. His lover's internal muscles spasmed, squeezing him tight and hard enough to bring him over moments later. Jacob Lee held Donathan by the waist, breathing in huge, lusty gulps. Beneath him, Donathan shivered and groaned, looking as bonelessly fucked-out as Jacob Lee personally felt. "That," Donathan said after a moment of recovery, twisting around to smile sleepily at Jacob Lee, "was one of the best birthday gifts I've ever gotten, early or not." Jacob Lee kissed him, tasting the sweet fullness of Donathan's lips, savoring his hidden secrets. "It'll only get better from here, darlin'. You'll not forget this birthday for the rest of your life." He winked. "Like they say, you ain't seen nothing yet." He swallowed Donathan's eager moan with another kiss, and was content.

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Chapter Seven "Tell me about this one." Jacob Lee lazily traced over the storm cloud on Donathan's left hip, dark gray and purple thunderheads shooting electric white-gold splinters of lightning. Truth be told, he'd heard all the stories a dozen times or more. He still never tired of listening to Donathan tell them again, loving how he'd slip into a warm, cozy doze while Donathan talked his way through the lullaby. Donathan, who knew what Jacob Lee was up to, chuckled and combed through Jacob Lee's hair. "All right. You see up there?" He pointed to the sky above them, clear as a crystal lake, blue as midnight velvet, smooth as cream save for where glimmering diamond-bright stars glittered at them. "See how perfect? Let me tell you, the night when I decided to get this tattoo was as un-perfect as they can possibly be." Jacob Lee hummed contentedly and settled down, his head on Donathan's chest and his ear pressed over Donathan's heart. They lay together in the small patch of grassy lawn behind the shotgun house, barely big enough for two grown men to stretch out in comfort and even then they lay contrariwise between an overgrown holly bush and their neighbor's attempts at an herb garden. Didn't matter. He thought he couldn't have been happier. "Keep going," he prodded when Donathan seemed to have fallen silent. Donathan played with Jacob Lee's hair, winding strands around his finger. "Gonna give you some pretty curls," he teased gently. "Send you to the site tomorrow looking like Shirley Temple." "I'll spank you if you so much as think about it." "Really? Then I'll just have to sneak some orange juice cans in bed overnight and do your hair up proper." Jacob Lee poked his lover in the ribs, deliberately hitting a ticklish spot. "Lord save us from random acts of hair crime." No one could call him overly fussy about his crop, but curls? No thank you. "I think I told you to keep going." "I love it when you're bossy." Donathan lightly tweaked his ear. "The storm cloud tattoo. A bad night that was. Twenty-six years old that day, and as a present to myself I'd finally bought the car I'd had my eyes on for months. Saved every penny I could, and you know that's not easy for me." Jacob Lee snorted quietly. Donathan never met a red cent he couldn't fritter away. Jacob Lee wouldn't stop him, not when the paints and pastels Donathan bought gave him so much pleasure. And he never let on, not as such, but Jacob Lee knew Donathan bought more than a few cups of coffee for the park homeless. No, he wouldn't change a thing about his man. So why did he keep coming back to Bethannie's off-hand mention of Donathan's apprenticing as a tattoo artist? Didn't make any kind of sense. He jerked himself back to the story, catching up mid-sentence. "-- took her out for a joy ride as soon as the keys were in my hot little hands. Lord, what a mistake. See, I hadn't driven for oh, two or three years, and I'd forgotten lots of important things like checking to see if I had gas in the tank or oil in the whatever oil goes into."

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"You do all right on the ten-speed and your own two feet. Driving's not for everyone." Witness ninety-year-old blue-haired ladies who frightened the ever-loving bejeezus out of him when he saw one coming in a huge boat of a car, barely able to see over the steering wheel. Witness drunks he saw zipping around on their mopeds and witness also tiny folks all alone driving monster SUVs that dwarfed his working man's truck. Donathan made a noncommittal noise of agreement. "I figured that one out pretty fast. Back then, though, I thought I was king of the world in my third-hand plum-purple Beetle. It had lightning strikes painted on the sides, an amateur job, sweet all the same. Now, here's the thing. You know I'm tone deaf." Lord, was he ever. Donathan had an inordinate fondness for belting out the latest hits while in the shower, and he could crumble the tiles. Jacob Lee figured he had no room to talk, as his own voice sounded like someone was trying to strangle a cat. He'd joined in on a bloodcurdling duet more than once. "I didn't realize the 'music' I thought was the engine 'purring' was more like dying gasps." Donathan tweaked a single strand of Jacob Lee's hair, giggling when Jacob Lee grumped and swatted up at his hand and missed. "So there I am on the side of this long and winding country dirt road, round about a million miles from nowhere, or so I thought. Real rural place. No street lamps, no road signs, just a couple of farm houses on either side of the road, no lights on in their windows. I didn't have a cell phone and I didn't have any bit of an idea about what to do. Thought I'd have to curl up in the back seat of the Beetle and breathe in the stink of burned rubber until morning's first light." Jacob Lee nipped the soft, bare skin over Donathan's nipple, well pleased at his lover's small shiver. "You didn't have to, though, did you?" he pressed. "No sir, I did not. As I stood there on the sloping shoulder of the dirt road, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a beat-up old red truck, Toby Keith playing loud out the open windows--" "Rascal Flatts," Jacob Lee interrupted. Donathan accepted his correction. "Rascal Flatts, then. I stepped back, thinking the driver would never see me, no way. But he did, and he stopped by the smoking wreck of my poor little dead Beetle, rolled down his window, and grinned at me. He said, 'Looks like you could use a hand.'" Donathan slid his hand down to thumb at Jacob Lee's jaw. "I'll never forget him." Jacob Lee sighed with pleasure. He loved the light, easy brush of Donathan's fingers when he was in a quiet, loving mood. "So tell me about him." "I think you know the man in question." All the same, Donathan indulged him. "He struck me dumb from the moment I laid eyes on him. Big man, the kind I always dreamed about, solid and wide in the shoulders, strong in the arms. I knew right away that whoever he was, he worked hard for his living. I wanted to draw his hands, big square-knuckled mitts, one curled around the steering wheel and one on the open passenger window of his truck. Hands like his, they made me think of how they'd feel stroking down my bare skin. Made me ache to have those long, roughed-up fingers squeezing my cock. Lord, I got hard in a heartbeat and almost died from the shame, knowing he'd think I was some kind of backwoods hooker." Jacob Lee snorted, tickled as ever. "I doubt he thought any such thing."

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"I know that now. Back then, I was terrified. Odd, though, how it didn't occur to me for a second to be afraid of him." "You've got good taste," Jacob Lee said smugly. "What happened next?" He did love this sort of playing, all fucked out and drowsy enough to lie close to his Donathan in the great outdoors. "You can't stop now. The good part's coming up." "A good story is told through to the end," Donathan agreed around a huge yawn. "I looked at the man from head to toe, and finished on his smile. A broad, friendly grin that went all the way up to his eyes, telling me that whoever he was, he was for real and I could trust him. He said to me, charming with his voice as much as with his body, 'Come on. I'll give you a ride back into town. It's on my way.'" Donathan sighed happily. "And do you know what? I fell in love with him before we were halfway through the drive." Jacob Lee tightened his arm over Donathan's chest. "He did the same, you know." "I do, which is why I figured I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, and when he pulled up to a stoplight, I just slid on over the seat and kissed him square on the lips. Shocked him half to death, I think. For a moment. Then he kissed me back." Donathan's chest shook with amusement. "We lingered at that light for almost an hour, and that truck was rocking forty-five minutes out of the sixty. He loved me so hard and so tender at the same time, let me pick the pace, romanced me like a starry-eyed virgin and then fucked me rough as a bull rider." He rippled with the pleasure of the memory. "He took me home with him. I wouldn't go back to my lonely, tiny squat above the music store. And you know what? I'm with him still." Jacob Lee nuzzled Donathan's chest. "I do love your stories. You didn't finish it all, though. Why lightning bolts and thunder clouds to mark the occasion?" Donathan massaged Jacob Lee's cheek with his thumb. "I love storms, especially ones that roll in out of the blue. They might be dangerous and they might be scary, sure; I adore them all the same, for once I see past the threat, I see the beauty of the sky colors and the sight of lightning sparks take my breath away. Out of the darkness there comes light. That's what it was like for me, on the heels of the mess with my car, catapulting straight into that red truck and that man's life. The storm rolled past, and the rest of the way was clear blue skies." He tweaked Jacob Lee's earlobe. "Mostly. I won't say there hasn't been the occasional squall, but all in all they don't color the rest." He chortled. "I am a sap, aren't I?" "My sap," Jacob Lee growled. He lightly bit Donathan's nipple and worried it briefly between his teeth, loving the way Donathan gasped and arched his back to ask for more. "Nothing wrong with bein' a romantic. Wouldn't love you half so much if you weren't. I like dreamers of dreams and if I'd wanted a man with no imagination, I'd have plenty to choose from." He patted Donathan's storm cloud tattoo. "This is a beauty." "Thank you, love." Donathan drew a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest an easy wave Jacob Lee adored riding. "Any others you want to hear the stories for?" Jacob Lee hmm'd to himself. The intention all along had been to surprise Donathan with his tattoo tomorrow evening, to get home before his lover and stretch out naked on their couch, one foot planted firmly on the floor and one hooked over the back of said couch, hand teasing his cock, his new ink proudly on display. Now, though, he found himself so strongly tempted to tell that it surprised him.

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"What?" Donathan asked, a slight change in the tension of his muscles warning Jacob Lee that he'd picked up on the mental struggle. "Something wrong, hon?" "No," Jacob Lee said automatically. "Don't you fret."

"Don't you try to bullshit me." Donathan's gentle caresses changed fast to a sharp pinch. "What's going

on?"

"Aw, now, it's nothing to get pissed over," Jacob Lee protested. "Far from the fact, there. I'm arguing with

myself as to whether or not to let you in on what your birthday gift is meant to be."

He might have predicted the way Donathan lit right up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Tell me!" he

enthused. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Can't say that it is, no." Jacob Lee indulged in a long, full-body stretch. No use wrangling the fine points of the debate in his head, was there? He'd heard old-timers say happiness shared is happiness doubled, and he considered that to be fine advice. And he realized, as he stroked the long blade of the samurai tattooed on Donathan's chest, he wanted Donathan there with him while Bethannie worked more than he wanted to take Donathan off his guard. Though, he thought, he'd save the naked and on display fantasy for use another time soon after. "It better not have wheels, unless it's a racing bike. Ooh. Is it a racing bike?"

"Sorry, darlin', but no. You get two more guesses."

"Only two?"

"I'm feeling generous. Three is the norm, right? You get a bonus question."

Donathan grumbled, half-heartedly socking Jacob Lee in the shoulder. "Fine. Is it... a book? The old book

I loved so much?" He rippled, excited again. "Did you ask the landlady for that ledger?"

"Not yet, although I plan to, and you're getting warm."

"I love you." Donathan planted a loud, smacking kiss atop Jacob Lee's noggin. "Two more questions. Is it

some kind of art supplies? You know I've had my eye on a new set of oil pastels."

That would have been a good thought; still, Jacob Lee thought he had oil pastels beat all hollow. "Nope,

though you're still plenty warm. One more guess."

Donathan huffed out a thoughtful puff of air. "Let me think. Not a bike, not a book, not art supplies, but

close to the mark on the book and the art stuff." He hesitated. "I don't have a clue. Maybe it's a blank

journal to draw in?"

"Warmer still." Jacob Lee licked a circle around Donathan's nipple, loving the taste of his skin. "Last

chance to back out and still be surprised. Yes or no?"

"Either you tell me or I'll self-combust on the spot."

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Jacob Lee shuddered. "We can't have that, no sir. Here, give me your hand. That's it." With Donathan's help, he maneuvered them upright, kneeling with their knees at horizontal angles to one another's. "You know how you're always teasing me to get some ink under my skin? I think this is a birthday present you'll love for the rest of your life..."

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Chapter Eight "Donathan!" Bethannie's grin nearly split her face in half, full of shiny white teeth, sapphire chip sparkling. She hauled Donathan away from Jacob Lee, who'd shamefacedly grabbed his lover's hand like a girl to combat his nerves as they approached the shop on foot, and proceeded to hug the stuffing out of him. Donathan didn't seem to mind a bit, laughing and pounding Bethannie on her plump back. "I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays," he said, picking her up a few inches to make her squeal. "When Jacob Lee told me you were the one doing his artwork, I had to come see you again." "Uh-huh." Bethannie, back on her feet again, straightened her hair and winked at Jacob Lee. "Like anything could separate you two, which is more apparent than ever to me now that I see you side by side. You make an old lady's heart glad." "Ma'am, I doubt you'll be 'old' when you're eighty-five," Jacob Lee put in gallantly and truthfully. Bethannie's style continued to endear her to him. Anyone who showed Donathan so much affection was an absolute winner in his book, anyway. "Donathan said anyone who the victim wanted to bring along, they could. I didn't have time to check by you. I hope it's all right?" "Don't even ask me such a thing," Bethannie scolded. She patted Jacob Lee's cheek, though she had to reach up about a foot to do so. He hadn't realized she was small in stature, her personality huge enough for seven feet of woman. "I'd never deny this joker anything, even if we did have observer policies at Hummingbird, which we don't. Come on in, boys. It's just us right now." Stepping back from the doorway, she gestured for them to enter. "Donathan, you remember the way. Show Jacob Lee on back. I'll be with you directly." "Yes, ma'am," Donathan said with a sly wink at Jacob Lee. "Are you teaching this one manners?" Bethannie shot back, speaking to Jacob Lee. "I think I like the change. He never shows me any kind of respect." "No," Donathan replied cheerfully, "but you love me all the same, and vice-versa, I'm sure." "Scamp. Jacob Lee, you keep him in check while I gather a few things I'll need. Shoo, now, go on." She flapped her hands at them. "Let's go before she takes a broom to us." Donathan snickered, catching Jacob Lee by the hand. "This way." Jacob Lee remembered well enough, but decided not to protest. He followed Donathan as obediently as a lamb through the warren of work stations, all the way to Bethannie's personalized nook, where he stopped dead in the doorway. Lord have mercy, she'd already laid out her tattooing machine, wrapped in sterile plastic, along with what he just knew were needles in their hermetically sealed medical pouches. Donathan or no Donathan, birthday or no birthday, he broke out in a cold sweat. What if he couldn't do this? "Hey." Donathan stood on tiptoe, lips brushing Jacob Lee's cheek. "Don't you chicken out now."

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The mix of tenderness and impudence made Jacob Lee crack a smile. "Mind your mouth."

"That wouldn't be any fun. Here, let's get you situated." Donathan coaxed Jacob Lee to the padded table,

fussing over him while he sat and found his comfort zone. "You never did tell me," he mused, drawing

patterns over Jacob Lee's chest, "where on your body you planned to get this ink."

"Got to keep some things a surprise."

"Even from me?" Donathan wheedled.

Jacob Lee cackled. "You're a mess, love."

"That's the God's honest truth." Bethannie had appeared in the doorway, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed.

"Lordy, lord, you two are sweeter than Valentine's chocolate."

"Miss Bethannie," Jacob Lee protested, blushing, knowing exactly what the guys at the site would think

about this assessment, true or not. Really, though, why should he care? Must have been nerves rearing

their ugly head in unexpected ways.

She winked at him. "I won't say another word about it. Are you ready to do this?"

Jacob Lee swallowed down a lump of nervousness. He lifted his chin. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good man. Are you still wanting the tattoo where we discussed the other day?"

"I am." Jacob Lee sat up straighter and stripped off his T-shirt, the blue one, one of the oldest and

raggediest he owned, chosen on Donathan's suggestion. Apparently you didn't generally dress up for

tattooing. He tapped the spot above his heart, up and to the left of his sternum. "Right here."

Donathan breathed in. His lover apparently couldn't resist reaching out to touch, caressing the spot Jacob

Lee had named. "It'll look gorgeous there, whatever you've chosen."

Bethannie raised her eyebrow at Jacob Lee behind his back. Knowing what she was asking, he nodded in

return.

"This is what he wants," she said, touching Donathan's shoulder to get his attention. She handed him a

neatly trimmed circle of lithographic paper. Donathan took it from her, and stared. He stood transfixed for

several breaths, eyes round.

Worry nibbled at Jacob Lee's mind. "It's alright, isn't it? I thought you'd like--"

"Are you kidding me? I don't just 'like', I love." Donathan looked like the sun had risen in his smile. He

handed the temporary ink stencil back to Bethannie. "You took it from the book. I couldn't have thought

of a better."

"It's a memory," Jacob Lee agreed, rumpling Donathan's hair roughly so he didn't break down and bawl in

front of Bethannie, in a tattoo parlor. Romantic-natured or not, there were lines he wasn't any too willing

to cross. "Like your thunder clouds."

Bethannie chuckled. "Separate, you two. Donathan, you can take a seat on Jacob Lee's other side, there.

There's a second stool by the CD player, you know where that is." She kicked her own rolling stool

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toward Jacob Lee, the seat high enough for her to reach him. "Lie back, now. It's time." Oh, mercy. Jacob Lee flexed his fingers, uncurling them from the fists they wanted to make, and did as he'd been told. Donathan's quick, hard kiss lent him a good measure of reassurance. "I'm ready." "First thing I'll do is shave you," Bethannie explained, cellophane crinkling as she opened a single-razor pack with a blue Bic inside. "You've got one heck of a pelt, son." Jacob Lee snickered despite himself. "Donathan likes his men hairy." "Then he surely did get lucky with you. Speaking of Donathan, would you like to do this yourself?" Bethannie offered him the razor. "Got to go gentle with the skittish ones." "Of course." Donathan took the razor naturally as you please. "A packet of the foam and a pair of latex gloves? Thanks." Jacob Lee closed his eyes at the pleasure of Donathan's fingers skating lightly over his skin, even oddly as the touch had changed with the surgical gloves, smoothing on a coat of shaving cream that felt less thick and Reddi-Wip-like than what he normally used, and more like a skin of frothy soap that smelled of pine. He curled his toes, startled by how much he enjoyed the soft scrape of the razor over his chest, knowing it'd itch like a bitch when it grew in later and not really caring right then. Donathan kissed the newly-bared patch of skin. "That tastes terrible!" Jacob Lee laughed at him, opening his eyes to catch Donathan's twinkle. Donathan looked proud enough to pop, and the needle had yet to touch Jacob Lee's skin. "I'm done, Bethannie. Your turn." Bethannie shook her head. "How about you apply the stencil?" She offered Donathan both the lithographic paper and a spray bottle with the nozzle wrapped in cling film. "After all, you're the one meant to enjoy this most of all. It should be arranged to suit you, and Jacob Lee, too." Donathan cocked an eyebrow at Jacob Lee, who grinned at him. He saw no flaws in this plan. "Okay," Donathan said slowly, accepting the tools Bethannie held out to him. He studied the stenciled design Jacob Lee had chosen, their initials intertwined behind the claddagh band. "Only one way up," he mused. "Get it centered and level..." Jacob Lee shivered in anticipation and enjoyment as Donathan moistened his chest with some clear, hospital-smelling liquid from the spray bottle. The stencil was surprisingly chilly when pressed on the shaved patch of skin, kind of clammy, too. Donathan peeled back the decal and assessed his work, pursing his lips in thought. "Looks good to me. Bethannie?" "First time out of the gate," she approved. "You've got a fine eye." Donathan's cheeks colored a faint pink. "Stop flattering me, Bethannie. I know what you're up to." Come to that, Jacob Lee had a pretty good working theory himself. He wasn't really sure what he thought about her machinations; he was sure about how good Donathan's soothing, familiar hands were on him.

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"I'm innocent as a new-born lamb," Bethannie scolded. "Shame on you. Now, you do the ink caps. Don't sass me, either. You know what shades your Jacob Lee will like." "Bethannie, I'll get you for this," Donathan grumbled, but did as he'd been instructed. He kick-rolled his stool toward the stainless-steel paper-covered tray. "Are the caps still on the shelf underneath?" "As ever and always." Bethannie sat back, clearly willing to let Donathan run as much of the whole show as she could. "Jacob Lee, tell him what colors you were thinking of so he can grab the right bottles of pigment." "I actually hadn't been," Jacob Lee admitted. "Can't believe I didn't." He bit his lip, frozen again, unable to choose. Inspiration struck. "Donathan, it's whatever you want, so long as it isn't pink." "Jacob Lee, you--" "Nuh-uh." Jacob Lee waved off the protest. "It'll make a better memory if you're part of the choice, won't it? Pick me out some good colors." Donathan's lips twitched. "Just so long as they're not pink." "You put pink on me and you're not getting laid for weeks." Bethannie cackled. "Now there's an empty threat if I ever heard one." "Bethannie," Donathan chided, pinkening deeper. He blew an errant fall of hair out of his eyes. For a long moment, he stared thoughtfully at Bethannie's neat rank and file of ink bottles, tapping one of the tee-tiny ink caps on the surface of the tray. "Blue," he decided at last. "A good, rich blue. Carborundum. And green, too, with a dash of teal to give it some depth. Black for the outline." Jacob Lee watched, proud enough to pop, while his Donathan efficiently and quickly prepared the ink caps and set them in an orderly row. Bethannie looked them over, approving the green-teal blend. "That'll look fantastic with his skin tones." "It will." Donathan drew back and placed his hand on Jacob Lee's shoulder. "That's the end right there, Bethannie. No way I'm taking the tattoo machine itself to Jacob Lee's skin." "Couldn't let you anyway, seeing as you're not certified." Bethannie held out a trash can for Donathan to drop his gloves in. "You know what I'd like to see one day, and I think you have too much talent not to give it a try. That's all." "That's a hell of a birthday present, Bethannie," Donathan groused, albeit with a light of curious, almost wistful awe shining in his eyes. "I don't know." Jacob Lee couldn't hold it in any longer. "Hey." He looked up at Donathan. "If it's something that really interested you, then why not give it a try?" Donathan grimaced. "I suck at regimented work, Jacob Lee, you know that." Jacob Lee shrugged, but kindly. "I know you're as free a spirit as they come, yeah. Doesn't strike me that tattooing is a boring cubicle kind of nine-to-five. You're good with people and you're gifted with your art.

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I'm not pressuring you either way, mind. But if you think you'd like to try, then I'll back you up. That's

all."

His lover bent and seized Jacob Lee's mouth with his own. "I'll think about it," he whispered against

Jacob Lee's lips, flicking the tip of his tongue over Jacob Lee's teeth. "Maybe as a happy birthday to you,

when it's your turn."

Bethannie radiated pleasure, but said nothing. Wise woman. She hopped up and headed to the sink,

washing her hands surgeon-style. After drying them off under a hot air stream operated by a foot pedal,

she plucked up her own pair of gloves and rolled into position at Jacob Lee's side.

"Ready for me?" she asked.

And Jacob Lee was. "Bring it on."

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Epilogue Six Months Later… The doorbell jingling over the main entrance to Hummingbird West made a sweet, sweet sound in Jacob Lee's ears, familiar by now but never any less exciting, heating his blood and firing up his nerves. No one had noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to stop for a moment and drink it all in. He'd learned to love everything, from the buzzing of tattoo machines, the soft flick-flick-flick of potential customers paging through artist portfolios or flipping through the racks behind thin glass, the low chattering conversation between those who'd already chosen what they wanted and had only left to wait their turn. He'd even found within himself a tolerant shake of the head and a sort of good-humored patience with the blasting punk and emo and reggae roaring all the way up to eleven from three out of the five tattooist workstations. Bristol, a tall thin guy with a permanently scruffy goatee, a shaved head and spiky black tribal tats nearly from neck to toe, sensed his presence. The man had a knack for knowing who was who and what was what, Jacob Lee had discovered. He half wondered if Bristol hadn't summed up the way things were and could be and had skipped out a-purpose, leaving Bethannie to work her magic on him. He looked up from his position behind the glass-topped display counter, paused in his explanation of titanium versus niobium ear brads with a slender waif of a girl and chortled at Jacob Lee. "I told Bethannie you couldn't stay away, especially not today." Jacob Lee shrugged, comfortable in his standing at Hummingbird. "Couldn’t miss this, now could I?" He glanced around, dropping his voice. "How's he been doing?" Bristol humphed thoughtfully. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Coupla times he snuck out and went to commune with the forsythia bushes, but he's always come back, and he's got some satisfied customers, let me tell you." Jacob Lee wanted to whoop and pound Bristol's shoulders in celebration. Something of that must have shown on his face, for Bristol stood back, hands raised in the universal "I surrender" gesture. "Save it for your honey, now. I'm not into more than a handshake from a big-ass bruiser like you." "Better not be." Donathan poked his head around the corner leading back to the workstations. His hair stood up in a hundred different directions, his bright eyes sparkled with glee, and his smile was both excited and sweet. "He's mine, all mine." Jacob Lee reveled in the pride those words never failed to bring him. "Damn right. Come here, you." Donathan shuffled his hair behind his ears. "You gonna make it worth my while?" "Oh, I don't know." Jacob Lee pretended to pick lint off his shirt. "I'd thought, since it was a special occasion and all, you might have time to squeeze in another customer this afternoon." Lord, lord, if Donathan's smile had been bright before, it was blinding now. "You're serious?" "He looks serious to me," Bristol chipped in. "Hey, Bethannie!" he bellowed in the general direction of

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the Coke machines. "Jacob Lee wants some more ink. Mind if I take Donathan's next appointment and give him time to work?" Bethannie ambled out, icy cold can of Sprite in her hands. She popped open the tab, took a long drink, and pretended to seriously consider the request. She made of hell of a manager, which had tickled the hell out of Jacob Lee when he'd discovered the truth. Good to her employees, a wonder worker with nervous clients, and a proper business head on her shoulders. "I suppose we could allow it," she said at last, with great deliberation. "Provided you don't charge him a single dime." "Whoo!" Donathan crowed. He crossed the waiting room lickety-split, caught Jacob Lee by the wrist, and hauled him in for a deep, heated kiss. Jacob Lee, as ever, forgot right away where he was and what he'd been doing, lost in the solid warmth of Donathan held tight in his arms and the flavor of Donathan's mouth. He only stopped when the rush of cheers and wolf whistles grew a mite too loud for comfort. Donathan bit the tip of his nose, probably just to tweak him up, and settled back down from his position on tiptoe. Lord, but he adored the little guy. His lover looked so happy here, everything arranged exactly right to suit him, working three days a week and already, from his time spent training, in high demand. Jacob Lee took Donathan by the waist and jostled him. "You're making me so proud, you know that?" The corners of Donathan's eyes crinkled. "Yeah, and what about you? You're going under the needle again, and this time you're trusting yourself to the amateur." "There's nothing amateur about you," Jacob Lee informed him. "Come on, butcher. Have your way with me." Bethannie coughed and hid her mouth behind her hand, probably to conceal her snickering. "Get a room, you two," she said, shooing them back toward Donathan's new workstation. "Ink him up good, Donathan. Show him what's what, and if I hear a single sound telling me you're doing something besides tattooing in there, I'll tan both your hides, you hear?" "Get a little over-excited once while I'm showing my squeeze around and I swear, they never let you forget it." Donathan dimpled at Bethannie, wholly unrepentant. "Don't worry. I'll just torment him real good and make him wait until we get home." Bethannie gave in to her hilarity, sagging over the glass-topped counter, Bristol snorting equally as hard, holding himself up with one hand. "Clowns," Jacob Lee griped, but with no anger in his voice. "Everybody loves a clown." Donathan led Jacob Lee back to his workstation, where he skipped ahead to stand inside, beaming bright. He'd made the place his own, stamping it with evidence of his warm, eclectic personality: pen-and-ink sketches of he and Jacob Lee on the walls, a drawing of a truck midwash, and an oil painting of thunder clouds. Sweet Southern country played at a respectable volume from a speaker installed in the corner, much to Jacob Lee's liking. Above all, mounted in pride of place where no one could help seeing them when they entered, were two old, worn leather-bound books. The first stood open to the sketch of Randolph, the second propped open to the picture of JS, and between the two, a Polaroid snapshot of Jacob Lee's first tattoo, still shiny and

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fresh from the ink, blazing bright. "Happy Birthday, darlin'," Donathan said, drawing Jacob Lee inside, wicked eagerness curving his lips. "It's my turn to give you a present now."

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Possession: A Soul Mates Story

By Jourdan Lane

I shifted to lie on my stomach and grabbed a throw pillow from the lounge chair beside me to tuck beneath my chin. The pool was a beautiful, clear blue. The rush of water from the waterfall had almost succeeded in lulling me to sleep. Only the loneliness kept me awake, that and the occasional guard who wandered past. None of them recognized me in this human form and for that I was grateful. I had a feeling there was still some residual fear of association with me in a lot of the vampires due to my rocky past with Lucien. The first few times roaming the mansion in my true form, I'd managed to clear rooms in seconds. Now, I thought it best to just try to blend in. Nikolas hadn't agreed, but then again, Nikolas didn't agree with too many people on anything. He didn't give a shit what people thought about him or anything he did -- unless it made him look weak, which was probably what he thought about me, though he'd never actually said it. I'd gone to Nikolas over an hour ago and asked him out to swim with me, or even to just chill by the pool, but he was still a no-show. Sometimes I knew I expected more from him than he was ready -- or willing to give, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. We had a good, solid friendship, but apparently that was going to be the extent of it. Over the years, I'd spent many a night pleasuring him in the ways that he would allow, but it never went both ways. I knew I was a fool to keep opening myself up for disappointment, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. "Quiet night, Sabaan?" "Too quiet," I whispered, and then looked up to find Lucien, master vampire and owner of said pool I'd been staring into. The man still took my breath away, even after all of these years. As usual for this time of night here lately, he was dressed simply in a black pair of silk pajama bottoms with a thin robe over his bare chest. Silver glinted in the moonlight off one of his nipple rings and I had to fight not to reach up and touch him. "How are you this evening?" He sighed wistfully and looked away. "Good." There was no mistaking the loneliness in his voice. It matched my own so perfectly. "Oh, my dear Lucien." I sat up and patted the lounge I'd been lying on. "Sit with me a while." He cleared his throat, but it sounded more like a growl. "I don't think--" "Come on, now. I won't bite unless you ask me to." He glanced down at me, suspicion clear in his expression. I patted the lounge again. "I give you my word."

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Lucien seemed to consider my words, and then turned toward me. Instead of sitting before me, he straddled the lounge behind me, arms going around my waist, his chin resting on my left shoulder. "We might well be on the road back to friendship, but I'm still not sure I can trust you at my back."

His words cut deep, but his feelings certainly weren't without merit. I'd done more than my fair share to

get him to submit to me over the years. One time with him beneath me just hadn't been enough.

"Noted," I said finally.

We sat silent for a long while. I wanted to talk to him, but anything and everything that came to mind led

to Peter -- and Nikolas -- and the fact that the two of us were here because the two of them weren't…

Because they were together.

"Stop thinking so hard," Lucien grumbled.

"I can't help it." I shrugged and he tightened his hold on me. His fingers teased along my lower belly, lips

moving across my shoulder toward my neck. I shuddered and let my head fall back against his shoulder.

"Damn it, Lucien... You know better than to start this--"

"And sometimes, even when we know better, we still do the things that are bad for us."

"You don't really want me."

"Who says?" Teeth nipped at my ear. "Drop your glamour. I want you, not some illusion."

If he didn't stop this soon, I wouldn't push him away. I tried to drop my glamour, but it wasn't as easy as it

usually was. My mind was on Lucien and the way he was biting along my neck, not hard enough to break

the skin, but hard enough to bruise.

Finally, I shuddered, almost like a dog trying to shake off after getting wet. My eyes bled back to black, hair going from the non-descript brown to black, body filling out – each muscle shaking with effort – and my long tail reappearing. I ran a hand through my hair, smoothing it away from my face and pushing it back over the tiny horns at the top of my head. His fingers moved up my chest, then teased down the insides of my arms, and I swallowed hard.

"Lucien…"

"I find that I am unable to help myself tonight."

Oh, fuck.

"What is it that you need? Do you need to feed?" My eyes rolled back into my head as he pressed the

palm of one hand to the base of my tail. "Ohhh…"

"You can feed me if you wish."

"I've been good, Lucien. I promised that I wouldn't cause trouble."

"I know you have. I've been watching."

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I turned and pushed him back, straddling his hips, crushing my mouth to his. Lucien's fingers framed my face then curled back into my hair. He made a fist and yanked my head back. He licked up the side of my neck, then set his fangs, but didn't bite down. I pushed my neck against him, wanting the pain of that bite, but I got a kiss instead. Tender presses of lips slid up my neck and along my jaw. Our eyes met for a brief moment, just before he captured me again in a kiss. I gasped as his tongue invaded my mouth almost desperately, sharp fangs cutting my lips and drawing blood. Not just my blood, but his, too. The taste of him on my tongue was exquisite and I deepened the kiss, wanting more. His hands left my hair and skimmed down my back, coming to rest on my hips. He pushed me down and

arched up, and it was only then that I realized just how okay with me -- and this -- that he was.

Had he sought me out for comfort?

Come out here, knowing that I would give it to him?

That I was just that easy?

"Stop it, Sabaan," he whispered between kisses.

"I'm not that easy," I growled in defense.

"Yes, you are." He pushed me back, thumbs coming up to press against my throat. "But that's not the only

reason I'm here."

I didn't ask why; I didn't have to. We were in the same boat. Who better to spend time with now, than someone who was safe? Someone who wasn't a risk to a relationship that was already strained? Who you knew wasn't going to fall in love with you and follow you around like a lovesick puppy? "This will change things -- for you, especially."

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, nodded. "Sometimes change is... necessary."

"Oh, Lucien." In that moment, I felt so bad for him. He'd not slept with anyone without Peter since they'd

met. That he was resorting to it now, for just a moment's comfort...

Lucien tensed beneath me. "If you'd rather not-"

"Shut up."

I bent and kissed him, hands sliding down to work his pants off. He helped, ridding himself of his robe as

well. He grabbed the waist of the small shorts I was wearing and ripped them in half, dropping the pieces

to the ground.

"Hey, I liked those shorts!"

"You look better without them."

Laughing, I stretched out over him. "Nice of you to realize that."

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"I always have. Trouble is... The sword that is so pretty -- is still so very sharp." He swatted my ass with

the palm of his hand. "Grab the lube you brought out."

I reached beneath the lounge chair, searching for the small bottle. When I bent to retrieve it, Lucien's hand

slid down my back to the base of my tail. He massaged with his palm and teased with his fingers.

Pleasure shot down my spine and settled in my balls. I froze, unable to move in fear of I'd come before we

really got started.

Lucien laughed and sat up. "On your knees, Sabaan."

"But, I--"

"Consider it an order, not a request."

I bit back a whimper, handed him the lube, then turned and got on my hands and knees before him. For a

long while, he said and did nothing, but I could feel his gaze on me. I could feel the lust within him

building, my own rising to meet it.

Slick fingers pushed into me without warning and I tried to jerk away. Lucien growled and pulled me

back, holding me tight as he fucked me with his fingers. Two quickly became three and for a moment, the

pain and pleasure were equal. I grasped the chaise beneath me, trying like hell to relax.

It didn't work until Lucien kissed the base of my tail. Then... then my body gave up the fight and pleasure

shot through me.

"That's it," he whispered. "Does Nikolas touch you like this?"

A few seconds later, his fingers left me and he lifted me from the chaise and turned me onto my back.

Before I could even get settled, he spread my legs and pushed into me. The thickness of him stole my

breath, but it was good. Damned good.

I rose up to meet him for a kiss, but he avoided it and bent to kiss my shoulder instead. He stayed just like

that as he fucked me, his breath heavy and quick at my ear. It was only then that I realized that this little

encounter between us had taken on a whole different energy. What I thought was going to be a mutual

comfort fuck had turned into something entirely different.

He was using me. Plain and simple.

I was about to call him on it when he jerked and groaned, shoving hard into me as he found his release.

He stayed as he was and the longer he did, the more my anger rose. How had I not realized what he was

doing before now? I mean, yeah, we'd been getting along, but for him to come out here and actually want

me? Want my touch?

I'd been so fucking stupid.

"You done?"

"Do you not want to get off?"

"Last thing I need or want from you." I pushed at his shoulders. "Now get the fuck off me before I fry

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your ass."

"You could try, but you would fail." He pulled out and sat back on the chaise and I hated that he still

looked so goddamned sexy. He shrugged. "And I would hate to lose your company here at the mansion by

having to kill you for it. You are quite... accommodating."

I'd known that he could be ruthless and vengeful, but this? This was a cruelty I didn't know he had in him.

Brownie points to him for getting this close to me and getting away with... well, with whatever angle he

was working.

"Nice, Lucien." I grabbed my robe off the ground and pulled it on. "Real fucking nice."

"It was exactly what I needed."

"Oh, obviously. Just tell me one thing: why?"

"Jealousy is a bitch." He lay back, folding his arms behind his head. "But you know that better than

anyone. Don't you, Sabaan?"

"You self-righteous asshole." I could only shake my head. "I can't believe I actually thought..."

"What, that I wanted you?" Lucien gave me that smug look that said he had me right where he wanted me.

"Run along, demon. We're done here."

"Damn right we are."

I called forth a flame and threw it at him before dematerializing. I hoped it burned his fucking dick off.

*** I wandered the property for nearly two hours, my mind as restless as my body. When I finally came to a stop, it was in Simon's garden. Lucien had it designed for him by one of the best landscape companies in town, but Simon had gone along behind the crews and added his own touch. Palms and ferns and other tropical plants formed walls around the garden, cutting it off from the rest of the yard area. There was a lighted pond with a small waterfall near the front of the garden. In it, were some of the most interesting fish I'd ever seen. Simon had called them Koi. I'd asked him once if they were edible and, by his glare, I realized that even if they were, I'd better not touch. I walked over to the pond and sat down beside it. The fish came to the surface of the water, expecting food, and I wondered just how much time Simon spent out here. The way he worked his ass off in running the mansion, I wouldn't have guessed much at all. After a while, the fish gave up hope of getting fed and I settled in to watch them swim around. They made circles around the pond and around each other, and I shook my head, knowing I'd been doing the same over the past year. So afraid of change, yet needing it all the same.

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I sighed, knowing I should just head on back to my own place. But it was so hard. There was always that constant hope that one night... That things would just be different. That Nikolas would see me and just know what I wanted of him. What I needed of him. That someday Lucien would see me as a person, not as some tool. As some monster to be avoided at all costs. But I hadn't been the monster tonight.

I'd become the pawn in some fucked up game of chess between lovers and had been so desperate for

touch and comfort, that I'd let it happen without realizing it.

The chill of the night air settled around me and I wrapped the robe tighter around me, and then sighed in

disgust when I realized it was Lucien's I'd grabbed and not my own. I called forth a flame in the palm of

my hand, watching it dance this way and that, toying with the idea of setting the robe on fire.

But I couldn't do it without leaving some sort of mark in the grass and I wouldn't do that to Simon. This

was his sacred place and he didn't deserve to have it desecrated by my own selfish desires.

"Please tell me you are not toying with the idea of eating one of my Koi."

I looked up at the sound of Simon's voice. He was standing a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of

loose fitting jeans and a blue button-down shirt that he hadn't bothered to tuck in. His feet were bare and I

couldn't help but admire them. As terrible as some angels could be, they always had such pretty feet.

"I would never eat one of your Koi."

Simon laughed and sat beside me. "You don't mean that."

"No, not really. I'm still curious as to how they taste."

"They are nasty," he said with a grin. "And probably poisonous to curious demons."

"That'd be my luck."

I extinguished the flame and watched as Simon pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket. It was full of what

looked like pieces of orange. He took out a few slices and gently lowered his hand into the water. The fish

came to him immediately, eating the pieces of fruit right out of his hand.

He looked up at me and smiled. "Would you like to feed them?"

"What is that? Fruit?"

"Mandarin orange, they love it." He took my hand and placed a few pieces in my palm. "Go ahead. Just

lower your hand enough into the water to where they know you're offering them food. The pieces won't

float and they won't go scrounge for them on the bottom."

I did as he said and almost giggled when the fish began eating the pieces out of my hand. "They're so

pretty, Simon."

"Aren't they?"

When the last piece of orange was gone, Simon put his hand over mine and guided it to the edge of the

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pond. I started to pull away, but he whispered for me to wait. After a few moments, a black and white fish

with a red dot on the top of its head swam up under my hand. Simon guided my hand over the fish.

"She's an attention hog. None of the others will let me do this."

"It feels so... cool. Are they all the same kind of Koi?"

"Oh, no. There are several different varieties in here. This one? The guy that Lucien bought her from

called her a Tancho Showa. She's supposed to be rare. I liked her the moment I saw her, but just couldn't

accept her at the price the guy was asking. Lucien bought her anyway. There's an Aka Matsuba, a Goshiki

or two, a few different Kohakus. I've got two Kin Ki Utsuris in here, but they never show up at feeding

time."

"Oh, I could never eat them now, Simon." The fish I was touching swam away and I took Simon's hand.

"They're your babies."

"They bring me comfort," he said softly. "Maybe they will give you some as well. What's going on in that

head of yours, Sabaan? What has you so sad?"

It wasn't just one thing. It was dozens of little things that just kept adding up until it was one huge,

crushing weight.

"Oh, Simon, I am such a fool."

"Why do you believe this?"

I went to lean back, but his chest was right there at my back. After a moment's hesitation, I relaxed and he

rested his chin on my shoulder. I shook my head, tears welling up at the depth of kindness.

"A demon with powers based in lust and sex -- and I feel dirty because I've been used for sex. It just... It hurts. I thought he came to me because we were both in the same boat and that he wanted comfort as much as I did. But all he wanted was to make a point. To use me to get to Nikolas." "I see," Simon said softly. "We are talking about Lucien, yes?"

I nodded. "But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know you love him."

"I can love him and still not agree with some of the choices he makes." He kissed the side of my head,

sighing. "I'll listen if you want to talk."

"Promise me it'll stay between us?"

"I promise."

"When Peter came along and Lucien finally agreed to put the past behind us, I can't tell you how relieved

I was. I always regretted that we parted ways as we did and I wanted nothing more than to try to make up

for my past mistakes."

"What did happen between the two of you?"

"I fucked him. Got him high on lust where he wasn't able to say no, and then blew his mind."

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"And blew your friendship apart."

I nodded. "I can't blame him for hating me for it. Even though I teased him relentlessly over it, I still

hated myself for doing it."

"The two of you seemed to be getting along rather well over the past year."

"For the most part." I shrugged. "I've been trying so hard to be good. To not let the lust rise around him,

to be just a friend to him, you know? And Peter, too."

"And Nikolas? What have you been to him?"

"Clingy, I guess."

"Sabaan..."

The chastisement in his voice made me search for another answer. I wasn't sure how he did that, but it

always seemed to work. Unfortunately, there were no easy answers. "I don't know."

"What do you want to be to him?"

Tears well up in my eyes and I didn't bother to hold them back. "Everything."

Simon wrapped his arms around me and I curled into his chest, letting him hold me. That was the thing

about Simon. He knew how to comfort people even when life just wasn't worth living. All of my frustrations and fears of the past year soaked into his shirt and he stroked my hair and my back, rocking me back and forth. After my tears finally stopped, I took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"No, don't you dare apologize. Sometimes, in order to get past things, we have to let go of all the pent up

frustrations, fears, and worry." Simon kissed the top of my head. "Let your shields down, Sabaan, and let

me see the real you."

"Oh, I don't think--"

"Come on, now. Where is the Sabaan I know?" When I didn't answer, Simon cleared his throat. "Have

you been hiding so long that you're no longer comfortable in your own skin?"

"You don't know what it's like, Simon. I never know now if someone's going to accept me as I am or flee

in horror."

"I do know what it's like. Or have you forgotten what I am?"

I looked up at him and frowned. "Yeah, but you don't have another..."

"How do you think I've managed to hide what I am so well for all these years? To walk among humans

yet not be seen as anything more." He smiled and sat back, letting go of me. "I'll drop my glamour if you'll drop yours."

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As far as I'd known, Simon didn't have any other form. I had always thought him plain for an angel, in some ways. Most of them were ethereal creatures whose beauty was so great it was hard to look upon them. Simon was a handsome man, but I'd never quite considered him beautiful before. At my nod, Simon stood and began to unbutton his shirt. I raised a brow. "If you're planning on getting freaky first, can I just say I'm not in the mood?" "My shirt will not fit, Sabaan." He dropped the shirt to the ground and shrugged. "Nor will the pants."

Before I could question why, the Simon I knew was gone and in his place stood a massive, hauntingly

beautiful angel: his once short, blond hair replaced by long, brilliant white waves, eyes still blue, yet so

bright it was if they almost glowed in the light of the moon.

I stood, but still had to look up at him to see all of him. There was no mistaking what he was now. I

swallowed hard and reached out to touch him, drawing my hand down a muscular chest.

"Oh, Simon."

"They called me Symael."

"Odd name for an angel, isn't it?" I paused and cast a glance up at him. "Very close in name to one I know

as Samael. Any relation?"

"I am not of his!" Simon's voice became thunderous, his body tense, and his eyes full of fury. "I am still

an angel of the High Order and I could smite you for that disrespect, demon."

"Must we resort to smiting and name calling? I thought we were just talking casually, you know? I didn't

mean anything by it. I swear." I reached up and touched his cheek. "No smiting the Sabaan, eh?"

"I have long been ridiculed for my name, seen as a force of evil." Simon closed his eyes and sighed, his

shoulders slumping a little. "I'm... sorry."

"No, I shouldn't just say the first thing that comes to mind."

The corner of Simon's mouth turned up in a small smile. "That's what makes you -- you."

"I was wrong anyway. Symael. Your name means in the company of God."

Simon studied me for a moment. "I still see a mask, Sabaan. Have you decided that you would rather not

be as honest with me as I have been with you?"

"I will." I smirked and started to walk around him. "But I haven't had my fill of--"

My words were silenced by the sight of Simon's back. Two bony structures protruded from his flesh.

Simon hadn't just been cast out and had his wings taken away -- they'd been cut off. And then he'd been

whipped, the wounds as fresh and bloody as the day he'd received them so many years ago.

Now -- now, I knew why he'd never shown anyone else his true form.

It was hard to fathom the thought that angels could be so cruel to their own. I knew Hell demons that were

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treated better than this, even on a bad day. I dropped all of my illusions and forced myself to continue

walking. When I stopped, I looked up at him and smiled, trying to hide the pain and sorrow I felt for him.

"Happy now?"

"Perhaps if that pity you are feeling at the moment wasn't directed at me."

"What the hell do you expect? I've seen Hell demons treated better."

"Such a pretty demon." Simon closed the distance between us and took my face in his hands, then kissed

the top of my head. "And so caring. You are truly one of a kind, Sabaan."

I shook my head in dismay. "How can you -- you -- call me pretty? I mean, have you looked in a mirror

lately?"

"We are all different," Simon laughed, "And it's those differences that make us unique. If we all looked

the same, the world would be a very dull place. You know this."

"I guess."

"And yes, I can call you pretty because you are. You are beautiful and deserve every bit of the happiness

that you desire."

"Do I?" I pulled away from him and sat down on the ground again. "Or am I being punished for my past

sins by him not even noticing me?"

Simon sat across from me, stretching his legs out before him. "If that's what you believe, then you aren't

paying much attention to him yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"He looks at you with such longing. It's as if you are someone he wants, but he cannot have. Maybe your

signals are getting mixed? Or maybe they're not quite strong enough for someone as stubborn as Nikolas

to see clearly."

"Maybe." I shrugged. "But you know what? He notices Peter's signals just fine. A simple look and the two

of them are so close there's no room for air between them."

"Does it make you jealous?"

"I'm not the jealous type."

"Does it make you jealous, Sabaan?" He repeated the question and this time I couldn't stop myself from

nodding. The thought of being jealous of someone or something made me sick. That wasn't me -- wasn't who I was or what I was taught. Simon reached out and wrapped a hand around my ankle, thumb caressing the skin lightly. "Then perhaps it's time you do something about it. If you are constantly fighting your own feelings of jealousy, then maybe Nikolas sees that as you being unwilling to ask for what you want." "How do you suppose I do that?"

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"Be yourself, Sabaan. Stop trying to be good to impress Lucien. Stop hiding your true form from the coven. Be the Sabaan I know. Be loud, be proud, and don't give a shit what others think of you. If you see something you want, demand that you get it and don't stop until it's yours." "Speaking of Lucien..." I broke off, twirling a piece of grass between my fingers, not knowing quite how to phrase my question. "He's hurting pretty badly right now." "So I shouldn't judge him too harshly?" "I would say no, but he still needs to be held accountable. What he did to you was wrong and he needs to know that you're angry with him over it." "I may be pissed at him, but I think I feel sorry for him more than anything. Peter treats their open relationship like a free pass to fuck whoever he wants, with no regard to Lucien or how Lucien feels about it. I mean, before tonight? Lucien's never, ever screwed anyone else. For an incubus as he is, do you know what kind of control that takes?" "Peter's having a difficult time, too." "Oh, don't tell me you're defending him." "No, no." Simon shook his head quickly. "Not exactly. But you have to stop and think about a human reacts when they come into this world. It's far different from anything they've ever known. And Peter? To be thrust immediately to a position of power? That's difficult to grasp." "Peter's not human anymore, though. And the worst of it has happened after he was turned." "Peter's like a virgin--" I snorted. "Ha! You've got to be kidding me!" "Figuratively, Sabaan." Simon chuckled and drew his legs up to his chest, then wrapped his arms around his knees. "He's just coming out, finding out what sex is -- and it's too damned good to just stick with one person. He's got to try it all. As much as he can possibly handle. And then? One morning he wakes up and he's had everything there is to have. There's nothing else, but what he wants is stability, someone to love him and not just fuck him." "I still don't think that fits him, Simon." "He was human. He came into this world expecting to love Lucien and Lucien alone. But things happened, bonds were made, and parts of him awakened that he didn't even know existed within him. Vampires and werewolves throw themselves at him because of his position, to find favor with both Peter and Lucien. It's a little much for someone so new to this world to handle efficiently. Peter is stubborn and he doesn't want -- and can't really afford -- to be seen as weak. So he tries to manage it the best he can. Looking at him, one wouldn't know right off the bat that he's struggling." "With what? How to fit more people in his bed?" "With love, what it really is, what it really means." Simon sighed heavily. "Look, Sabaan. I don't know

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how to say this without hurting you, so know that's not my intention, okay?"

"What?"

"I truly believe that Peter and Lucien are soul mates. They are everything to one another -- even if they

get in their own ways a lot of the time."

I raised an eyebrow, frowning. "And this is going to piss me off how?"

"I truly believe that it's possible to have more than one soul mate. This thing with Peter and Nikolas? I

can see how scared Lucien is of losing Peter because I think Peter's relationship with Nikolas is strong

enough to rival the relationship between Peter and Lucien. There is a bond between Peter and Nikolas. It's

strong and it's not going to go away." "Great. So the one person I want -- is someone else's soul mate." "I believe Nikolas is yours, too. I also believe that the four of you need to sit down and examine your

relationships together. Do not let this go so long that it gets out of hand and all that's left is bitterness,

jealousy, and hatred."

Dread pooled in my gut. "Maybe it would be better if I just walked away."

"Easier? Probably. Better? Not likely."

I couldn't stop the tears and this time didn't care to hide them. "This was not what I wanted."

"Does monogamy really fit you or Nikolas?"

"No, but--"

"Then why try for it when it would only end up hurting you or him, or making you both miserable in the

end? You can still have love and commitment. It can work."

"I hate you right now."

"Think about what I've said and come find me if you need me. I'm always here." He stood and in

moments, the Simon I'd always known smiled down at me. "I've got to check on Adam. Sometimes he

gets a little freaked when I'm not hovering. Don't eat my fish because of me, okay?"

"Thank you." I stood and wrapped my arms around Simon's neck, hugging him tight. "And I don't really

hate you."

"I know." *** For a long while after Simon left, I lay on a bench and stared up at the night sky. My thoughts had been restless before our talk but now? They were going in so many directions that all I was starting to feel was numb.

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I knew Simon had been right on many accounts, but hearing someone else validate my own fears was a little more than I wanted to deal with at the moment. Disgusted with the situation and myself, I sat up, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my night. Part of me knew I should just head on back to my place, but another part of me wanted to stay at the mansion in hope that I might run into Nikolas. Yeah. How desperate had I become? Waiting around like a fucking lovesick pup for someone who didn't even notice me. Fuck it. I was going home. What I needed now was a long, hot shower, a nice rare steak, and a big glass of wine. My own bed would be nice, too. Not some guest room in the mansion of a man who'd gone out of his way to use me for his own jealous ambitions. I gathered the robe around me and dematerialized, rematerializing in my own living room. It should have been comforting -- and was, in a way -- but the energy was just different. Here, there was no hum of life and people, only the hum of electricity and my bank of computers lining the walls of my office. Which reminded me that I needed to check my mail, check to see if I had any jobs waiting in the queue. But that could wait. I'd not checked either in a week. One more night wouldn't make any difference. I shrugged the robe off and draped it over a chair, then walked to the bathroom to start the shower. Once I was satisfied with the heat and the steam, I climbed in and just stood under the spray of water. Gradually, I increased the heat until it was scalding hot and my skin felt raw. Only then, did I reach for the soap. After my shower, I made quick work of getting a steak from the refrigerator and getting it half-ass grilled. Raw would have been good, but the idea of a cold meal was nauseating. I pulled out an old bottle of merlot and poured me a glass, settling in to my meal and my wine alone. At one point, I licked a drop of blood and juice from my finger and my fingernail caught my attention. I stopped for a moment and studied my hands, grimacing. My nails were long, and as black as they'd ever been. They'd been black my entire life, but I wondered how they might look if I covered them with something. Like those long, fake nails women used to cover their own short ones. That one thought led to another. Cut my hair, maybe. Have my horns filed. Contacts. Did they make contacts for eyes such as mine? Where could I get them? Who would I have to kill to be able to keep my identity a secret, yet achieve a new look? Where I could walk among humans and be seen as one, without having to resort to another form. Maybe that was what Nikolas wanted. Someone who might not be human, but looked human on first glance. After all, he might turn furry, but no one would ever know what he was just by looking at him. And then with his attraction to Peter... I sighed and poured another glass of wine, only to be interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Slowly, I set the bottle down and rose from my chair. The alarms hadn't gone off to indicate someone in the tunnels and, to my knowledge, Nikolas hadn't even found a way around them yet. Leery, I walked to the door and opened it only to find Lucien on the other side. It was the wrong time of night for Lucien to be anywhere other than locked away in his chambers, waiting for dawn.

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"What the hell are you doing here?" I glanced at the clock to my left. "At five-fucking-thirty in the

morning?"

He raised his right hand. In it, was my robe. "I ended up with your robe."

"And that was so urgent that you risked the giant fireball in the sky to bring it over?"

"We need to talk."

"On the contrary, I think you've said enough at this point." I pivoted on my heel and walked to the chair to

retrieve Lucien's robe, then walked back to the door where he still stood. I took my robe and shoved his

into his hand. "Now we're even."

"Sabaan, please, will you just hear me out?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I was an asshole."

"And?"

"I was wrong."

And?"

Lucien frowned. "And... I'm sorry."

"And?"

He seemed to put some thought behind his next answer. "And it won't happen again."

"Should have never happened in the first place," I growled and walked back to the table where I'd been

sitting. I was going to need more wine for this. "Strip and come inside. Shut the door behind you."

I retrieved my glass of wine and glanced at Lucien, who was already nearly naked except for his jeans.

Jeans? Since when did he wear jeans in public?

"Wine?"

"I won't be here that long."

"Yes, you will. If you think I'm sending you out just before dawn, you're out of your fucking mind. I

might be pissed at you, but I don't want you dead."

Lucien sighed and stepped inside, then closed the door behind him. "If you wouldn't mind, I would have a

glass."

I grabbed another glass and filled it about half full of wine before adding my own blood to it to fill it the

rest of the way. Lucien stepped up beside me and I handed him the glass. He scented it before he took a small sip.

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"Thank you, Sabaan."

"Guests here may be few and far between, but I do like them to be comfortable. You're welcome to wear

your robe." I walked to one of the lounge chairs in the living area and sat, curling up against the back and

pulling a blanket over myself. He slipped his robe on and retrieved his glass of wine, then just sort of

stood there looking uncomfortable. "So, Master vampire... I'm listening."

He took a sip of the wine, but seemed surprised that I'd added to it. "Ah, thank you, Sabaan. Very good."

I just stared at him.

For a master vampire, he was certainly not on his game. Maybe it was the fact that dawn was coming

soon. I almost laughed. Vampires that turned into blithering idiots just before sun up. Instead, I shook my

head.

"Sit, Lucien."

He came to the chaise where I was and sat on the edge. "I'm not even certain where I should begin."

"I said sit, not sit with me." I gestured around the room. "There are plenty of chairs."

Ignoring me, he took a long, deep swig of the wine and blood, drinking it more like a shot than anything.

"I saw you out there at the pool tonight, looking every bit as miserable that I felt, and it pissed me off."

"No kidding?" I rolled my eyes and nudged him with my foot. If he sat any closer, I wasn't sure I would

even bother restraining myself from striking out at him. "Go on, sit somewhere else."

Lucien leaned back against the half-back of the chaise, trapping one of my legs beneath him. He looked

over at me and shook his head. "And I hated you for it; hated you for not reining him in -- for just letting

him go and not doing a damned thing about it."

"I see."

"But at the same time... It hurt to see you like that."

"So you used me?" I jerked my leg from beneath him and curled up even more. "Fucking used me like

some goddamned donor to be cast aside when you were finished!"

"My donors aren't treated with such disregard."

"Even worse," I snapped.

"I did not think before I acted, Sabaan."

"Then you suck as a vampire. And maybe that makes me feel just a little bit better." I kicked out and my

heel connected with his hip. He didn't even flinch, but I no longer wanted to claw his eyes out. "Not

much, but a little."

"I am sorry."

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"You said that already."

"I meant it." He took another drink, and then reached up to rest his free hand on my thigh. I stared down

at it, but didn't move away. The poor bastard was trying so hard to reach out. "So what are we to do about

this?"

"I don't know, Lucien. You want me to rein Nikolas in, yet you seem to miss the fact that he doesn't pay

attention where I'm concerned. If it doesn't involve Pe--" I broke off, not wanting to drive the proverbial

stake in deeper. "His thoughts are elsewhere."

Lucien groaned and rubbed at his face tiredly. I looked up at the clock. It was after six and he needed to

be somewhere a little more permanent for the day. I sat up and pushed the blanket off and Lucien looked

up at me with a frown.

"Are we finished talking?"

"It'll be dawn soon and I'd hate for you to spend the day here as you are."

"I've got plenty of time." He glanced at me nervously. "A couple of hours, at least."

"You've got to be kidding me." Lucien shook his head and I scratched my own. "How long has this been

going on?"

"A few months."

"How many is your few?"

"Five." He downed the contents of his glass and sat up on the edge of the chaise. "Dawn takes me late and

I rise early."

"I would say congratulations on the power uppage, but you don't seem any different -- and you certainly

don't seem happy about it."

"I do not know what to think. Nothing within me has changed. My power feels the same..."

"Have you spoken with your coven's physician? Perhaps there's something going on?"

"I have told no one." He regarded me intently. "No one."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. That he would confide this in me after everything confused me. "You

want another glass of wine?"

"No, thank you." He might not need one, but I certainly did. As I stood, Lucien grabbed my hand,

preventing me from walking off, yet not pulling me back. "Do you hate me?"

"I should, but I don't. I just feel sorry for you," I said after a few moments. "For us both, really. We're

stuck in the middle and all we can do is watch helplessly as everything we desire slips further and further

away."

I drew my hand from his and went to the table to pour myself another glass of wine. But once it was full, I

just stood there, shaking my head. Simon's words from before mixed with all of the sadness and I just

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didn't have any answers. Everything seemed so fucking lost.

Arms wrapped around my waist, startling me. I tried to shrug him off, but he just tightened his hold. I

finally elbowed him in the gut and managed to push him back. "I think we've been there and done that.

Not interested in going there again."

"Sabaan."

There was a desperation in his voice I never expected to hear from a vampire as powerful as Lucien.

"Tell me what you want, Lucien."

"Earlier, I think I might have had the right idea, even if I went about it all wrong."

"Definitely all wrong." I glared at him, but my curiosity just had to be sated. "But tell me anyway."

*** I sat across the table from Lucien and stared at him in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I am deadly serious."

What he was proposing... It both shocked and intrigued me. And I could certainly see how he might have

freaked and gotten all turned around earlier in the night when he'd come to me. It had just taken him the

rest of the night to figure it all out.

Which left the ball in my court.

What happened between us had been all wrong, but it hadn't been unforgivable. I'd been treated much

worse by others in the past. The fact that he was here now to make things right and to propose a plan to

help us both out? I'd pretty much forgiven him.

"If we do this -- and I'm not saying I will -- you know it's not going to go over well. In fact, it could very

well lead to disaster for us both."

"It could, but I don't believe it will."

"What happens if you get what you want and I'm still left all alone? I'm sorry, but I've got to have some

sort of guarantee that my life won't be totally fucked up in the end. Besides Nikolas, what do I have to

gain?"

"Power, status; what you gain is entirely up to you."

"I'm not sure I understand." No one offered these things to a minor incubus demon such as myself.

"How?"

"Be my servant, Sabaan."

"Your whore, you mean."

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"I mean no such thing."

"Is that right? You mean to tell me you want me by your side and don't expect sex and feeding to be a part

of it?"

"Whether you offer these things of your own accord is up to you. I would never demand it from you.

What I am proposing is something to be mutually beneficial to the both of us. You get the power and the

status of being my servant, but in truth you will be nothing less than my equal."

"An equal to the great Lucien Delacroix. I didn't think such a thing was possible. Tell me: is this in public

and in private?"

"You know what is required of a servant in public."

Yeah, I did. He sits by his Master and takes orders. He also holds a place of high esteem in the rest of the

coven. Anyone who wants company with Lucien goes through to the servant first. A servant's word is

considered the Master's word. A servant is also beside his Master at any public outing or any coven

meeting. It is up to a servant to arrange for and negotiate safe travel outside of coven boundaries.

"I do."

"Do we have a deal?"

"And what of Peter? What do you think he will say of this?"

"What Peter says of this is of no consequence."

"Might try telling Peter that. He's notorious for wanting to add in his two cents," I said. I grabbed the wine

bottle only to find it empty. I held it in my hands, picking at the label with a thumb nail. "No matter what

is going on behind our backs and right before our eyes -- I still love that boy to pieces."

"As do I," Lucien said with a smile. "It is because I love him that I do this. Since the club was lost, the

coven has been in a state of disarray and panic. If I continue to wait for Peter to find himself, I'm afraid it

will be too late and our weakness will be made public. I need someone I can trust at my side to move

forward."

"And you trust me?"

Lucien nodded.

Wow.

Okay.

Hadn't expected that one. Especially since earlier in the evening he'd specifically said he didn't trust me at

his back.

"Not what you said earlier."

"I... Was not being completely honest."

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"Vampires have a hard time lying," I reminded him. "It wasn't a lie so much as it was a shot to gauge how much it would hurt you. I do apologize for that as well." "Oddly, it does make me feel better that you didn't really mean it." I looked around, knowing I would miss my place if I had to leave, yet excited at the idea that I might be able to live around others. I'd been living in solitude for over a hundred years. Change was almost welcome. "Do you expect me to live under your roof?" "I would prefer it." Lucien reached across the table and took the bottle from me before taking my hands in his. "As my servant, you will not want for anything." "Anything?" I couldn't help but grin. "My, that does have possibilities. But sadly, you are wrong. For the one thing I truly want is, quite possibly, out of my reach entirely." "Not for long, Sabaan," Lucien whispered. "When we make this final, jealousy will rear its ugly head and I believe it will be you who is seduced by the wolf." I fucking hoped so. "Well, why the fuck not. I've had worse jobs in my lifetime." "I do believe this is one you might enjoy." Lucien sat back in his chair with an evil grin. "Come here, my pretty demon." Instead of walking to him, I dematerialized from where I sat and ended up straddling Lucien's lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck, laughing. "Might want to call Hell, see if its inhabitants are in need of blankets." "I'll put it on the list." He gazed up at me, silent, his expression still not happy, but getting there. It seemed as if a weight had been lifted from him and I couldn't imagine how long he'd been thinking this shit up. I moved a lock of hair away from his forehead and placed a kiss to the skin that was revealed. "There will be sex and feeding," I whispered, my lips never leaving him. "Because that's just who I am, Lucien." "I'm not weak." Lucien ducked his head and leaned into my chest, arms coming around my waist to pull me closer. "Not weak." "No, you're not." I hugged him to me, chin resting on the top of his head. "You just have more humanity lingering than most of your kind. One thing to remember, Lucien, is that while we can offer comfort and a modicum of peace to each other, we can't do anything more than mend some of the broken pieces. True healing of a broken heart can only come from finding the reasons it was broken in the first place -- and fixing them." "I know." "You cannot hold the burden of these troubles solely on yourself. It is as much Peter's fault as it is yours."

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I kissed the top of his head. "But the love is there and it is strong. I have faith that it will all work out."

"Yeah."

I sat back and tilted his head back so I could see his face. "Ready for bed yet?"

"Not yet, unfortunately. You go on ahead. I'll keep myself entertained for a while if you don't mind."

"Nope, don't mind. Just don't try to leave." I smiled. "Nothing's really changed since you've last been

here. I'm ridiculously slow in updating."

He leaned up and kissed me, a soft press of lips against mine. It was such a tender, gentle gesture that I

couldn't help but melt against him. Oh yes, there would be sex between us, but I had a feeling it wouldn't

be full of the rough and growly sex all the time. There would be comfort sex, and sometimes, that could

be the best sex of all. Lucien soon pushed me back, and then leaned in to kiss my cheek.

"Sleep well, Sabaan."

*** I buried my face in the pillow, trying to block out the sounds. I'd fallen asleep as soon as I'd gone to bed, but something had startled me out of sleep. Once awake, I could hear Lucien in the living area, in the kitchen, the other rooms -- pacing, stopping on occasion to pick something up, only to put it down again and continue his pacing. The energy and frustration I felt from him was driving me insane. I looked over at the clock. Fucking nine-thirty in the morning and he was still awake? What. The. Fuck.

Sighing, I threw the comforter off. I got up and walked into the living room, but didn't see Lucien. I

walked a little further and found him standing in front of the open refrigerator.

"Lucien?"

He sighed and shut the door, but didn't turn around. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Are you hungry? Do you need to feed, maybe?"

I didn't know what the hell he needed. The only thing I did know was that he shouldn't be awake at this

time of day. I went to him, cupping his elbow and drawing him out of the kitchen. He seemed lost, almost

letting me lead him.

But he still didn't answer.

Very, very odd.

"Come on." I led him back to my bedroom. "No guest room for you, honey."

I got back in bed, rearranged the pillows, and then patted the empty spot beside me. Lucien stripped off

his robe and slid into bed. He lay there for a bit, staring up at the ceiling. After a while, he turned on his

side and propped his head on his hand and stared at me.

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"What?"

"Nothing," he whispered.

"Well then, quit staring at me, you fool."

"Why did you not turn me away?"

"You were always hard to resist." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "Now quit staring."

"After everything I've done to you... You still would take me in at dawn." Lucien shook his head. "I don't

understand it."

"I would have taken in any vampire at dawn." I didn't want to get into a long, drawn-out discussion at this

time of morning. "If I'd thrown you out and you'd burned to a crisp, it would have been my head on a

platter. Self-preservation at its finest, love."

"I would have thrown me out."

Damn. There would be discussion after all. I turned to face him, smiling at the way he looked so... Not

naïve, certainly not innocent, but... Contemplative? Confused, maybe? He was still so human for a

vampire of his age.

"We can't live in the past, Lucien." I trailed a finger over his brow and down his cheek. "It can consume

our every thought, our every action."

"I hurt you."

"I hurt you first," I said. "We were good friends and I took advantage of both that and you. You had every

right to be angry with me. Not for nearly twenty years, but--"

"It hasn't been that long!"

"Almost."

Lucien leaned in and kissed my forehead. "I have missed you."

"Even while you were hating me?"

"I never truly hated you, Sabaan." He ducked his head a little, but didn't pull away. "I told others I did -

told myself that I did -- but in truth I still craved your presence. Your touch, your voice..."

"I'm hard to forget."

"In so very many ways." He toyed with a lock of hair at my shoulder. "Not all of them sexual, either."

I couldn't help but laugh. "You do realize how much we contradict our own kind, don't you? Incubi who

don't base everything on sex?"

"Oh, now I wouldn't say that." Lucien lay back on the pillow and tucked an arm behind his head, sighing.

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"I should be asleep."

"Yes, we should." I twirled the lock of hair he'd been playing with between my fingers. "But since you

woke me up, tell me something?"

"Sure."

"If you had to choose an eye color for me, what would it be?"

He just looked at me.

"Brown? Blue? Green, maybe? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Your eyes are beautiful as they are."

"You are absolutely no help at all." I sat up and leaned back against the wall since my bed didn't have a

headboard. "Come on. Play the game with me."

"Hypothetically speaking?" Lucien sighed. "Hell, I don't know. Green, I guess."

"You think I'd look better with long or short hair? I mean, I think I like it long, but maybe it draws too

much attention, you know? Maybe I should try one of those hip new styles and keep it sort of long and sort of short -- like they show in all the magazines. Maybe I wouldn't have to grind my horns down too much if I got it cut the right way. That'd probably hurt like hell. Though I'm sure I'll look like a girl any way I do it." I spread my hands out in front of me, studying my fingernails. "And these. They're so... dark and they make my skin look so much different from that of a human."

Met with silence, I looked over at Lucien. He'd sat up at some point and was staring at me as if I'd

sprouted a purple penis between my horns.

"What?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Oh, come on!" I stood up on the bed and turned to face him. "Look at me!"

"I am looking at you."

"Do you know how much I can do while I'm in my original form? Absolutely nothing. I can't go to the

store, to the bank, or even to a fucking club unless it's Halloween! Hell, I can't even wander the grounds

of the mansion."

"You have had this form -- and others -- for centuries and I have never, ever known you to have issue

with these things. Why do you have this sudden desire for such drastic changes?"

I sighed and dropped to my knees, shaking my head. "You couldn't possibly understand." "Try me," he said. "And if you don't start talking, I'm not above reading your mind."

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"I just... I see the way Nikolas looks at Peter and I wonder, you know? If I were a little more human on the outside, maybe..." "Maybe what? You would go to extremes to modify all that you love about your body and this form in hopes that he'll look at you differently?" "People go to great extremes for love." I shrugged. "It gets lonely being me, Lucien." "You are not alone." "Look around, honey. This isn't a shared space." "Come here." He reached for me, pulling me into his arms. "There's something you should know. What happened last night was pretty much because Nikolas is interested in you." Lucien rested his chin on the top of my head and sighed. "I wanted him to smell me on you -- in you -- and to know that I took something of his." "But I'm not his." "Nikolas' head is not a place I traverse on a regular basis, but I have been there and I do know that he feels for you." "I'm not sure what's worse: knowing he feels something and refuses to do anything about it or wondering if he feels anything at all." Lucien's arms slid down my back and went limp. "Lucien?" His heart went silent and his breath left him in a soft hiss. I looked up, smiling when I saw that he'd finally succumbed to the sleep of the dead. Instead of moving away from him, I settled him on the bed and curled up against his body, drawing the comforter over us both. One glance at the clock had me shaking my head. He'd managed to fight the call of dawn for nearly four hours. *** I awoke with a start, my body going on full alert. Lucien was still dead to the world beside me, but yet, there was someone else here. Negative energy filled the air like a thick fog. No alarms had gone off to indicate movement in the tunnels, but then again, they hadn't gone off when Lucien had come through them either. Fucking rats had probably chewed through a cable again. I moved off the bed, trying not to make a sound, and grabbed a robe. The moment I walked out of the bedroom that energy turned familiar and I knew exactly who had been here. But there was no sign of him in the living area, no sign of him in the... Seven empty beer bottles and half a bottle of vodka sat on the table. The table was full of scrapes and scratches, as if he'd sat there and dragged his claws back and forth through the wood as he drank. An empty cigarette box lay on the table and cigarette butts were in a small pile next to it. He hadn't smoked the cigarettes though -- he'd eaten them. I was at a loss at what this meant, or if it meant anything at all. Sometimes Nikolas just had bad nights and my place was where he'd end up. Only, I guess he hadn't expected to find someone else here with me.

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In my bed.

What this jealousy for him? To leave signs of his presence, but still not do a damned thing about it? I

shook my head and sat down in the chair across from the one Nikolas had used. It was such a passiveaggressive thing to do and that wasn't Nikolas at all. If he wanted something, he took it. Plain and simple. Which only meant one thing: Lucien had been wrong. While Nikolas might have had some sort of feelings for me, it wasn't in the way I wanted him to feel. And that was a bitter pill to swallow.

"Hey." Lucien's hands gripped my shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I just shook my head.

"Looks like he was here a while."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry if my being here caused a fight."

"That's just it." I leaned back into his touch. "We didn't fight. He sat out here and drank and chewed an

entire pack of cigarettes instead of waking me up to tell me he was here. What the fuck does that mean?"

"That he is jealous, perhaps?"

"Jealousy does not fit him well," I growled. "This is so unlike Nikolas. What is this passive-aggression all

about?"

"You know as well as I that love and emotion scare Nikolas more than anything." Lucien bent and

pressed his lips to my neck. "He's been a loner his entire life and now he's found out he wants to be

included. That he wants to be a part of a pack. That he wants to love and be loved in return. But

everything in him screams that it's a weakness rather than a right."

"In that case, I'm not sure I know how to handle him."

"Make him work for it." Lucien nipped my neck and the scent of my blood and his arousal filled the air.

"Don't just give in."

"Lucien..." I bared my neck for him even more, cock beginning to fill in response to him and his touch.

"That sounds suspiciously familiar to what Peter was advised when you were being such an ass."

"Worked, didn't it?" One of his hands slid beneath my robe, fingers seeking out a nipple and giving a firm

pinch. "I give you the choice: feed or fuck."

"Both." My heart beat hard and fast as I rose from the chair and turned toward him. I dropped my robe

and backed away, teasing. "If that's what you'd like."

"I would like very much." He followed me, desire flaring in those pale blue eyes, his cock hard and

standing proud. He stopped a few feet away and cocked his head, then pointed to the floor before him.

"On your knees, Sabaan."

"I serve no master."

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"You will serve me because you want to, not for any other reason."

Every fiber of me screamed to turn and walk away or to turn the tables and take control. I was my own

master, in every sense of the word, and I didn't stoop to anyone's level to serve. But I couldn't force myself to do either. I found myself closing the distance between us, every step harder than the last. Finally, I stood so close that one deep breath from me would make us touch. My entire body trembled, both from desire and the fear of not being able to take this moment back. If I gave in, this would be it.

No turning back.

But what did I have to lose? Everything I'd wanted had proved to be unattainable and a life in solitude had

grown so very old. I needed -- craved -- the touch of others. I'd already agreed to be his servant in name, but maybe that just wasn't enough. I knew Lucien. Knew how he cared for those in his life, for those that he loved. And knew I'd never truly be alone again.

"I have a request."

"Name it."

"This between us..." I swallowed hard. "It's permanent."

He nodded, without even a hint of hesitation. "I will mark you as my own."

For some reason, that loosened the knot of indecision within me, released some of the fear. To know that

once this was done, it couldn't be taken back. I nodded and dropped to my knees, pressing my face against

his lower belly, inhaling his scent. When I breathed out again, relief coursed through me.

Lucien's hands caressed my head, fingers pressing below my chin to tilt my head back. When I looked up

at him, I couldn't help but smile. He didn't return the smile, even though I could see the delight in his

eyes. Instead, he pushed my head back and pressed the tip of his cock to my lips.

"Show me how much you enjoy having me in your mouth." *** "Would you get off me?"

I pushed at Lucien's sweaty shoulder. The couple of hours had been lovely: very messy, very energetic,

and could have even been considered acrobatic at times. But above all, it had been satisfying. More than

satisfying.

"I'm good," he murmured, nuzzling his face against my neck. "Like where I'm at."

"Yeah, well you're heavy." I leaned up and licked a spot of blood from his shoulder. "Tasty, but heavy."

He groaned and rolled off me and onto his back, his arms and legs sprawled across the bed. "Shit."

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My brain was numb and just a little on the high side, matching the rest of my body. "Mmmhmm."

"So." Lucien cleared his throat. "You are coming home with me, yes?"

"Do I get my own room?"

"Of course."

"My own assistant? Or, say, my own harem of boys to feed from?"

"I see nothing wrong with that."

There was one other thing.

"Do I get to be myself?" Lucien looked over at me, confused. I propped myself up on my elbow, reaching

out flicking at a nipple ring with my other hand. "I mean, can I stop being so... good?"

"Ahh." He hissed and grabbed my hand, moving it away from his chest. "If that's what you want, then I'd be glad to have the old Sabaan back." "Oh, goody." I lay back and stretched, a purr bubbling up out of nowhere. Man, it had been a long time since I'd been laid this fucking good. "No taking it back, either."

"No taking it back," Lucien repeated. He stretched and reached over and patted my thigh. "Get a few

things together and we'll head on to the house. We can send a crew down to pick up anything else you

might want."

Okay, so there were two other things.

"I hate to sound petty, but what am I going to do for money if you expect me to work for you and no one

else?"

"You will be provided a salary. I would never ask this of you if there weren't any benefit to you." I started

to ask how much, but before I could, Lucien rolled over and kissed me. "More than you make now -- by a

long shot."

Oh.

Um.

I couldn't help but grin. "Good thing, considering that irrevocable bond between us."

"There is that." Lucien got up and headed for the bathroom. "Get moving. We have somewhere to be."

I sat up on the edge of the bed and looked around. I was sure that at some point, I'd miss this place dearly.

For now, all I could feel was a bit of relief that I'd be sharing a roof with other living, breathing beings.

There would no longer be the deafening silence for days on end. I'd been here for nearly forty years, but it

was time to move on. I wouldn't be coming back. The longer Lucien and I were together and under one roof, the stronger the bond between us would be.

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There'd come a time when we wouldn't be able to function without each other. That was just how the

bond between master and servant worked. Like two halves of a whole.

Not like soul mates, like he and Peter were. No, this was a more basic setup. It was like the heart needing

the lungs. It didn't matter that I wasn't human. All that mattered was that I was a living, breathing being

and that Lucien could feed from me -- and that we could create a blood bond between us.

And we'd definitely created the bond.

No going back, now. I glanced at the file folder on the bedside table, and then reached for it. Inside, there

was an offer from some guy with more money than sense. He wanted to buy the old manufacturing plant

above me and the surrounding property that I owned. I hadn't wanted to sell because this had been my

home. But now?

I took the file to my office and grabbed a pen off the desk, signing my name to the stack of documents. I

turned to the fax machine and put the stack of papers in, punched in the number off the first page, and hit

send.

The machine dialed and went through a series of beeps, then the papers started going through, one at a

time. Lucien came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I leaned back into him, sighing.

"Promise me things are going to work out, Lucien."

"I promise you they will." His arms tightened around me. "I don't want you to be sad, Sabaan."

"I'm not. I'm just... I don't know. Scared? Nervous?" I shrugged. "Changes are hard for me, but I know I

won't be alone."

"Not for a second."

"I just sold this place," I said after a few moments of silence. "Do you think we can get the rest of my

things packed and out of here by Friday?"

"That's plenty of time."

"Good." I nodded resolutely. "I'm going to torch it after everything's gone. Don't want any trace of me to

be left here." I turned in his arms and smiled. "Do me a favor? There are some bags beneath my bed. Everything in my closet should fit." "Go shower. I'll get you packed."

"Thank you, Lucien," I said softly. "Not just for that, but for giving me something else in my life to hold

on to. We'll make a good team -- I promise."

"Of that, I had no doubt." *** "Where the hell are we going?"

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We'd gone into Houston, but I wasn't exactly sure where we were. For most of the drive in, I'd been checking my bags to make sure I had everything. And now, with the bags left in the car, we were trolling the streets in a neighborhood I wasn't familiar with -- in a body that was more pieced together than anything. There was more of my natural form showing than I'd ever gone into public with. Oh sure, Lucien had promised me that all the bases were covered and I just looked like some Goth wanna-be, but I was still scared that it was too much. I mean, what if... "You'll see." He walked a little closer, arm coming around my shoulders. "Stop thinking so hard. You're beautiful. I promise." "If you say so. And for the record? I'm not real sure I like surprises."

"You'll like this one." One of his hands slid down the back of my jeans, fingers rubbing at the base of my

tail. "We're almost there."

"Oh, good thing, because with your hand right there, we're about to be fucking in the streets."

"Like to put on a show, do we?"

His touch went a little lower, hand making a light fist around me. My entire body shuddered and I

grabbed onto his shirt to keep from stumbling. I was about to show him just what he was doing to me

when he turned down a dark, dirty alley and pulled me along with him.

"Are we trolling for a feed?"

"Don't need to troll; I've got my own dedicated donors."

"My, how... uninteresting." He let go of me and kept on walking until he reached a door near the end of the alley. He gave two sharp raps to the metal door and it opened as if someone had been waiting for him. A woman in a dress that looked more like a t-shirt appeared in the doorway, dark hair, dark eyes, and legs a mile long. The look in her eyes was pure invitation and I was sure it wasn't just about coming inside. If I didn't know that Lucien didn't do women, I'd have thought we were here for... He did know that I

didn't do women either... right?

Oh, good God.

"Lucien!" I hissed, stepping toward him cautiously. "I don't think we--"

"Hello, Lucien," the woman purred, extending a hand. "Such a pleasant surprise to see you again."

"Katerina." He took her hand and placed a kiss to the back of it. "You're looking lovely, as always."

"Ever the charmer," she tsked, pulling her hand back. Her eyes settled on me. "Oh, you brought me a

gift?"

"No, darling," Lucien said with a laugh. "This is Sabaan."

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"Oh!" she exclaimed, as if my name meant something to her. She stepped out of the doorway, gesturing

for us to come inside. "Come in and make yourselves comfortable. I'll go kick everyone out and lock the

front door."

Lucien took my hand and pulled me along inside with him. The woman -- Katerina -- swept past us and I

caught a wave of her aura. Pure succubus. Well now, wasn't this interesting?

We went down a long, dark hallway, and when we emerged, it was into a bedroom. Heavy, red curtains

divided a sitting area from a large bed, but the bed was still visible and looked well-used. I waited until

Katerina disappeared through another door then grabbed Lucien by the arm, turning him to face me.

"I don't do women," I hissed.

"What--" Lucien broke off, laughing as he pulled me close. "I didn't bring you here to get laid."

"Oh, thank God." I sighed a huge breath of relief. "So, who is--"

Katerina walked back through the door she exited from and this time, there was a man at her side. My

eyes went to the man and when he looked at me, I nearly swallowed my fucking tongue. A full skull

tattoo covered the man's face and shaved head. I'd seen a face identical to this one many years ago.

It had belonged to Death.

As in... the Reaper.

The Angel of Death.

The one who would take you to Hell and leave you standing in a pit of oil with the previous inhabitants

clawing at you and gnawing at your flesh -- because that was his job. If Death came for you, there was no

getting away from him.

I made a fist into Lucien's shirt and moved closer to him. I was not beyond clinging to him for safety. The

man looked at me, head tilting.

"You know me?"

I nodded slowly and Lucien looked from me to the man, then back at me. "Sabaan? Are you okay?"

I shook my head. "Do you know who he is?"

"Of course I do," he answered. "This is Jonas. He's Katerina's companion."

"He's Death," I whispered.

Death let out a hearty laugh, his eyes still shining with an unnatural glow. "It might please you to know

that I've retired."

"Retired? Since when does the angel of Death retire?"

"What are you talking about?" Lucien snapped, and then glanced at Katerina. "Kat?"

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"I'm afraid it's true, Lucien dear," she said as she glanced from Lucien to Jonas. "Jonas did have a tricky

occupation in the past. But he means no one any harm. I give you my word."

"Katerina, as much as I value you, I'm afraid it's not your word that I need." Lucien shook his head. "Did

you not think this an important thing to share with me many years back?"

Some of the confidence left Katerina and she just sort of wilted like a picked flower. "Jonas' history is a... touchy subject." I looked to Death -- or Jonas -- as he was passing himself off as now. "You left me with nothing."

"I did not choose those that I--" He looked at Katerina. "I was only doing as I was ordered. If your loved

ones were taken from you, then it was their time. If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else."

"You have already been wrong," I said to Lucien. "This is not a surprise I'm enjoying, to say the least."

"Katerina, Jonas? Can we have a few minutes alone, please?" They both nodded and left, and then Lucien

led me to a chair and sat me down. "I give you my word, Sabaan. I knew nothing of this."

"No reason you should have," I said after a few moments of silence. "Hey, this is Jonas, but he's really a

retired angel of Death... Nah, not really dinner conversation."

"I think we should go."

"Why did you bring me here? What was the purpose of all this?"

"I wanted you marked as mine."

"So others would know that I'm your servant? Your possession?"

Lucien nodded. "As well as my friend, my confidant, the one I trust when I can trust no one else."

"And Jonas?"

"Is a tattoo artist."

And Death.

The one who took my family that horrid, horrid night when I'd accidentally set fire to the compound. If

that wasn't bad enough, I'd sworn that I'd never live with any other beings -- that I'd never risk anyone

else's life ever again.

Oh, God. What had I done? Sold my property and agreed to live in Lucien's mansion, putting hundreds of

lives at stake if I fucked up again.

I shook my head and stood, feeling sick. "I can't do this, Lucien."

"What do you mean? We are bonded!" Lucien followed me across the room. "This can't be undone!"

"I know that. I just... I can't live with you."

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"That's nonsense. Why do you--"

He broke off abruptly and all of a sudden I could feel him in my head, sorting through images and

memories and emotions that I couldn't lock up quickly enough. I pushed him away and tried to throw up

my shields, but it was too late. I knew he'd seen all of my deep, dark secrets and fears and that there was

no way to lie my way out of anything.

"Oh, Sabaan." He hugged me, even as I attempted to shrug him off. "You were just a baby, a youngling."

"But I still killed them." I shook my head. "Do you think I've lived surrounded by concrete and steel

because I liked it?"

"I knew why you lived where you did."

"So what am I doing now? Endangering the very people I've come to think of as family by living under

the same roof?" The thought of anything happening to anyone in the house made me nauseous. "I can't do

it, Lucien. I can't."

"You can and you will. You are an expert now at controlling your gift--"

"My gift? Is that what you call this thing?"

"If it makes you feel better, we will take steps to fireproof your room. If a fire starts, it will not leave your

chambers." He kissed the back of my neck, holding me tight. "I need you with us, Sabaan. I will do

whatever it takes to make it so."

A throat cleared across the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Lucien. But Jonas and I have a flight to catch in

a couple of hours. Do we need to reschedule?"

I closed my eyes and relaxed, finding the bond between me and Lucien. "Do you trust Jonas now? Even

though he's kept his true identity from you?"

"Everyone has a secret, Sabaan. I'm a lot more forgiving than I used to be."

Maybe I should take a lesson in that. "Then let's do this."

"No, Kat. If Jonas is able, we'd like to go ahead and do this."

"He is," Katerina said. Her tone was somber now, not a trace of that happy, confident woman that had

greeted us at the door. "If you'll both come with me, Jonas is already set up." *** The next room looked like any other room at a tattoo parlor, flash covering the walls, scrapbooks that I assumed were filled with more flash and past tattoos the artist had done lining the shelves, and really, really bright lighting. On the far side of the room there was an adjustable chair that was already reclined back. Jonas sat on a stool next to the chair, waiting. It took everything I had to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward. No one I ever

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knew willingly walked toward Death. Jonas looked up as I neared him.

"If you would give me your true form and remove your shirt, we'll get started."

"I would have your word that you mean no harm, Jonas," Lucien said. I hadn't realized he was right

behind me. "You know that I don't like secrets."

"I guess that's fair." Jonas put down a spray bottle of water that he'd been holding. "I didn't choose my

vocation back then, it was chosen for me. A position I was born into, if you will. I knew nothing else. But

know one thing: every death, every person that I carried over into the afterlife -- the burden still weighs

heavy within me."

Katerina came to stand behind Jonas, lying her hands on his shoulders. "He speaks the truth."

I heard the truth in his words, along with a heavy dose of sorrow. What I didn't understand was that if he

truly didn't like what he'd done in the past, why wear the tattoo as a constant reminder of that?

"Why the tattoo?" I pointed to my own face. "Why would you want to see that every time you look in the

mirror?"

"I didn't choose to be marked this way."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't know."

"No harm." He patted the chair. "Let's get started."

I took off my shirt and handed it to Lucien before dropping my illusions. As I sat in the chair and tried to

get comfortable, Jonas leaned on the arm, watching me. Finally, I shrugged.

"What?"

"You came into your powers and there was a fire."

I nodded slowly.

"I am sorry for your loss." He laid a hand over mine and it was warm, not at all cold as I'd expected it to

be. He looked back at Lucien. "Neck, right?"

Lucien pulled a chair over and sat at my feet. "What do you say, Sabaan? Neck, hand, arm?"

"What will it be?"

"Depends on where it is," Lucien answered. "If it's on the hand, it'll be a sigil. Arm, it'll be more like a

line of symbols. On the neck, well, we'll just call it an ink necklace with DLX in the center."

"For Delacroix?"

Lucien nodded.

It could be hidden on the arm, and even the hand, but the neck was a little more difficult to cover up. I

wanted people to know who I was, where I stood, and even more -- who I belonged to.

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"Let's do this right, then," I said with a smile all for Lucien. "The neck would be perfect."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Jonas said.

I looked at Lucien and Lucien just shook his head for me to ignore Jonas. Which was going to be very

hard. It wasn't every day that you had a tattoo appointment with Death.

Jonas arranged me how he wanted me and it wasn't long before the buzz of the tattoo gun drowned out

everything. The initial burn and sting was pleasant and I soon just closed my eyes, and let him work,

enjoying the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. After a while, Jonas tapped me on the shoulder.

"If you'll sit up and lean forward with your head to your chest, Lucien will finish the back."

Lucien was already behind me and he placed a hand between my shoulder blades. "Just my name to link

the lines together."

He was a little more heavy-handed than Jonas had been, but I realized that he wasn't just putting his name on me, he was signing his name to me. As if it was the very last step in binding us together. Jonas came toward us with a dagger in his hand and offered it to Lucien. "He's still open, do you want to seal him this way?"

"That's a very good idea. Thank you, Jonas."

Lucien took the dagger, but before I could panic, I heard a groan come from Lucien behind me and then

felt his warm, wet hand sliding over and around my neck. The scent of his blood invaded my senses, his

blood invading my body to heal the tattoo before my own body had the chance to.

He nipped at my ear. "My turn."

"What?" I got up and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"You think it goes one way?" Lucien laughed and settled in the chair. Jonas sat beside him and took

Lucien's right arm and arranged it. When Jonas went to change the needle, Lucien stopped him. "Same

needle."

Jonas looked to Katerina, who shrugged. "They're not human, Jonas."

"Okay, then."

He fired up the tattoo gun and went to work on Lucien's wrist, fashioning an intricate vine all the way

around it. The design was stunning and I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors. My heart caught in my throat. The design on Lucien's wrist was the exact same as the one now around my neck. I touched at the DLX in the center, smiling. Katerina held a mirror up and smiled. "His signature is beautiful, no?"

I could only nod. Lucien's gaze met mine as I handed the mirror back to Katerina and I smiled, walking

over to stand beside him. He gave me the dagger and took my free hand with his, squeezing it tight.

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"Do me the honor of giving me your blood?" "Always." *** "My God, Lucien! I can't believe you didn't tell me we'd be announcing this so soon!"

I was in the backseat of the car, tugging on some decent clothes, fighting with boots and pants that he'd

bought for me to wear. A coven meeting on my first night as his servant. Just my fucking luck.

"The meeting slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind?" I rolled my eyes. "You need to get your head in the game, honey."

"It's there now." He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Almost dressed?"

"Please tell me I don't have to wear this stuff all the time."

"This? No. We'll have your clothes tailored to fit you. They don't sell off the rack to people with tails, I'm

afraid."

"Pity." I smirked. "I look like a first-class manwhore."

"Better than second-class," Lucien laughed. "Come up front with me and let me see you."

I climbed over the seat and sat down, adjusting and readjusting my pants. The waist-line was low enough

so that my tail wasn't covered, but when I shifted, it rubbed just the right spot beneath the base. I clutched

the door and the seat, gasping.

"Oh, shit, Lucien. This is going to be so bad."

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong?" I shifted again and groaned. "Not really wrong so much as... Right, but in a bad way. The

pants... they rub a little."

Lucien laughed and slid his hand across the seat. He rubbed the exact spot the pants did and by his

reaction, I knew he'd known that they would.

"You bastard. You knew they'd rub!"

"I had hoped." He pulled his hand away. "I like seeing you hover on the edge, mad with desire."

"You're really going to love it when I bend you over your throne and fuck some sense into you." "Promises, promises." We pulled into the front drive and Lucien turned off the car. "On a more serious note: this is a short meeting and all I'm going to do is introduce you as my servant. I'll have people who want to talk to me, but you're not obliged to stick around for that this go around."

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"I don't know if I can do this, Lucien." I pulled down the visor in front of me, staring at my reflection. "I usually clear rooms when I look like this." "Not anymore." He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. "Ready?"

"No," I whined. "Not ready." But he was already getting out of the car and someone else was opening my

door. I looked up to see Simon, who looked at me in shock. "Hey, Simon."

"When I said play hard to get, this wasn't exactly what I'd imagined." He gave me a quick hug.

"Everything okay?"

"It's good." He looked at me as if he didn't believe me. "Real good, I promise."

Simon smiled, and then looked over at Lucien who'd made his way around the car. "You're late."

"I know. We got a little busy and I kind of forgot about the meeting. Did you take care of everyone?"

"Don't I always?" Simon said with a grin. "I don't think they're too bothered since they have food and

blood to keep them entertained. Too much longer though, and I think you might have a riot on your

hands."

Lucien held his arm out for me. "Shall we?"

"No, no. We shan't." I took his arm anyway, though, and walked with him. When he turned down the

hallway leading to the hidden entrance, I balked. "You've got to be kidding me! I will bust my ass on

those stairs and look like a complete fool."

"I've got you, Sabaan." He took my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him. "I promise,

everything's going to be fine. Trust me?"

"Yes, but--"

"No buts."

He opened the panel and pulled me inside and for a moment, I just stood there frozen. The room was

absolutely packed with vampires and Lycans, so much so that there were people standing along the outer

walls because there were no other places to sit.

Everyone was talking and laughing amongst themselves and then suddenly, everything went silent and

every face in the room turned to me and Lucien. I clutched his arm and he patted my hand as if to ease my

nervousness.

"Stand tall and proud. You're doing just fine."

"I want to puke."

"You puke and I'll make you come in front of all of them." I growled and Lucien smiled. "And now we

walk to the front. You will sit on my left or at my feet."

"Bastard."

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Lucien held his head high as he walked, just owning the room and everyone in it. I admired him so much for being able to run a coven this long, especially considering the fact that he'd never wanted it in the first place. He'd truly become a leader through it all. And he'd chosen me to be at his side. For him, I would suck it up and deal. I pushed my nervousness to the back of my mind and held my head high, feigning a confidence I didn't quite feel. Once we made it down the stairs and to the front, Lucien turned me to face the crowd of people. "This is Sabaan, my chosen servant. His word is as good as my own and I expect that you will treat him with the utmost respect." Someone stood, then went to one knee, head bowed. "Yes, Ian?" "If I may be so bold," Ian started, "many of the coven aren't aware of what a Master's servant's position entails." "It will take some time for everyone to get used to it and we will cover it at length at the next coven meeting. For now, all of your questions for me will go through him. In short time, there will be some rearranging here at the mansion and Sabaan will be hiring an assistant for his office. Any more questions?" "Not from me, Sire." "Anyone else?" There was a collective no from the crowd and Lucien nodded, gesturing for me to sit. It wasn't until that moment that I noticed Peter in the chair to the right of Lucien's. He was trying to appear casual and indifferent, but the truth was in his eyes. He wasn't just pissed, he was furious. I inclined my head, smiling as I sat on the other side of Lucien. His anger flared and I realized that Lucien had yet to even look at Peter. Man, this was definitely going to be a long night for the both of them and I only hoped they wouldn't bring the mansion down around them. Steeling myself, I turned and faced the crowd, but when I did, I wished I hadn't. Nikolas stood a few feet away, staring back and forth between me and Lucien. If I thought Peter was pissed, then Nikolas was close to nuclear meltdown. His eyes finally settled on me and he shook his head. He threw the glass that had been in his hands and it hit a wall, shattering into pieces. I wanted to go to him, but Lucien reached over and touched my leg, I guess to remind me not to go anywhere. Nikolas stalked to a side door and jerked it open, then let it slam behind him. The echo of the door slamming seemed to go on forever, and then, it was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. After a few moments, Lucien looked over at me. "That went better than I expected."

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I shook my head. "I have a feeling you won't be saying that later."

"So very true."

"Okay, then. Let us get started," Lucien said.

Lucien started what had initially been planned for the coven meeting and I sat back and listened,

occasionally smiling back at someone who smiled at me from the crowd. The one who'd asked the

question earlier -- Ian -- was watching me closely and when I finally acknowledged him, he blushed. It wasn't just him, either. The same thing happened time after time until I had a mental list of people I definitely wanted to get to know better. Nikolas' jealousy aside, this might very well end up being classified as the best job ever. After Lucien closed the meeting, quite a few people mingled and talked, waiting to talk with Lucien himself. Ian introduced himself and said he and his partner would love to have me for dinner one night soon and it was only after he walked away that I realized they wanted to have me for dinner. Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes. Someone touched my shoulder a short time later and when I turned around, I wanted nothing more than to

dematerialize the hell out of the room.

"Hello, Sabaan."

"Peter."

"I didn't know you'd be joining us."

"Well, it was one of those things, you know? Quick, unexpected." I shrugged. "I do hope you're okay with

it."

"Not really." Peter shook his head. "How could you do this?"

"What do you mean how could I? It was Lucien's idea, not mine."

"I can't believe he'd do this without telling me," Peter growled.

"Well, maybe... If you were around for Lucien more, then you would have known."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Take it the way you want. Nothing I say or do will make a difference anyway."

"I thought we were friends, Sabaan."

"Oh, we are. But you know what? Sometimes we just have to do what feels right, you know? Kind of

what you do with Nikolas because it feels good to you, even though you've known all along that I'm in love with him, yet you keep doing it anyway." It felt good to finally say that to his face. I gave him a wink and a smile. "Luckily, I'm not here to steal Lucien away from you."

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The look on Peter's face was priceless, a mix of shock and horror and the slightest bit of realization that maybe, just maybe, he'd done something wrong. It was probably the closest thing to the truth that anyone had given Peter in a long, long while. I wasn't about to start kissing his ass. *** The rest of the night had been a disaster, in a way. I'd ended up escaping back to the empty throne room with a few pillows and comforters and a book, then slept there because it was concrete. Lucien had begged for me to stay in his and Peter's room, but I knew what kind of fight they'd been about to have and had kissed him and wished him well. And I hadn't been wrong. The walls had shaken and voices boomed, furniture flying this way and that. Hours later, things had finally gone silent and knew they'd finally given in to fucking away the rest of their anger. The lust was thick throughout the mansion, and I could feel Lucien feeding off it. I also felt it when things between he and Peter finally calmed and the love that I knew was between them poured forth. They'd talked, they'd cried, and they'd made up as I'd known they would. I tried closing myself off from them, but the bond between me and Lucien was too fresh, too strong. So for a long while, I just lay there alone, comforted by something I shouldn't have been witness to. Dawn came and went and I could feel Lucien restless. I'd dematerialized to his room, but found him in Peter's arms, asleep, but not in the way he should have been. I sat at the foot of the bed and watched them for a long while. At some point I drifted off and slept, because the next thing I knew, Simon was waking me. "Sabaan?" I looked around, frowning when I realized I was still in Lucien and Peter's room. So much for not wanting to catch them on fire. I stretched and rubbed at my eyes. "What time is it?" "Nearly sunset. You sleep okay?" "Not intentionally." I got off the bed and stretched some more, then pointed toward the door. "I don't really want to be here when they wake up." "Me either," he agreed. "Last night was pretty bad and I have a feeling they're going to want to finish it." We entered into the hallway and I shook my head. "I didn't expect to them to make up so quickly." "Peter and Lucien have a rule," Simon said. "No matter what happens, they don't go to bed angry. They fight until they can't anymore, and then they make up the best they can." "Good rule." "Lucien wanted me to walk you through the lower levels to see if there was a room you'd be interested in taking until your permanent one can be fireproofed. You feel like taking a walk and looking around?"

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"Actually, that sounds good." The quicker I found a private place to hide, the better. "Lead the way,

beautiful."

Simon blushed and started walking. We talked as we walked and, after a long while of looking though

rooms, I had two that were big maybes. The others? Not so much. They were nice, but I had no idea how

I'd fit everything I owned into them and still be comfortable.

That was the problem with being an immortal. The amount of junk and treasures that one person could collect throughout the years was astounding. Simon's phone rang and I went into one last room while he talked on the phone. The room was no bigger than one of my closets and I quickly backed out. Simon didn't look happy. "Everything okay?" "Ah, it's Adam. Something's wrong with the faucet in the laundry room and there's water shooting

everywhere. He can't find the valve to turn it off. Can I meet you back here in a few minutes?"

"Oh, that's okay. There's only another few rooms. I can look and then come find you."

"You sure?"

I nodded. "Go on. Don't let the boy flood the place."

Simon laughed and left and I continued on looking through rooms. Okay, so there were three maybes

now, with the last room I looked being the first on the list. I wandered for a while, considering the rooms

and realized I'd wandered a little too far beyond the actual rooms.

I came to a stop in front of a door and the moment I recognized it, I turned to leave. Damn it, I'd not gone

looking for the bastard. Before I managed to take two steps, I heard the door open. I kept on walking.

"Not going to say hello?"

"Hello," I said, forcing myself to keep walking.

"Stop."

Just keep walking. "I order you to stop." I laughed. "Funny thing about orders: you don't always have to follow them." Suddenly, Nikolas blocked my path. For a moment I thought he was naked, but he wasn't. Not completely anyway. All he wore was a pair of brown leather pants. His sweat-covered chest was bare, except for two nipple rings, as were his feet. His hair was spiked this way and that, but one blood-red lock of hair nearly covered his left eye completely. There was a smudge of eyeliner beneath the right eye and it made him look... vicious. I was determined not to back away, but the moment he began stalking toward me, I started backpedaling. The expression on his face was far from amused and I wondered just how safe I really was.

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It was never wise to taunt the wolf.

"You want to play?"

"No, Nikolas," I stopped and planted my feet, determined to hold my ground, "I don't."

"Smells like you do." His gaze traveled down my body and back up again. "Tell me I'm wrong, precious."

My cock filled almost instantly, pressing against the fabric of my jeans. Damned thing had a mind of its

own at times, but now was not the fucking time. I wasn't stupid enough to believe that just because I was

in love with the fool that he wasn't dangerous.

"I won't play your games."

"Oh, I'm all out of games at the moment. What are you doing down here?"

"Finding a fireproof room where I can sleep and keep everyone else safe. Not like it's any of your

business."

"Everything you do is my business."

"Actually, everything I do now is Lucien's business."

"So you say." He pushed a door open behind me and crowded me until I backed inside. "Stay. Let's...

talk."

I had to force myself to stay put and not run right back out. Running away from a werewolf was instinct

that seemed to be programmed into humans and demons alike. Nikolas turned his back on me and walked

to his desk and some of that bravado I'd been feeling before came rushing back.

"Why bother? That would just consist of me doing a whole bunch of talking and you doing a bunch of

macho bullshit posturing." Yeah, yeah, keep taunting the wolf. "And by now? I'm not so sure I have

anything to say."

"Why did you do it?" Nikolas' voice was soft, close.

I hadn't felt him move, but he was standing so close now that I could feel his warm breath on my cheek.

The pulse in his neck beat hard and fast and I stared at it, desperately wanting to sink my fangs into his

flesh and taste him.

"I had no reason not to."

"You had me."

"I've never had you, Nikolas." I lifted my head and met his eyes, shaking my head. "Wanted you more

than life itself, but you never gave a damn."

"The fuck I didn't."

"In my own place with nary an eye to see while I blow you and jerk you off, but never get anything in

return? Oh yeah, I can tell just how much I've meant to you." I turned on my heel and started for the door.

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"Not to worry, Nikolas. I won't make a fool of myself over you anymore."

Just as I made it to the door, he slammed into me. I tried to fight him off, but his body held mine against

the wooden door. I turned my head as much as I could to avoid having my nose broken.

"I'm not done with you."

I wanted to tell him I was done with him, but stupid me, all I could think about was that he was touching

me. Angry touches, but touches all the same. I had no doubt that this was going to end in disaster.

"Let me go," I said softly. "Please, if you ever gave a damn, just let me go."

"I can't do that."

Twenty years. Twenty fucking years of wondering and playing the fool.

"You've done a pretty good job of it so far." I winced as he grasped my wrists and yanked my arms up

behind my back. "Tell me something, Nikolas. What was it that made you back off all those years ago?

Was I not human enough for you?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He growled and flipped me around and my back hit the door with

a loud thud. Nikolas pinned my wrists above my head. I tried to pull them away, tried to shove him away

from me, but he held fast, growling as he nipped along my jaw toward my ear. "I never backed away from

you."

"Get the fuck off, Nikolas!"

"No..." His voice trailed as he sucked the lobe of my ear between his lips. "Don't think that's what you

really want. Is it? Why did you really come down here, Sabaan? What was it that you were looking for?"

I shook my head, refusing to validate him with answers that he already had.

"Don't be a pussy," he hissed.

"Fuck you," I growled.

He let my wrists go suddenly, his hands dropping down to pull my hips against his. "Now see? We can

work with that."

The desire flared and I couldn't find the strength to pull it back. Had it been anyone but Nikolas, I'd have

drained them and left them for dead. My body was giving in, even if my head was still throwing out

alarms left and right.

I pushed at his chest. "Nik..."

He silenced me with a kiss, tongue searching and demanding. His hands fumbled at my jeans and I

pushed them away, unbuckling the jeans myself and pushing them down. I pressed against him, cock

dragging against skin and leather.

"That's it... fuck! Take it, Sabaan..."

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We soon ended up on the floor, pants around our ankles, pushing and pulling against each other. I nipped and bit my way across his shoulder and the harder I bit and grabbed and pushed, the louder and more excited Nikolas got. He bit hard just below my ear and it was as if something suddenly snapped inside of me. I threaded my fingers in his hair and yanked his head back, licking a line up his throat. He shifted to try to get me to let go and I took advantage, rolling him beneath me. I set my fangs where his neck and shoulder met and bit down hard. Blood rushed between my lips and I moaned, sucking it down as I thrust against him. His body bowed beneath me, cock dragging roughly against mine. Something sharp bit into my sides and I cried out in pain. Nikolas rolled us again and straddled me, one hand tight at my throat, claws digging painfully into my skin. I could feel the blood starting to run down my neck and into my hair. I swung at him, but he blocked it, grabbing my hand. He brought my hand up to his face and licked at my fingers, grinning. "I'm torn," he offered, the look on his face was indescribable; it was somewhere between vicious and curious. "I'm not sure if it'd be more fun to fuck you -- or eat you." I wasn't past being suffocated to death. No matter how strong I was, I still needed to fucking breath. I jerked my hand back, trying to buck him off. Nikolas didn't budge. Every time I moved, he just sort of rolled and moved with me. Both of my hands clutched at his around my throat, trying to get him to loosen his grip. Tears filled my eyes as my lungs started to burn for air. My head felt as if it was about to explode and my eyes started to grow heavy. "Uh-uh," Nikolas tsked. "Keep those eyes open." I tried to pick out which one of the numerous blurry shapes before me was actually him. His voice drew me to one near the middle and I tried to focus on him instead of breathing. One clawed finger drew lightly down my cheek before moving on to my chest. I felt a tug and then heard the material of my shirt being ripped apart. "Funny, isn't it?" Nikolas mused. "That even though you're seconds away from blacking out, your cock is still hard." I couldn't even feel my cock. The only thing I could feel was pain. I clung to that pain, both hating it and relishing in it. Nikolas' grip loosened slightly. "That's it; feel it, but stay with me." Just when I thought I could move, his grip tightened again. And then I was moving. My back hit a cold surface and a gasp tried to escape my constricted throat. It hurt like hell and tears spilled down my cheeks, stinging where he'd cut me. Fuck, why hadn't it healed yet? My legs were spread, jeans suddenly gone, and something thick and hard nudged at my hole. "The body is an amazing thing." Nikolas' voice was soft and would have been comforting if the circumstances were different. "It can take so much pain, so much pleasure, and at times? One can lead to the other, if the conditions are right." That thickness began to slowly work its way into my body, the cool slickness of it becoming hot. I had a

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few seconds to realize that I'd been concentrating on my ass instead of breathing and my eyes flew open. Nikolas was studying me intently, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. I struck out at him, but as soon as I moved, an electric current surged through me. My hips rolled of their own accord and Nikolas leaned forward. "Take me in, precious." He licked at my lips, at my chin; grinning as he found his way into me. His hand at my throat tightened again as he began to move. I instinctively tried to fight it, tried to get him to let me go. Every movement though, moved me up and down on his cock. "Nowhere to go, baby. Nothing exists right now but pain and pleasure. You and me." Nikolas thrust into me, lips hovering right above mine, his gaze intense. Both of his hands were now around my neck, growing tighter and tighter as he moved. Darkness began to settle into my line of vision and I could finally feel my cock. I had a vague flutter of thought that it was too bad I wasn't going to get off after all of this, and then Nikolas' hands were gone. I gasped, my body going taut as I drew air painfully into my lungs. His hands came up on either side of my head, keeping my face turned toward his. "Give it to me." I grabbed for him, claws tearing into the flesh of his upper arms. Pleasure shot through my entire body, wordless cries and screams ripping painfully from my throat. Heat filled me a few seconds later and the gentlest of kisses brushed my lips. I drew in a breath and swallowed hard. "Nikolas..." "You will always, always, be mine." He rested his forehead against mine. "Things are complicated and I imagine they always will be, but I do love you." "I hate you." So many years of wanting this, of wanting him, and now that I'd gotten it, it'd been all wrong. It was only a matter of seconds before the dam broke. "I fucking hate you." "As you should." Tears flowed freely and Nikolas wiped them away gently with his thumbs. "Shh... just let it go." I turned my head away, closing my eyes. "I should go." I needed to be up and out of this fucking place -- needed to be alone to digest all that had happened. I attempted to push him away, but my entire body felt like a lead weight. The only thing I managed to do was nudge him slightly. "Help me up." "Stay with me, Sabaan. We need to get some things out in the open." "I need a shower. Now get the fuck off me." Nikolas scooted further back on what I now realized was some sort of modified bench. The look of concern in his eyes nearly turned my stomach. He opened his mouth, but then seemed to change his mind in saying anything. He stood with a huff and wrapped his arms around me.

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"Don't bitch, just let me lift you up."

I let him lift me, trying to find my own footing as he did. The moment he had me up and off the bench,

my legs buckled. Nikolas caught me easily and held me close, his warmth against me welcome against the

cold air of the room.

"If you'll just help me to the shower, I'll--"

"Have a seat so that I can clean you up. Your neck is a mess."

I didn't bother to mention that he was the reason it was such a mess. We continued slowly down a hallway

and soon came to his large bathroom. There was a tiled area off to the left, and at least a dozen showerheads pointed toward one spot in the middle where a wooden bench stood. "Sit here," Nikolas said as he sat me down on the bench. "I'll be right back."

By the time I managed to orient myself on the bench, Nikolas was back. He carried a small basket in his

hands full of first aid creams and ointments. I rolled my eyes. "I'll heal before it makes a difference."

Nikolas raised an eyebrow as he placed the basket beside me on the bench. He pulled a mirror out and

held it before me. "See for yourself."

"Oh, God." Saying that my neck was a mess was putting it mildly. My new tattoo was fucked, my neck

looking like I'd come into close contact with a sharp piece of farm machinery. "What have you done?"

"I won't lie. I hated it."

"Leave me alone."

Surprisingly, he turned on his heel and walked out without another word. I used the mirror to inspect the

damage, concentrating hard on the area of my neck. I found the lines of the tattoo and held them together the best I could as my body began to heal itself. After a while, all of the cuts were closed and there was only a small, irregular line on the left side of my neck. *** After a quick shower, I was reluctant to leave the warm, steam-filled room. I wrapped myself in a couple of towels and sat on the bench, contemplating just dematerializing back to Lucien's room. I didn't want to face Nikolas before I had a chance to really think about what had happened. We'd been fighting, right? Or at least I thought we had been. But maybe for Nikolas, it was just foreplay. I missed the days when I knew how to read him. I heard voices in the next room and I quietly made my way down the hallway. I didn't enter into the room, but I saw Nikolas at the door talking to Simon. Apparently they'd said all they needed to. Nikolas' phone rang and Simon took his leave. Nikolas stared at the display of his phone as it rang, as if he couldn't decide whether to answer it. When he finally did, I just shook my head.

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"What's up, princess?" He was quiet as he lit up a cigarette. "No, not gonna make it tonight... Yeah,

okay... Jeez, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

He laughed before hanging the phone up, but there was no amusement in it. The phone was tossed onto

the desk with a curse and Nikolas took such a long drag that the cigarette was already half gone. He held

his breath in for a long while and after he exhaled, he just stared at the door.

"You gonna stand in the hallway all night?"

Fucking werewolves and their fine-tuned senses. I pulled the towels around me and stepped out into the

room. "Thought about it."

"You love him?" Nikolas growled.

"Who?"

He pointed to his own neck. "Him."

"Lucien?" I shrugged. "In a way, yes. It's..."

"Complicated?"

I nodded. "We were good friends before I did what I did to him. You know that."

"Oh yeah, you two were damn near inseparable." He crushed the cigarette in the palm of his hand. "Guess

it fits, you being his servant now."

"I think it does," I said. "We both need each other in different ways, and I'm thrilled to have my friend

back."

"You find you a room yet?"

"I didn't have much of a chance to look around before Simon got called away, but maybe."

"Stay with me."

"Oh, I don't think--"

"Don't think; just do it."

"Why? So I can keep watching you go off with Peter night after night? Sorry, but I'm not sure I constantly

want that thrown in my face." He started to say something, but I cut him off. "Yeah, your relationship with him is complicated. Right?" "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to be honest with me. Don't give me some bullshit excuse that you think I want -- or need -

to hear."

"Honestly?" He looked up and I saw worry and fear and a wealth of uncertainty in his eyes for the first time in all the years I'd known him. "You hungry?"

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I started to say no, but my stomach picked that exact time to growl. "Yeah, I guess I am." "Get your clothes on, precious. We'll talk over food." *** Nikolas' idea of food had been dragging me off to some hole in the wall greasy spoon. The menu had been so full of items that looked good that I'd finally handed the menu off to him and told him to get something good. He'd gotten a little bit of everything -- and then some. We'd ended up in woods in the middle of nowhere with a blanket spread on the ground. Conversation had been light, mostly centered around the food and a few jokes here and there, but the events of the night so far were heavy between us. It was as if we were deliberately not talking... by talking. After a while, I lay back on the ground, stuffed full of chili cheese fries, two tacos, and a fried burrito so

spicy I still had tears in my eyes.

"You should try this fried avocado."

"I don't think I can."

"Oh, come on." He leaned over me, holding a piece of fried goodness to my lips. "Just one bite: all

crunchy and salty on the outside and rich and creamy on the inside. You'll love it."

I took the bite and groaned, vowing that this was a greasy spoon we'd have to come back to.

"Mmm... that's good."

"I think we should make this a date, say once a week?" I just stared at him, clueless about what to say to

that. "Unless you're not interested. And hey, that's cool."

And here we were, finally getting to the serious stuff. I swallowed hard. "Did you mean what you said

earlier?"

"I never say anything I don't mean."

"Then I think it's time we finished that talk, don't you?"

He groaned and licked at the corner of my mouth. "Can't we just... not?"

I couldn't help but laugh. That was the Nikolas I knew. He settled between my legs, kissed me, and then

shimmied down so he could lay his head on my chest. Okay, so maybe this wasn't the Nikolas I knew...

"I don't know where to start."

"How about we start with Peter."

"Oh, shit." He shook his head. "I figured you'd want to start with something easy. That is probably the

most complex fucking situation ever."

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"Tell me about him." I figured he would get defensive and get up, but he didn't. He just shifted to get more comfortable. I slid a hand down the back of his shirt, massaging where I could reach. To have that skin to skin contact with him not pulling away was just awesome. But yeah, back to questions, which Nikolas had yet to start answering. "You let him fuck you?" "Yeah." "You suck him off? Fuck him?" "Sucked him off once, just after his accident to help him get centered. Fucked him? Just that once." He stretched and moved into my touch. "Should have never done it. Knew it wasn't what he really wanted, that he was all fucked up by what was happening to him. But when he called my wolf and my wolf answered... I just couldn't stop myself. Now, I think he's afraid of it happening again." "Do you want it to?" "No, I like getting fucked all the time." He raised his head and winked. "You know me: I like to be in the driver's seat." "Do you love him, Nikolas?" "Yeah." He nodded as if he was still thinking it over, then nodded some more. "I mean, there's something between us that just... draws us together, you know? He's my friend, but it's more than that. I think it has a lot to do with the pack and... Hell, I don't know. But it's not like what I feel for you. I mean, it is, but it isn't." "I was pretty screwed up in the head last night and I talked to someone." "Oh?" "You want to know what he said?" Nikolas looked up at me, nodding, but I could see the worry he was trying to hide. "He said he believed it was possible for one person to have more than one soul mate. And that Peter was one of yours." "I ain't never believed in that soul mate bullshit." I could hear a huge but in there. "But?" "But I'm starting to think there's something to it." He sighed and laid his head down again. "I never meant for things to turn out this way." I thought back to Simon's words from the night before, knowing that he'd probably been right. I mean, he did know quite a bit more about human nature than I did, considering his former position as an angel. Monogamy wasn't something either of us was capable of. Truthfully, I would probably be the first to screw up. Nikolas was a hell of a lot more stubborn than me. Not that I would stoop to being treated second best. No, that would never work. This would have to be a continual give and take and a relationship based on total and complete honesty. And that was one thing about Nikolas: he was as honest as they came.

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"You know what? I think they've turned out fine."

He rose up on his elbows, shaking his head. "How can you think that?"

"Both of us love other people, but in different ways. We don't choose who we love -- we just love." I

caressed his cheek. "I won't be lied to and I won't be second best. Other than that... I'm not saying it won't

be hard, and that we won't fight, but I'm willing to give it a shot if you are." Nikolas moved off me and laid down behind me, pulling me into his arms. He moved his arm so that it pillowed my head, his free one holding me tight against him. We lay silently for a long while, but there wasn't an ounce of nervousness in me anymore. There might have been a connection between him and Peter, but I was secure in the fact that there was one between us, too. "If you hadn't showed up tonight, I'd have gone looking for you," he said after a while. "I had a disciplinary session that ended badly because my head wasn't in the game. All I could think of was you with Lucien's mark, his scent all over and in you, and me realizing that I'd fucked up and lost before I ever got the courage to get started." "I don't think I've ever heard you talk this much without growling." "You can thank Peter for that," he said with a laugh. "That bastard drives me insane sometimes making

me talk everything out. I learned a couple things in the process, too."

"What's that?"

"Sometimes talking is the only way to fix things. You can growl and you can fuck and you can fight, but

if you don't get down to what's wrong and talk it out, you'll be right back where you started -- still

growling, still fighting."

"That's very true."

"So what's next?"

"Oh, I imagine I'll have to have a talk with Peter."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because he has no idea how I feel about him and I don't think he's quite realized just how he feels about

me, either." I felt him shrug. "But if you want, I won't stop you."

"After what I said to him last night, I think I should at least let him know that we're okay. That you and him spending time together isn't an issue with me." I looked back at him. "You want to know what I think?" "Shoot."

"I think the four of us are bound together in a way that just can't be explained. If we don't learn how to

make it work and work well, it could lead to disaster later on."

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"I think you're right, precious. You want to know what else I think?"

"Of course."

"I think we should stop talking," he rolled me onto my back and straddled my legs, moving down to

unbuckle my jeans. He worked my jeans down, sliding one hand back to free my tail. A wicked grin lit up his face as he squeezed the base of my tail. "I'm going to mark you here. You know that, don't you?" "I--"

"They may see you as his when you walk toward them." He licked a line from the center of the tattoo on

my neck, up my chin, and traced my bottom lip with his tongue. "But when you walk away, they'll know

who you really belong to."

Oh, shit. I wasn't sure how I'd ever survive him marking my tail, as sensitive as it was. But just the idea of

it had me hard and squirming.

He kissed down my neck again, working his way down the center of my chest to my belly. "Now, I've got

something else to show you."

"And what is that?"

"Another way to say I love you."

He wrapped his fist around my cock, pulling the foreskin up to cover the head. He looked up and met my

gaze before tonguing at the circle of skin. Every muscle in my body went tight and lights flashed behind

my eyes.

"Oh, fuck... Nikolas..."

"We'll get to that." He nipped the foreskin with his teeth. "Later."

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Marginalia

By Laney Cairo

Chapter One Bailey stood silently, his gloved hands held in front of himself, a reminder to both his team and himself that he was aseptic. Through the window in the operating theatre door he could hear Dr. Ford reassuring the patient. “…and you’ll feel a prick of the needle,” Dr. Ford said, his voice mellifluous, dripping charm. “A little coldness, in your arm, as the anesthetic works. Deep breath in, and relax. Close your eyes, and I’ll take care of everything.” The scrub nurse, a melancholic young woman with watery eyes, sighed beside Bailey. The swinging door to the operating theatre opened, and Dr. Ford looked through, at the waiting team. “Anesthetist says she’s out, so she’s all yours.” The scrub nurse muttered something obscene as Dr. Ford disappeared off into the scrub room, peeling his gloves off. Bailey shrugged under his sterile robes, not bothering to reply. He hated Ford, too, just on principle. Ford was the public face of their section, the person the tremulous patients confessed all to, during their appointments. He was charming and gorgeous, displaying all of SirenCare’s latest products, but Ford was a complete fucker in the operating suites. When Ford wanted work done, it was Bailey who held the knife. Didn’t matter, because once the patient was out cold, Ford went away and let the skilled people take over. The woman on the slab looked painfully pale, her skin no doubt melanin stripped by an earlier procedure. That made Bailey’s job easier. A nurse slid a stool up to the head of the slab for Bailey to sit down on, then plugged Bailey’s visor into the table’s system. A schematic appeared on Bailey’s visor, his guide to the changes the patient wanted. Another nurse draped a sterile cloth across the patient’s chest, and pushed a trolley up to Bailey’s elbow. The anesthetist nodded at Bailey from behind the bank of monitors. “She’s out cold,” the anesthetist said. “Confirmed on scan. You’re good to go.” Bailey bathed the woman’s face in sterilizing solution, ran an abrader over the skin, then re-sterilized. The schematic on Bailey’s visor changed, zooming in as Bailey leaned closer, a microscalpel in his hand.

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Using his tongue to nudge the visor control in his mouth, Bailey switched the display over to a scan of the woman’s face, done earlier. The woman’s lingual nerve was clear on the scan, coursing through the flesh beside her mouth. Bailey’s focus narrowed, the voices of the scrub nurses fading, and he forgot about the stool he was perched on, the tickle in his bladder and the clammy glue holding his own monitoring equipment on. On one wall, a screen displayed Bailey’s stats alongside the patient’s. Bailey’s pulse slowed, his breathing deepened, and he slid the microscalpel across the woman’s face, parallel to the lingual nerve. The flesh parted, pinpricks of blood welling up huge in Bailey’s magnified view, and he worked quickly, tapping each bleed with a cauterizer, sealing the capillaries, then cutting down deeper, through muscle. He made a small cavity, underneath the risorius muscle, and then slid the capsule containing the miniature battery and processor in. The processor output had a multitude of connectors for the efferent facial nerve, ready to be connected. The placing was not critical, since the patient would spend time in front of a mirror, learning each connection through trial and error. The processor wired in, Bailey switched instruments to the inserter probe. Now the placing was critical, and Bailey paused, cross-referencing the schematic on his visor with the settings on the inserter, before settling the inserter over the woman’s cheekbone, against the skin. Teal blue was not what Bailey would have chosen, but what did he know about aesthetics? The capsule, tiny as a speck, nestled under the woman’s derma, then Bailey located the nearest dendritic spine. The capsule had a microwire, too small for Bailey to be able to pick up directly. Bailey used a lifter, a tiny magnetic probe, to attract the microwire and introduce it to the dendritic spine, and then dropped a touch of silicone to the connection to secure it. When the patient learned to isolate the sections of her face through the processor, she would be able to activate entire swathes of the capsules, switching on the capsules to color her facial derma for hours at a time. Assuming Bailey could insert and connect enough of the capsules, and he got the color schema right. Four hundred of the capsules, each taking a minute to insert and connect, made for a full day’s work. One of the scrub nurses would rouse Bailey from his trance, once his monitors showed his blood sugar dropping, and he’d suck a glucose drink through a straw. Until then, Bailey’s world consisted entirely of dermal cells, capsules and dendritic spines. *** SirenCare had a dedicated subway station, on the main line into the centre of Sydney, but Bailey didn’t join the throng of his fellow employees who were heading for the station, down endless white-tiled staircases. Instead, Bailey cut across the concourse at the front of SirenCare’s surgical facility, heading for the street access onto Oxford St. The concourse opened through a double door that kept the noise and grit out, and Bailey plunged out into the sweltering heat of the outside world. Locked inside an air-conditioned and hermetically-sealed edifice all day, going into the heat always felt like being struck, driving the oxygen from his lungs by replacing it

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with steam. Sunglasses were useless in the humidity, so Bailey pushed his up onto his head and blinked in the daylight. He turned right, pushing his way past street vendors selling cosmetics and skewers of spiced meat, heading downhill and into the shadows cast by the SirenCare tower. It was cooler, out of the sunlight, because the light pipes that carried sunshine to the shadow around the tower didn’t bring heat to the area. That would happen the next morning, when the sun rose over the tenements and bubbled the asphalt. Tilly, the coffee vendor, called out, “Night, Bailey!” and Bailey lifted a hand in greeting as he edged around the crowd clustering around Tilly’s cart. Bailey dodged a brawl spilling out of a pub, stepped around children playing on the paving, and paused on the curb, beside a pile of garbage bags, to wait for a break in the traffic. Electric scooters and ordinary bikes poured down the street, away from SirenCare. Someone shouted, “Bailey!” from behind their helmet and mask, and Bailey waved a hand at their back as they were swallowed by the traffic. A bus, packed with people, lumbered to a halt up the street, interrupting the traffic, and Bailey plunged across the street, stepping over oil slicks. Around the corner he went, past what had once been a park until someone with some sense fenced the bare dirt and planted the dead ground with veggies, pouring precious waste water onto the plants. The other train station, when Bailey pushed his way through the children begging at the entrance, lacked the electric lights and tiled floors of the SirenCare-sponsored station. A single globe swung overhead, augmenting the last of the triple-reflected sunlight coming through the pipes. Cool, dank air flowed up from the underground tunnel, smelling of mildew and fetid water, so Bailey found the filter mask dangling from his work clothes and draped it across his face as he dropped his coin into the turnstile. The platform was crowded with workers from the clothing factories around the station: tall thin men, women with covered faces, their hands tucked out of sight and children hanging from their backs. Hookers leaned against the station’s pillars, resting their feet before a night of work, poor imitations of colorbursts painted onto their cheekbones. The train rattled up to the station, and the passengers hauled the doors open and pushed into the carriages. Bailey let the surge of passengers carry him into the Standing Only carriage and up against one of the paint-spattered carriage windows. One of the passengers had a boom box, the music starting up as the carriage doors slammed shut. This was why Bailey caught the local commuter train; because after eight or ten or twelve hours in a sterile operating suite, perched on a stool and encased in latex, he craved dirt and music and human contact. The other train, so white and tidy, would have squeaky clean vinyl seats, and every person on that train would be listening to the music playing on their wires, locked in their own bubbles of perfect aural input. The train jolted and swayed, reorganizing the passengers, and Bailey closed his eyes and leaned his head against the filthy window. Inside his eyelids, the image of the inserter and the alabaster skin of the

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patient’s face persisted. They arrived at another train station, more passengers embarking, so Bailey was squashed between two bodies, smelling of sweat, garlic and turmeric. Someone nearby had taken flare, the ketone-sting of their skin giving the drug away. The train jolted into movement, and Bailey let his memory linger over the image of the scalpel sliding into the woman’s skin, cutting through her flesh so carefully. The man pressing against Bailey’s back swayed closer as the train worked its way around a curve in the track, and he leaned forward a little, so his mouth was close to Bailey’s ear. The rattle of the train and the boom of the music almost masked his voice as he said, “You smell hot.” Another sway, and the man’s interest pressed against Bailey. “So do you,” Bailey said, breathing in skin and incense, the smell mixing with the images in his brain. “Going far?” “End of the line,” the man said. Bailey could feel the man’s hand working rapidly, moving the loose cotton of Bailey’s tunic, and it all jumbled up inside Bailey’s head, combining with the rattling train and the cold glass of the window. Bailey didn’t want to come, he had plans for the night, but feeling the man’s fluid soaking through the open weave of his trousers and wetting his leg was delicious. After the sterility of the day and work, it made Bailey feel alive. The walk from the train station, up the long hill in the oppressive heat, was enough to bring Bailey back to the real world. The street was busy, people were emerging from their homes now darkness had fallen, and kids ran in front of Bailey in the pale yellow light spilling from the houses, calling his name. Bailey lived in the top half of an old house, in a jumble of rooms. He could have lived in SirenCare housing, somewhere up the coast, like most of his fellow workers, but life in a cardboard box where the company could watch his every move did not appeal. Instead, Bailey dragged each window open, to let the day’s heat out, then took a beer from his fridge and climbed the last few steps, up to his roof. Cooler air blew in, up the harbor from the coast, across the rolling suburbs that seethed with life, to Bailey’s tiled roof, where he sat and waited. Bats swooped around him, chasing insects, and currawongs shrieked in the darkness. The city was patchily lit; the streets below Bailey were lined with the pale blue glow of solar-lights, but closer into the city patches of hot, white light showed where secure corporate-owned suburbs had a generator running. The beer was cold and good, the bottle chilled when Bailey pressed it against his forehead. Some days, he missed air-conditioning. The solar panels beside Bailey on the roof ran his fridge and the solar distiller purified his water, but he’d have to live somewhere else to get a grid connection. The stranger’s come had dried completely, and Bailey picked idly at the patch on his trousers. He might

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not have air-conditioning, but there were damned good reasons he lived outside the reach of SirenCare. He was tempted to head out into the dark city immediately, to where the bars were just opening, but he really needed to sleep first. Besides, if he partied later then headed directly to SirenCare, he could shower the night off at the company’s expense, not his own. In his bedroom Bailey dumped his clothes on the floor and lifted his mosquito netting aside. Every window was still wide open, and the breeze had picked up enough that the air in the building moved a little, cool salty air replacing the heat of the day. Outside, down the street at Bailey’s local bar, music played, rolling into Bailey’s house through the darkness. Bailey settled the mosquito nets around himself and closed his eyes. The music and the frustrated mosquitoes lulled him to sleep, and anticipation of later pleasures made him dream. *** The front bar at the Gazza was jumping, with the punters downing middies and picking fights, so Quint made his way carefully through the chaos, stacking empty glasses, making sure no fucker with a wild elbow tipped the tray of glasses over. The generator in the basement of the bar stuttered, so the lights in the bar paled, then the carbie backfired loudly and the lights were back.

Back behind the bar, Quint transferred his load of glasses to the bench and began to wash them in the beer

soup in the sink. One sink of water a night, that was all he was allowed.

Frood, working the bar, shouted, “Quint! Faster with the glasses, we’ve got paying customers dying of

thirst here.”

“Hang on,” Quint said, grabbing a couple of glasses from the draining board beside the sink and dumping

them beside Frood.

The punter who was dying of thirst nodded his thanks to Quint, and handed a coin over the bar. Quint knew the regulars, and the irregulars, and there was no way this particular bloke had been in the bar before. Quint had a thing about smooth-skinned, shaven-headed hunks, and he wouldn’t forget that face. Corporate-suits didn’t walk into the bar every day. The hunk lifted his gaze from the metal in Quint’s lips and met his stare.

“Bloody hell,” Frood said, and he shoved the glass at Quint. “I’m going to the bog.”

Quint pulled a middy of beer for the hunk, tipping the glass sideways to stop the head from foaming.

“There you go,” he said, holding the glass out.

The punter took the beer, and leaned forward, over the bar. “Hey,” he said, his eyes smiling at Quint.

Quint leaned forward, too, smiling against the weight of the bars through his lip. “Hey, yourself.”

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The punter’s gaze slid down the open neck of Quint’s shirt, and Quint heard his breath hitch over the background roar of the bar. “Nice sternal mod,” the stranger said. “Very hot. You got other mods?” Quint nodded. “If I show you, the boss will throw me out.”

“Later?” the punter asked, and he sounded as horny as Quint felt. The metal through Quint’s sack lifted

and settled a little, as the blood flow changed, reminding Quint how good it could be.

“I’m not a pro,” Quint said. “It would have to be on my terms.”

The punter ran a fingertip down the ridge of steel under the skin of Quint’s chest, pressing the metal

against his sternum. “Your terms.”

Frood slammed back into the bar, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Work,” he said to Quint. “Generator’s

about to run dry, so get down there and refill it, or you’ll have to explain to the punters why they have to

drink warm beer in the dark while you fiddle around with fuel by candlelight.”

Quint paused only to nod to the punter, and then he took off down the stairs, to the cellar, just as the lights

in the pub flickered again and began to fade.

The punter was waiting out by the front of the pub, leaning against its rusting façade, when Quint pushed

the last of the mess out the front door with his broom.

“You waited?” Quint asked, propping the broom inside the pub door.

“Went and got something to eat,” the punter said. “I’m Bailey.”

“Quint. Hang on.” Quint leaned his head back inside the pub and called out, “I’m off now!”

“See you tonight!” Frood called back.

Quint was sticky with sweat and beer, and he smelled of generator fuel, too. “I need a dip. You wanna

walk down to the harbor?”

The pair of them walked through the gloom, past empty food stalls and closed up houses, through the relative cool of the late night. Few other people were around; between three and five in the morning was just about the only time that everyone slept. Quint liked the empty, dark streets, where only possums scurrying across the paving disturbed the quiet. Possums, or rats.

He led Bailey through the maze of laneways, down to what used to be the freeway, where starving horses

grazed on dry grass growing through the shattered bitumen in the dark. They went through a secret gap in

the chain link fence, into a secure neighborhood.

If Bailey, who was obviously a corporate type who lived in a secure neighborhood himself, had any

opinions about the laws they were breaking, he kept them to himself. Quint liked Bailey.

A dog barked in the night, the ultimate status symbol. Only a very rich, very well-guarded person would

own a dog.

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“Run,” Quint whispered, as they turned around the corner of an apartment block, and the pair of them bolted across the open ground, artificial turf crinkling under their feet, Bailey’s sandals made from recycled tires slapping on the plastic grass. Gum trees loomed up, casting deep shadows, and Quint could hear the slopping of water on the sand. Bailey was laughing breathlessly beside Quint, and his hands found Quint in the darkness. “Are you crazy?” Bailey asked, his voice very close to Quint. “Running through Rose Bay?” “Fuck Rose Bay,” Quint said, then Bailey’s mouth was over his, tongue licking the bars, then settling over Quint’s lips. Quint wound his arms around Bailey’s neck, rubbing his body against Bailey’s crisp, clean clothing, feeling it crackle and crinkle, his hands on Bailey’s scalp, his tongue inside Bailey’s mouth. No metal, no implants, but Bailey’s hands were doing a good job of finding Quint’s, pushing under his shirt at the back, fingers rubbing over the ridges of scar, tracing the pattern. Quint ground his groin against Bailey, rubbing his cock to hardness against Bailey’s hipbone, feeling the metal rings through his sack catching and untangling. Quint shoved a hand between their bodies, grabbing Bailey’s cock through his clothes. Quint’s hand squeezed the hard length of Bailey’s cock, and they both moaned. “Fuck me,” Bailey said, his lips sliding across Quint’s ear, teeth clinking on the hoops and spacers and catching the skin. Bailey’s hand inside Quint’s jeans found his cock, fingertips touching the beads under the skin, using just the right pressure, so the balls of silicone dug into Quint’s cock. “Yeah,” Quint said, shoving his hands inside Bailey’s loose trousers and grabbing the cheeks of his arse, relishing the feel of the flesh, the way it moved as he touched it, the fine hair across the skin. Quint let go of Bailey’s arse cheeks and pushed Bailey’s trousers down, so they fluttered around his ankles. “Got any lube?” Quint asked, his fingers squeezing Bailey’s balls, working the sensitive flesh so that Bailey gasped. “Don’t need it,” Bailey said. “Turn around.” Quint could feel he was grinning. If Bailey was into a dry fuck, Quint could work with that. The first touch of his fingers against Bailey’s arse, probing and pushing, proved Bailey must be sweating, because he was damp and slick. Bailey moaned, and Quint closed his eyes, breathing in the living scent of the gum trees and Bailey’s skin. His fingers slid in smoothly, and Quint rested his forehead against Bailey’s neck and let his fingers explore the smooth flesh, slipping and twisting so that Bailey groaned. When Quint lifted his head and opened his eyes, his fingers guiding his cock into the slippery heat, he

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could see Bailey’s fingers in the gloom, digging into the bark of the tree.

Things moved in the darkness, mosquitoes buzzed, a possum rustled the leaves of the tree, and Quint

pushed his cock into Bailey slowly, one row of beads at a time.

It hurt, but it always did at the beginning. Bailey whimpered, so it might have been hurting him, too.

Whimpers turned Quint on.

He shifted his weight, flexing his knees a little, settling his cock deeper, then pulled back slowly, making

sure Bailey could feel all seventeen beads in Quint’s cock, one bead at a time.

The final bead eased out, leaving the head of Quint’s cock still inside Bailey, then Quint pushed back in

hard, not giving Bailey a chance to count. Bailey was slick and easy to fuck, letting go so that Quint’s

cock glided sweetly into him.

Bailey must have been really worked up, because before Quint had even developed a real sweat, Bailey

was rocking back, slamming himself against each thrust of Quint’s cock.

Bailey shouted, his body clamping down on Quint’s cock, the stupid dog yammering away nearby. Fluid

leaked across Quint’s balls and thighs, slippery and impossible, and it wasn’t his own because that was on

its way, burning inside him, tighter and harder, until he sunk his teeth into Bailey’s shoulder, jabbed into

him hard as he could, pumping come into him.

“Bloody dog,” Bailey said. “We should get the fuck out of here, before security work out where they left

the keys to the patrol tank.”

Quint slid out, his cock softening and dripping.

“Sweet rain,” Quint said. “How the fuck are you modded?”

Bailey dragged his trousers up and slapped Quint’s shoulder. “Come on,” Bailey said. “Show some of the

survival spirit you illegals are supposed to be well endowed with.”

Quint did up his jeans, and the two of them took off across the plastic grass, toward the harbor, just as

lights came on in the nearest house and a siren began to wail.

The harbor shore, rocks and piles of desiccated seaweed, was through the trees and another chain link

fence, but the loose panel Quint had been shown the week before hadn’t been repaired.

They slipped through the gap, and Quint pulled the chain link panel back into place, just as floodlights

came on near the shore, in the park.

Quint laughed. “Fuckers, hope they can pay for all that power.”

“I’m sure the happy ratepayers can afford it,” Bailey said. “So, is there anywhere here without a sewage

outlet, or do we have to swim in privileged citizen shit?”

“Over the rocks,” Quint said.

They clambered along the shore line, away from the floodlit park and the distant rumble of the security

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vehicle, over tumbled rocks and the partly submerged hulks of houses, then down to a cove. The foam on the shore glowed faintly, but that didn’t seem to be dissuading Bailey from swimming, since he’d pulled his tunic over his head. Quint dumped his own clothes on the rocks, and then waded out into the cove, glad his sandals were robust enough to protect his feet from anything lurking in the mud. Beside him, naked in the faint light coming from the silvering eastern skyline, Bailey was gorgeous and sleek, his skin unmarked and smooth. The water wasn’t cold, just cool, much better to swim in when it couldn’t be seen. Quint waded out to his waist in the water and fell forward, letting the water splash over his face and soak into his hair, washing away the dirt of the past few days. He rolled over and floated on his back, bobbing in the salt. “So, you gonna tell me about the weird-arsed mod of yours?” Bailey swam beside him, and pre-dawn seagulls swooped overhead. “It’s just a lube pack, nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” Quint asked. “I might have been fucking a girl, if it wasn’t so fucking tight, and if you

hadn’t shot all over that tree, too.”

Bailey chuckled. “Don’t confuse complexity of concept with complexity of execution. It’s just a mod,

like your horns.”

Bailey’s wet fingers found Quint’s brow horns, shaping around the prominent bumps, the touch soothing.

Bailey knew how to touch.

“Feels good,” Quint said.

“They’re crap work,” Bailey said. “Whoever did them shouldn’t have.”

“What!” Quint said, his eyes jerking open again. “Don’t fuck with my mods!”

“No disrespect to you,” Bailey said, taking his hand away. “Your cock is a tasty piece of work, really well

done. I like your sternal ridge, too, it’s just the right length, so you don’t get bone erosion. The horns are

poor work.”

“You a doctor?” Quint asked, putting his feet down into the inky mud and standing up so he could face

Bailey. “And what is wrong with the horns?”

“Not a doc,” Bailey said. “And they’re too hard, so you’re going to get skin breakthrough. Teflon is no good for horns, and not even silicone is soft enough. The best horns are done with growth cultures, so your own bone thickens and shapes.” The sky was pale pink in the east, and Quint could see Bailey clearly. He looked concerned, not critical. Quint knew all about critical. “You’re talking about stuff that the street can’t offer, along with your wetarse.” Bailey nodded. “Wetarse?” he said, laughing. “Never had it called that before. The technical name is Auerbachian tubuloalveolar implant. I need to head to work. Do you know a way back into the city that

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doesn’t involve two fences and being arrested?”

Quint grinned at the corporate slave. “Sucker,” he said. “I’ll show you how to get back to the city.”

The scramble up the cliff face was hard work, and by the time he got to the top, Quint needed another

swim. Bailey lifted himself over the crumbling sandstone lip of the cliff and stood up, wiping dirt from

his hands onto his clothes.

“For a corporate slave who has to go to work, you’re mighty relaxed about breaking in and out of a secure

suburb, and leaving a load on a tree,” Quint observed, pointing up the hill, through Double Bay.

Double Bay wasn’t a secure suburb, not since the gas leak at the primary school a few years ago, and

Quint was glad. Between the fucking, the running and the swimming, he was weary.

“Most corporate slaves,” Bailey said, “they’re worried about what the company might think, and whether

they’ll get fired and lose their water and power allowances. Not me.”

Chickens scratched across the paving, and a woman opened the window of her shanty and waved to them.

“You’re either the CEO, or irreplaceable,” Quint said.

“Yep,” Bailey said. “And you’re either actually a resident of Rose Bay or fucking crazy, to have pulled

that stunt with the fences.”

A bike with a cart whizzed past them, electric motor hissing, cans of water on the cart clattering.

In the growing daylight, Bailey looked tired and salt-encrusted, his clothes stained and damp, but his eyes

were laughing at Quint.

“Train station is there,” Quint said, pointing at the opening to an underpass, amongst the shacks and houses. “I’m heading further up the hill. Have a nice life.” “I might see you again,” Bailey said. He rested his hands on Quint’s shoulders and gently kissed his forehead, then the bump of each of his horns. When Bailey had disappeared into the train station, Quint strolled up the hill, past struggling veggie gardens and wilting fruit trees. It was going to be another hot day, and Quint needed to be under shelter before the sun was up in the sky. The thought of another day dozing through the heat, in the cellar of the pub, waiting for the cool night, didn’t worry Quint. He would sleep well. He whistled to himself, pushing his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t every night he met a punter with a wetarse.

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Chapter 2 Tilly’s stall was in its morning position, where the SirenCare tower would provide shade for some hours, when Bailey clambered up the stairs from the rail station. Steam belched out of the vats of coffee, and Tilly yawned and stretched in the first light. “Early, Bailey,” Tilly said. “Yep,” Bailey said. “Gotta make a start on some work. Can I have a flat white with two shots and a serve of spike?” Tilly nodded and reached for a paper cup, holding it under the espresso machine jet. “Big night?” Tilly asked, as he handed the cup over to Bailey. “Been up a while,” Bailey said, taking the tiny vial of clear liquid Tilly passed to him, then downing the contents in a rush, avoiding the bitterness of the spike. He handed coins over to Tilly, who nodded then turned to serve the woman who had followed Bailey up out of the train station. “Morning, Hilda,” Tilly said. “What’s your poison?” Bailey walked up the hill, sipping his coffee. All the windows and doors of the houses stood ajar, catching the last of the cool air before the sun rose fully, and Bailey could see people sharing meals and starting their days. He was early, but he had some things to do at work before his shift started. His security card slid through the reader at the main doors, and he paused while the SirenCare system checked his retina scan and activated his tracker. The elevator doors opened as he approached them, and he emptied his coffee cup, letting the coffee wash away the taste of the spike. Shower first, before someone noticed he’d both been fucking and swimming in the harbor, based on his body odor. All staff who lived outside of the SirenCare residential facilities were entitled to use both bathroom and laundry facilities in the tower. Technically, as theatre staff, Bailey could shower whenever he damned well wanted at the company’s expense, but he was aware that the company kept close track of each employee’s water usage, so he restricted himself to one brief shower a day. The staff showers were on the fourteenth floor. Bailey used his card to let himself into the locker room, then to open his storage locker. He had a change of clothes there, trousers and a tunic, so he retrieved them and his toiletries. Into a cubicle, and Bailey peeled his soiled clothing off and tossed it into the chute. His card went into his skin pouch, and then he stepped into the shower and turned the water on. The shower hissed and spat, the water mixed with so much air that it didn’t really flow, but it was enough to dampen Bailey’s skin. He rubbed gel over himself, then rinsed off. Out of the shower, all in twenty seconds. Of course, if he lived in a SirenCare residence, they’d let him have fifty liters a day for bathing, and he’d probably only used five. But if he lived in a SirenCare residence, he wouldn’t be able to be fucked by lovely people like Quint.

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Bailey shaved quickly, his head and face, and then wiped the shaving oil off his skin. He brushed his teeth and smeared on sweat-suppressor. He put on clean clothes, and back on with shoes. He took the shoes off, wiped them over with a paper towel to remove the last of the harbor sludge, and put them on again. Bailey rode the elevator up another four floors, to the R and D floor. Two security checks, one of them a human paid to be suspicious, and SirenCare’s system allowed Bailey into the secure area.

In theory, he was allowed there because the engineers needed to consult with the cutters about projects, as

there was no point in developing an implant or mod that a cutter couldn’t insert.

In practice, Bailey was there because his best mate, Flynn, worked in the bio lab.

Bailey rapped on the lab door, and nodded to one of the other researchers who walked past.

“Morning, Flynn,” Bailey said, and the speaker beside the door crackled. “It’s me. You busy?”

“Always fucking busy,” Flynn grumbled. “The gauss is on.”

The lock on the door clicked, and Bailey pushed the door open and stepped through the gauss field that

secured the lab. If Bailey had been carrying anything electronic, it would just have been fried. The SirenCare tracker was a passive system, so was untouched, but if Bailey had been trying to smuggle a camera or handheld into the lab, he would have been wasting his time. However, all of Bailey’s mods were biological, because he didn’t trust a corporation enough to let them bug his brain.

Flynn was hunched over his scope using the fine manipulators, with the room in darkness, so Bailey

dragged a spare stool over and studied the display screen above the workbench.

The lab was small, no more than a walk-in closet, but the bank of diagnostic equipment behind Flynn made Bailey’s arse wet. He smiled to himself, remembering Quint, and settled down to watch Flynn juggle slabs of cells.

Skeleton of blocky double cells, identifiable as cartilage. A cluster of double-spined electrogenic

microbial fuel cells, as an energy source. Bulging carbon masses. The microwires used in the colorburst

units.

It was a jumble, involving a battery, the lines to connect to both afferent and efferent nerves, and a great

deal of inert carbon, and Bailey had no clue about its purpose.

Flynn sighed, lifted his eyes from his scope and took his hands out of the fine manipulators, wriggling his

fingers.

“Like it?” he asked.

“I have no idea what it is,” Bailey said.

Flynn pushed a Petri dish across the bench to Bailey, and looked at him for the first time.

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“Well, well,” Flynn said, crossing his arms and grinning at Bailey. “Someone got to use their

Auerbachian last night, you smug bastard.”

Bailey glanced at Flynn and grinned. “Worked a treat, and he was so fucking hot. You would not believe

this bloke...”

Flynn grimaced, and Bailey knew Flynn didn’t want any details, not matter how relaxed and mellow Bailey was, so he shook the dish, rolling the round objects across the glass. “Carbon shells,” Bailey said. “I have no idea what’s inside them. Is this work or pleasure?” “Pleasure,” Flynn said. “Yours in particular. They’re beads, with a battery and a tumbling centre weight.” Bailey looked at the balls, and his memory dropped him right back into hanging onto that tree, being

fucked by Quint while dodging a security team.

Flynn grabbed the Petri dish off Bailey, before he could drop it.

“You’re fucking joking?” Bailey croaked. “With afferent and efferent connections?”

“Standard hook-ups,” Flynn said. “You may kiss my arse now.”

“You’re straight,” Bailey said. “But if these work, I will anyway.”

Vibrating beads, designed to be controlled by the user.

“How many hertz?” Bailey asked.

“Between one and a hundred,” Flynn said, rocking the Petri dish slightly, to move the beads. “Take your

pick.”

Bailey closed his eyes and tried to imagine the feeling of Quint sliding into him, easing each bead in, and

the beads vibrating...

“Stop it,” Flynn said. “I can see what you’re thinking.”

“When am I putting them in you?” Bailey asked. Flynn’s lab was secure, no need to whisper. Bailey also

suspected that SirenCare knew that the researchers all experimented on themselves, but a good researcher

who didn’t want to work for the military was a valuable commodity.

“Not me, you weirdo, you’ll just want me to fuck you. We’ll have to find a volunteer.”

“I’m doing the insert?” Bailey asked.

“Course,” Flynn said. “Now take your spike jitters out of here, and let me do some real work.”

“Anything exciting?”

“Depends how you feel about flabby thighs,” Flynn said. “How do you feel about flabby thighs?”

Bailey considered, aware that his hands were thrumming slightly now the spike was in his circulation.

He’d have to eat something before he could do any cutting.

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“I have no opinion,” he said. “Me either,” Flynn said. “Yet here I am, trying to build bots that eat the stuff.” “Yuck,” Bailey said. “I need a high calorie breakfast, after that.” *** Early evening, with the last of the daylight leaking out of the sky, and Bailey thought he could even make out the glimmer of forgotten stars through the murk in the sky. Beer cold in his hand, city spread out before him, it was the end of another day. Below his roof, the streets were seething with people selling and buying food and water, and the shouts of children playing were loud. Someone nearby was burning something, the rising smoke pungent. The security forces would venture into the district eventually, if the locals didn’t put the fire out first. The security services didn’t give a damn about crime or death in the kind of district Bailey lived in, but threats to air quality drew their attention. They’d turn up with tanks and a foam truck, grossly over-reacting. Sydney was the one remaining economic pore that Australia had to sweat through. The last city not owned entirely by corporations and the military, the last place where illegal immigrants were left alone to scratch a living out of the city. If it was illegal or unprofitable, Sydney was the only place left to buy or sell it. If you wanted drugs, art or sex, you had to live there. SirenCare housed its research division in Sydney for those reasons. Research required a supply of experimental subjects who were hungry enough to sign the consent forms, and an environment that people like Flynn would live in. Flynn, with his flights of imagination, had not thrived in his previous job with the military. Neither had Bailey, but that had been more about his personal life than his work. Bailey drank the last of his beer, the cellulose bottle crumpling in on itself. The sky was completely dark, and he must have been imagining the stars earlier, because a thick gloom had settled over the sky. He was going to go to bed, get some sleep, because the spike had worn off hours before, and he felt like he’d been out fucking and drinking the night before then spent the day crouched over some stupid rich bitch’s face, wiring in colorbursts. He’d be glad when that fad was over, it was tedious work.

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Chapter 3 The bar was lit only by a petrol lamp swinging from the roof, but Quint could see just fine now the flare

Frood had given him had kicked in, making the lamp painfully bright to look at.

Frood was in the basement, had been there all day, trying to make the generator run. Until such time as it

ran, the bar would be in shadow and Quint would be working the bar, pulling beers and using a hand

pump to keep the kegs in the basement pressurized.

Much better than washing glasses and tossing the drunks out.

The face that loomed out of the gloom made Quint jump, twitchy with the flare.

“Take it easy,” Bailey said, his voice low and mellow, settling Quint’s ragged reflexes.

“Hey there,” Quint said. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah,” Bailey said, pushing coins across the bar. “Quiet in here tonight.”

Quint looked around the mostly empty room. “They’ve all gone somewhere with some light, where the

refrigeration for the beer works.”

He took the coin from Bailey and pulled him a beer, making sure the smeary glass was filled to the brim,

then pushed the glass across to him.

“Thanks,” Bailey said.

Quint wasn’t sure if it was the flare, or the fact he’d not fucked since he’d met Bailey, the week before, but Bailey was looking very tasty. He had a fuzz of hair on his scalp and face, but he still looked deliciously clean and cool. Bailey drank the beer down in luscious, long swallows, and Quint couldn’t keep his eyes off Bailey’s throat, the way the muscles moved as he gulped. Flare made him stare, made him feel like his eyes were soaking up every photon, like every color was lit by the noon sun. Bailey put the empty glass down on the bar, and pushed another coin across. “Same again,” he said. “If you can manage it.” Quint ducked his head, concentrating on refilling the glass. Corporate types didn’t know about flare, so Bailey would think Quint was some kind of freak. “You can’t have the same again,” Quint said, glad to discover his mouth was working still. “So here’s something similar.” Bailey drank that beer more slowly, his eyes smiling at Quint over the rim of his glass.

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“You’re in early tonight,” Quint said. “You’re not planning on kicking on until dawn this time?” Bailey rested the glass down, the foam from the head on the beer sliding slowly down the inside. “Not this time. I was hoping to find you, see if you wanted to grab a meal sometime, when you’re not working.” Quint stared at Bailey, trying to get his head around the words he’d heard, wishing the flare wasn’t getting in the way right at that moment.

“I can come back when you’re not pinned, if you’d prefer,” Bailey said.

Quint colored, for first time in many years.

“Rain, I’m stupid,” Quint said. “Um, yeah, I’d love to share a meal with you.”

Bailey leaned across the bar and grabbed the front of Quint’s shirt, pulling their faces together, his mouth

across Quint’s.

A glass toppled off the bar, shattering on the dirt floor, and Quint closed his eyes and let Bailey kiss the

fuck out of him.

“Not on my time,” Frood’s voice behind Quint said. “Not on my bar, either.”

“Gotta work,” Quint murmured, ignoring Frood as much as possible, under the circumstances.

“No you don’t,” Frood said. “I can’t get the generator going, and the punters won’t drink beer that’s gone

warm. You can nick off, go and kiss people somewhere else.”

Bailey’s fingers let go of Quint’s shirt. “Dinner?” he asked.

“Dinner,” Quint agreed.

They left Frood muttering as he cleared up the broken glass. Quint would hear about the breakage later,

and would lose pay for it, but he didn’t care.

The night was still oppressively hot, the cooler air from the harbor hadn’t worked its way across the suburbs yet to take the suffocating heat away. Quint could do with a beer. “Where we going?” Quint asked, letting Bailey lead him through the busy night streets, past food stalls and kids brawling, across bitumen still so warm it clung to Quint’s sandals.

“Food first,” Bailey said. “At a café I know. Then out to a club. Have you heard of Jack’s?”

Quint looked sideways at Bailey, whose face was lit orange by the glow from a meat vendor’s cooking

fire. “Are you kidding? Jack’s is where the rich people...”

He trailed off, and Bailey slid his hand under Quint’s elbow, moving him forward and out of the way of a

horse and dray, the horse’s hooves wrapped in hessian to protect them from the roadway.

“Not just corporate types,” Bailey said.

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“You can get me in?” Quint had no identification of any kind, and never had had. “Friend of mine, called Flynn, knows the management. We’re meeting him there.” Quint grinned, his smile lifting the weight of his lip stretcher. Jack’s was, well, Jack’s was rumored to be the wildest club in Sydney, where people from all over Australia came to party and fuck. Frood knew someone who had once been to Jack’s, and who said that the flare was so pure that he could see through the crystals, and the music was so hot that he’d danced until his feet bled. Quint had heard from his piercer that more than dancing happened there, too. “Fuck,” Quint said suddenly. “They’re not going to let me in, not in these clothes. I look like I work in a street bar, and sleep next to a generator.” “No worries,” Bailey said. “We’ll sort something out.” The café was on the edge of the Bellevue Hill secure community, on the ocean side, and the air coming in from Bondi Beach was fresh and moisture laden. Quint paused, lifting his nose to the air and sniffing, his senses heightened from the flare, so that the combined smell of ozone and sound of seagulls wheeling overhead in the darkness was almost too much. Bailey’s hands steadied Quint, and Bailey said, “Come and eat.” If the seagulls’ cries had made Quint stumble, then the smell as they walked into the café made Quint’s eyes tear up. Rolling waves of spices and meat charring mixed with sharp vegetables and sweet fruit, combining to take Quint’s breath away. Bailey sat Quint down at a table that wobbled, with chairs that Quint’s memory insisted the one and only school he’d gone to had used. Food appeared before Quint, a plate that wafted steam into his face, and Bailey pressed a set of wooden chopsticks into his hand. “Rain,” Quint said. “Bailey, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Bailey’s eyes crinkled, and in the hard light, Quint could see he had stubble for eyebrows. Quint weighed up asking Bailey why against eating, and the food won, so Quint began to shovel food into his mouth. Bottles of beer were clanked down on the table, so cold that condensation trickled down the outsides of the bottles, pooling on the table. When Quint had cleared his plate and licked it clean, he leaned back in his chair, beer in his hand, and looked at the other people eating. Corporate types, of course, with clean clothes and hair oiled back, picking daintily at the food. He could see company logos on some of the clothes: Rio Tinto, Broken Hill Petroleum, Singapore and Woodside. Bailey’s foot brushed against Quint’s under the table, and Bailey put his licked bowl down on top of Quint’s. “Did you like the beef curry?” Bailey asked.

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Quint wriggled his foot against Bailey’s. “That was beef? Actual cow?”

“It was. Are you Hindu? Was it a mistake to give you beef?”

Bailey looked so worried that Quint just wanted to kiss him. “I’ve just never had beef before,” Quint said.

Bailey nodded, and didn’t ask what Quint usually ate, just like Quint never asked the stall holders he

bought meat-on-a-stick from.

“Shall we go?” Bailey asked. “We can take the beer with us.”

Quint pressed the cold glass against his face for a moment, luxuriating in the feeling, and nodded.

Bailey gave a handful of coins to the woman, so many that Quint couldn’t watch her count the money out.

He’d seen that much money before, after a busy night at the pub when Frood counted up the take, but it hurt to think how much the meal must have cost. Bailey draped an arm around Quint’s shoulders. “Come on,” he said.

They walked back through the tangle of streets around the Bellevue Heights security fencing, the flare

fading slowly from Quint’s body, so he had to concentrate on where he was walking in the dark.

Bailey turned down what had once been a wide street, but that was now a jumble of salvaged construction equipment, solar panels and street vendors. The houses bristled with solar panels and water distillation piping, what had been their gardens were filled with lean-tos and shacks. “Where are we going?” Quint asked. “My place.” Bailey pointed at a tall house draped in solar panels that glistened in the lights shining out from neighboring houses.

Quint said, “You can’t live here; you’re a corporate slave. You live in one of those residential enclaves,

where you have to work every moment of the day to pay for your water.”

Bailey laughed, stepping around the rudimentary kart made of crumbling piping a child had left on the

paving.

“If I did, then I couldn’t bring pretty boys like you back to my house, could I?”

Quint shook his head, not quite sure what he could say, but he could feel he was smiling to himself.

The front door had a security keypad and a retinal scanner, and Quint turned his back as Bailey unlocked

the door, giving him some privacy. Bailey was showing a huge amount of trust in Quint by bringing him

to his house, more than Quint had ever expected, and he didn’t want Bailey to decide it was a mistake.

Quint had never had a corporate lover before, he’d always run with blokes like himself, grabbing a bit of fucking when he could, in the margins of his life. Bailey... Quint shook his head mentally, and followed Bailey up a flight of wooden stairs. Bailey’s home was all the rooms at the top of the house, with walls knocked out, and everything was white and clean. Bailey went around the rooms, opening windows, and then took two bottles of beer out

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of a fridge that stood in one corner of the big room beside a sink and table.

“Here,” Bailey said, handing a beer to Quint. “Want to sit on the roof?”

“You have a roof?” Quint asked, then he realized how stupid that sounded.

Bailey didn’t comment, just nodded and took Quint’s hand.

The stairs went up, through the ceiling, and when Bailey unlocked a solid door, it opened onto a sloping

roof.

“Like it?” Bailey asked, squatting down on the tiles close to the door, patting the roof beside him for Quint to sit down, too. Quint squatted beside Bailey without taking his gaze off the city spread out before him, the harbor a darker patch in the distance.

“It’s...” Quint shrugged. “What the fuck do you do for a corporation, for them to pay you enough to live

like this?” Quint waved his hand at the solar panels draped across the roof and down the walls, and at the

water distillation unit behind them.

“I’m a tech,” Bailey said. “A surgical tech.”

“You said you weren’t a doctor.”

“I’m not. I just do surgery, nothing else. It’s a skilled job, that’s all.”

Quint grabbed Bailey’s arm. “I don’t know your world,” he said, and he must have sounded desperate

because Bailey curled his hand over Quint’s reassuringly. “I’ve never known anyone who had a house

like yours, or a job. Why bring me here? What do you want?”

“Do you need to ask?” Bailey said, and then he kissed Quint hard, pushing him back across the sloping

tiles, his body solid over Quint’s.

He lifted his mouth wetly from Quint’s. “You’re so fucking hot,” Bailey whispered. “I want you to fuck

me, hard as you can. Then do it again, and again. Does it have to be anything other than that?”

“But... dinner?” Quint managed, struggling to find words when Bailey’s cock was grinding against

Quint’s thigh through layers of clothing.

“I was hungry, after working all day,” Bailey said. “Thought you might be hungry, too.”

“Oh,” Quint said. “Are we going to fuck up here? Isn’t the slope a bit risky?”

“Perhaps not,” Bailey said. “It would be so hard to explain an accident.”

Quint laughed, and wound his arms around Bailey’s neck. “Then you’d better show me your bed.”

Bailey’s bed was smooth and soft, draped in mosquito netting, and Quint tossed his clothes on the floor

and flopped down onto the bed. Bailey switched off the lights in the larger room, so that the room was blue-shadowed in the glow from the solar light Bailey had moved from the open window to beside the

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bed. Bailey dropped his clothes onto the floor and crawled onto the bed, closing the netting around them. “Mmm,” he murmured, running his hands across Quint’s thighs, and then he licked up the side of Quint’s cock, tracing his tongue around the beads. If Quint hadn’t already been hard, that would have done it. As it was, his cock was aching, his balls burned, and the feel of Bailey’s mouth sliding down Quint’s cock was better than flare, better than spike. It was even better than the beef curry they’d had for dinner. “Gonna come,” Quint managed to groan, his fingers rubbing the stubble on Bailey’s head, his hips jerking, cock sliding deep into Bailey’s mouth. “Stop, or I’m gonna come...” Bailey didn’t stop. He tugged the bars through Quint’s sack, finding the back piercing, behind Quint’s balls, the one Quint always touched when he jerked himself off, and sucked all the way down Quint’s cock. Quint groaned and twisted, the burning spreading deep inside him, then he was coming, yelling and thrashing, while Bailey sucked the insides out of him, through the tip of his cock. Bailey clambered up the bed, wiping his mouth on his forearm as he knelt over Quint. “Want it?” he asked, pressing his cock against Quint’s mouth, nudging his lip spreader. “Yeah,” Quint said, sliding one hand between Bailey’s thighs, groping for his arse. Bailey’s cock slid easily into Quint’s mouth, and Quint took some time teasing, rubbing his tongue stud against the underside of Bailey’s cock. Bailey’s arse was slick and good to touch, Quint’s fingers sliding in smoothly, making Bailey grunt and his cock throb. Quint’s cock, which was always ready to party, made its presence felt, twitching and stirring. Quint had never been one to argue with his cock, it usually wanted only good things, like to be back inside Bailey’s wetarse. It took some willpower to guide Bailey’s cock out of his mouth, but Quint found the strength. Bailey groaned, sounding disappointed, so Quint swiveled his fingers a little, just to make up for it. “Wanna fuck?” Bailey slung one leg over Quint’s chest, so he straddled him, and then worked his way backward. In the blue, his eyes were huge, and Quint could understand why, as Quint was having trouble breathing himself. He wasn’t used to that, to wanting someone so badly, and having them want him, too, and it made his head spin and his body burn. He’d done some bad shit in his time, used some of the old drugs from before the corporations stepped in and cleaned up the manufacture and distribution, and this felt something like that had. The tip of his cock brushed against Bailey’s arse cheek, and Bailey’s hand curled around it, guiding it.

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Bailey didn’t take it slow, he just grunted and shoved backward, jamming Quint deep inside, his fingers clutching Quint’s shoulders, digging into skin. Music came in through the open window, a band playing nearby, and Quint could hear voices, too, people calling for children or selling food. Bailey groaned, hunching himself forward so he could kiss Quint, then began to rock slowly, rolling his body across Quint’s hips, so pressure swirled around Quint’s cock. Bailey’s face creased and moved, his mouth shaping around words he didn’t say, like some code that Quint couldn’t read, but there was no mistaking the heat around Quint’s cock, or the way liquid leaked out of Bailey’s arse, seeping around Quint’s balls and trickling between his thighs. It was hot in a way that Quint couldn’t figure, as if the way Bailey’s cock was bobbing and swaying and he was moaning wasn’t enough of a sign that Bailey was seriously into the feel of Quint’s cock in his arse. Quint was good with that, because Bailey’s arse was just about the best place in the free world right then. The only way it could be better was if it was raining right at that moment, though not even the sound of water splashing onto the tiled roof would be enough to make Quint want to stop. Sweat streaked Bailey’s chest, and when Quint wriggled and rolled, turning them over, he put his mouth on Bailey’s skin, just to taste the salt. “Hard,” Bailey gasped, so Quint lowered himself down so Bailey’s cock was trapped between their sweat-wet bellies, dug his knees into the soft bed, and fucked Bailey hard. Their bellies became wetter as Bailey came, but it was too late for Quint to slow down, because he was on fucking fire, deep inside, his whole world narrowed down to the feel of his cock, beads digging in, slipping in and out of Bailey’s arse. Coming left him shaking and gasping, head buried against Bailey’s neck, sweat trickling, Bailey’s hand gentle as it stroked his back. He flopped off Bailey, onto the bed, his foot caught in the mosquito netting, and lay there panting. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Yeah,” Bailey agreed, and his face loomed over Quint. “You alright?” Quint managed a nod. “Think so. Can you see if anything is broken?” Bailey’s head disappeared briefly, and then he said, “Looks intact to me.” Quint slung an arm around Bailey, drawing him closer and hugging him. “This...” he said flapping his other arm around, “this is...” Bailey kissed him, stopping his lips from stumbling over any more words. “Me, too,” he said. They lay in silence, tangled together, and the noise from the street and city drifted through the open windows, along with the first real cool air of the night. “Beer?” Bailey finally asked, prizing his body off Quint’s, the suction of the sweat between them making a squelching noise.

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“Yeah,” Quint said. Bailey padded naked through the darkened rooms, then a fridge door squeaked, and he was back with beer. “It doesn’t get any better.” Quint liftied himself up one elbow, taking the bottle of beer Bailey held out for him.

“Not even with a shower?” Bailey asked, sitting down on the bed.

Quint moaned faintly at the thought, and they thudded the bottles of beer together, in a toast, then he

drank a long pull of the icy cold beer.

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Chapter 4 It took some time, and they didn’t get out the shower until the distiller tank ran dry. Quint almost floated down the stairs, in borrowed clothes, his knees wobbly from fucking and beer. Bailey slung his arm around Quint’s shoulders on the street, his skin warm where the water was still dripping from Quint’s hair. Quint had known that people lived like that, with water and cold beer and rooms to themselves, but he had never imagined it would be something he’d see himself. He was an illegal, and the only way he could change that would be through military service. He knew what the army did to people, and it made him glance at Bailey’s face, creased in a smile, in the pale light from the train station.

Quint waited until Bailey had dropped a coin into the machine and bought them both tickets. The

platform was lit by bulbs strung along the roof, shining on the pros working the station.

“You did military service?” Quint asked Bailey, when Bailey shooed away the boy pro who tried to hustle

them.

Bailey nodded and squeezed his arm around Quint’s shoulders. “Survived it, yeah.”

“What did you do? Where were you?”

Bailey shrugged. “Far North Queensland,” he said. “It was hideous. You think it’s hot here; it was worse

there.”

“You didn’t get sent overseas?”

“I scored really highly on the testing, so I was recruited to the medical corps, and learned to cut.” Bailey

glanced at Quint. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t have a job if you hadn’t served,” Quint said. “And I just couldn’t imagine you being

army.”

Bailey’s lips brushed over Quint’s ear, whispering. “Because I love having your cock in my arse?”

“Yeah,” Quint said, his voice rough, because even though they’d fucked themselves stupid already, his

cock was rubbing against the soft folds of his borrowed trousers.

“I found that, if you’re good enough at what you do, people decide not to notice who you fuck. It’s still

prudent not flaunt it, so I don’t live in corporate land and I don’t fuck at work. What about you?”

“I’m an illegal,” Quint said. “Guess I could just turn up at a recruiting camp and hand myself over, get

into the army that way, but I’ve not got skills, apart from pouring beer and breaking up fights. They’d

make me take out my mods, too.”

“They’d put new ones in, but I prefer the ones you’ve got,” Bailey said, as the train rattled into the station.

“I like yours, too.” Quint grabbed hold of the handle welded onto the train door, heaving at it, dragging

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the door open, then hauling it shut behind them. The carriage was half full, and reeked of flare and spike, but for a change, Quint was glad all he had inside him was beer, because he didn’t want to forget how he felt later. They got off the train at Central Station, and climbed the flights of broken escalators to the main concourse. Central Station was crowded regardless of the time, and the press of bodies sucked them in, dragging them forward. Bailey grabbed Quint’s hand, tugging him through the crowd toward Eddy Avenue. The concourse narrowed, and Bailey pulled Quint to one side, against a shop window. “Just a moment,” he said, and he pulled the hood on the tunic Quint had borrowed forward and draped the pollution shield across Quint’s face, then hid his own face the same way. “You don’t need to hide my identity,” Quint said, “since I don’t have one.” “What I’m hiding is that you don’t have one,” Bailey said, his voice sounding amused, though Quint could read nothing through the opaque mesh across his face. They caught the tram, which Quint had never been able to afford, out of the city centre, and across the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Quint peered out of the tram window, down at the harbor, but could make nothing out in the darkness. Bailey leaned across, behind Quint, and looked, too. “See those red and green lights?” Bailey said, and Quint nodded. “They’re the lights of a sail freighter. It’ll be running on a bio-diesel turbo in harbor, but out on the open ocean the freighter runs under huge sails of solar-collectors.” The lights were gone, and the tram rattled off the bridge and into the North Shore suburbs. “First stop,” Bailey said. The tram slid to a halt, in the middle of a concrete and weed wilderness, where once freeways had run. They walked out of the station and into a pedestrian tunnel in complete darkness. Quint wished for a knife, and considered feeling around under his feet for a rock to arm himself with, until Bailey flicked something in his hand, and a beam of bright blue light sliced down the tunnel. “Nice,” Quint said. The tunnel was empty, apart from the usual scurrying rodents, which was a relief. Quint didn’t fancy any kind of conflict, not without lots of running away options. The street at the other end of the tunnel was unlike any Quint had ever seen, and he thought he’d been everywhere in Sydney. A security guard stood at the tunnel end, back to the tunnel, bristling with weapons but completely uninterested in anything. People, corporate types with covered faces and clean clothes, milled around the street, their clothes shimmering in the lights hanging from the buildings towering over the street. Shops with glass windows filled with hardware, lit from within, crowded the street. Restaurants, actual restaurants, with tables covered in cloth, like Quint had heard existed when he was a child, spilled out onto the paving. He must have made a noise because Bailey took his hand and led him through the people, to a laneway

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between shops.

Another security guard nodded at them but didn’t say anything, and Quint began to feel he’d stumbled

into another world. How had Bailey ever learned to navigate here?

The concrete walls of the laneway were interrupted by a plain, solid door, which Bailey knocked on.

A speaker crackled, hidden in the wall, and a voice said, “Faces, please.”

Bailey lifted his pollution filter, exposing his face, and he nudged Quint to do the same.

The voice chuckled, but didn’t say anything, and the door clunked. Bailey pushed the door, swinging it

open, and they stepped into darkness as the door behind them swung shut.

“Relax,” Bailey whispered, just as hands patted Quint through his clothes.

Quint squashed his reflexive need to turn around and thump the person touching him, and the hands felt

over his back and legs, then his chest.

“You’re good to go in,” the voice from the speaker said. “Mind the gauss.”

Gauss? Quint had heard of gaussing before, and it was guaranteed to fry any hardware you were carrying

or had been modded with. His mods were strictly decorative and recreational, and he had no hardware,

though he’d wondered what else Bailey had tucked away in his impressive body.

They went through another door, into a room packed with people and the noise of glasses and voices, and

the hair on Quint’s body prickled at the doorway, presumably from the gaussing.

Bailey tugged Quint’s hood and mask lower, so they hung down his back. “We’re safe here,” he said.

“Want a beer?” Quint nodded, his gaze on the press of people in the room. Working for Frood had taught him to read a pub, and this group of people were trashed and remarkably well-behaved. If the air at Frood’s had smelled of spike and pearl like that, Frood would have turned the generator off and thrown everyone out, just to avoid the structural damage from the imminent brawl. The music was something recorded and inane, pounding through the walls while people jiggled randomly, the punters were clean, Quint’s feet didn’t stick to the floor, and no one had even glanced at him. Bailey came back, holding beers in actual glass bottles, proving that the bar manager was not expecting a moment’s trouble. “Cheers,” Bailey said, clinking his bottle against Quint’s. “This is it?” Quint said. “This is Jack’s, where the corporates party?”

“Kind of,” Bailey said. “This is the front bar. We’re heading out the back, to the club.”

He kissed Quint, tasting of beer, and someone nearby muttered, but Quint didn’t see who because his eyes

were closed. If people chose to hang out in the front bar of a club notorious for its sex shows, they could

get over the sight of two men kissing.

“This way,” Bailey said, when he’d lifted his mouth off Quint’s and Quint had opened his eyes again.

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At the back of the room, a curtain hung across a doorway. Quint stepped behind the curtain, and the noise from the front bar dropped away, making him suspect there was something fancy about the doorway, and the curtain was more than it seemed. The room was larger and darker than the front bar, with plinths and small stages in the middle. People were draped, propped and displayed on the stages. A solidly built man, dressed in strips of shiny plastic, lifted a flogger and draped it across the arse of a naked woman on a rack, leaving a trail of red across her skin. The audience, because there was no mistaking that they were watching a show, wandered around the plinths, pausing to watch and eyeing each other warily. Bailey cupped Quint’s arse cheek in his hand, distracting him from the woman with the pale breasts. “Flynn will be in the next room,” Bailey said. “Who’s Flynn?” Quint asked, letting Bailey lead him further back, past the frame that held a sling. “He builds mods,” Bailey said. “He builds my mods. I’d like you to meet him.” Quint’s body, already warm and tingly from the sight of the man in the sling getting done thoroughly, stirred at the memory of Bailey’s mod. “I think I’d like that, too,” Quint said. They moved into another room, small and quiet, in darkness apart from the pool of golden light falling on the body on a table in the middle of the room. Bailey pulled Quint down on a chair, and Quint’s mouth fell open. The person on the table had skin like a dinosaur, green and ridged, and their scalp was covered in ridges, row after row. Quint whispered, “Wow.” Bailey’s hand found Quint’s in the darkness, as a person wrapped in a white robe stepped into the light, gloved hands held up. The dinosaur said, “I’m ready,” and the gloved person slid a tray of instruments into the light. The dinosaur gasped, and Quint leaned forward in his chair, peering over the shoulder of the person in front of him, watching as a scalpel slid through the flesh on the dinosaur’s arm. Someone in the room murmured, and Bailey’s hand tightened around Quint’s. Blood welled up, and the gloved person worked quickly, burning at the flesh with a probe, and then carefully picking up an implant with clamps. The implant was a long, delicate piece of steel, arcing sweeps of shining filigree above a flattened base. The gloved person eased the flattened base into the open wound on the dinosaur’s arm, and then quickly began to tie stitches through the base, holding it in place. Bailey tugged on Quint’s hand, and Quint at first thought Bailey was warning him to sit back, until he felt what Bailey pressed his hand against.

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Bailey’s cock was as hard as rock, through his trousers. Quint could understand that; he was hard, too, just from watching the scene in front of them. He had no doubt that it was as much a scene as anything that had happened in the other room involving whips and slings. To do something like that in front of an audience was to invite them to enjoy it. Quint sat back in his chair and lifted the bottom of his tunic aside, then leaned across and whispered against Bailey’s ear. “Sit on my lap?” They were in the back row, thankfully, so when Bailey clambered across Quint’s legs, no one complained. Quint opened his trousers, freeing his cock, and it was a tangle of clothes and legs for a moment. Then Quint’s cock found Bailey’s arse, slipping through the leaking fluid, and Bailey settled smoothly down its length. Other people in the room were gasping, and Quint could hear the rustle of clothing as people jerked off in the dark. He couldn’t see the dinosaur, not with Bailey on his lap, so he closed his eyes and focused on the sounds and smells. Sharp blood, burned flesh and antiseptic mixed with the sounds of people moaning and the dinosaur whimpering. Bailey came, Quint deep inside him, the smell of his come mixing with the other odors in the room, and Quint felt more alive than he’d thought possible, like his insides were singing and he was trashed on pearl, only his head was completely clear and he was coming harder than he ever had before, pumping come into Bailey until he almost passed out. Bailey slid off Quint, back to his own seat, and Quint managed to pull his trousers up and tunic down with numb fingers. Bailey took Quint’s hand again, and Quint smiled sideways at him in the darkness, wishing for either some more light or some flare, just so he could see Bailey. Dinosaur’s other arm was opened up, ready for the second implant, and Quint felt like he was watching from a long way away, or down a tunnel, as the gloved person slid the second implant in and methodically sewed it in. It was the most amazing mod Quint had ever seen, beautiful and disturbing, but all he could focus on was the feel of Bailey’s hand in his. Later, when the dinosaur stood up, turning around to show the audience the implants, the lights in the room brightened and Quint found himself blinking. Dinosaur looked incredible, with arms streaked with blood and the stitches holding the implants in dark against pale green flesh. Bailey slung his arm around Quint’s shoulders, pulling him closer when they had stood up. “Come and meet Flynn,” he said, and Quint followed Bailey through the people standing around the dinosaur, to the person who’d been wearing the gloves, but who was stripping his mask and gown off. “Quint, this is Flynn, Flynn, meet Quint.” Quint shook the hand that was held out to him, then Bailey said, “Hot show, mate. Love the mods, but aren’t they going to mess with the brachioradialis during pronation?” “It’s not a long term option,” Flynn agreed, and then he studied Quint’s face. “Has Bailey told you about

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the horns?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about the horns,” Quint said. “That was a lovely piece of work just then. Did you

design the mods?”

“Yeah,” Flynn said. “I don’t usually insert mods, but a bit of practice occasionally is a good thing. I’m not

a cutter like Bailey is.”

“It was crap cutting,” Bailey said to Flynn. “Shockingly bad suturing. I’m never letting you work on me

again if that’s how you sew someone up.”

Flynn grinned and slapped Bailey’s shoulder. “Wanker,” he said. “I need a beer after that. And a girl.”

“The beer is easy to arrange, but you’ll have to catch your own girl,” Bailey said. “Back in a moment.”

Flynn looked at Quint speculatively. “How’d you meet Bailey?”

“I work in a bar, he bought a drink,” Quint said. “It wasn’t complicated. Those mods were amazing; I’ve

never seen anything like them before. What else do you do?”

“Mostly I design cosmetic application micro mods for SirenCare. Lots of staring down a scope and trying

to persuade cells to change structure. It’s all rather tedious, so it’s good to get out and perform sometimes.

Bailey’s fond of you, isn’t he?”

Quint blinked. “I don’t know.”

Bailey asked, “Know what?” as he pushed bottles into their hands.

“What your plans are for the rest of the night,” Flynn said. “I was going to get changed, then find the

music and some talent.”

Quint could smell Bailey clearly, over the blood and antiseptic, and he was beginning to work out what

that smell meant. “Think we’re going to head off,” Quint said.

Bailey nodded, his eyes smiling.

When they walked back out the laneway, past the security guard, their faces covered, nothing had

changed on the street, except that the temperature had dropped.

“What do you want to do?” Bailey asked, when they paused to look in a shop window, at a display of

rippling tattoos set into fabric.

“There’s something I want,” Quint said.

“Tell me,” Bailey said.

“Mod me?”

Bailey’s face was hidden behind his filter, but his voice was raw when he said, “What do you want me to

do?”

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“I don’t care,” Quint said. “I just want you to do something to me.”

Deep in the night, the street where Bailey lived was deserted, the pub on the corner locked up and the

street vendors gone somewhere else to sleep.

In the darkness, Bailey unlocked his front door, and Quint followed him in. The rooms had cooled down

enough while they’d been gone that Bailey didn’t just throw the windows open again, and that suited

Quint. If Bailey was going to work on him, he wanted to feel like it was in private.

“Sit down,” Bailey said, pointing at his couch in the gloom. “I have to go get set up, boil some things.”

Quint nodded. He didn’t need to ask questions and be reassured.

He sat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions, his mind drifting back to the show and the feel of

fucking Bailey. It was a good place to go to, and when Bailey knelt down beside Quint, a small solar lamp

in his hand, Quint had his hand inside his trousers, touching himself.

“I haven’t got a lot of gear here,” Bailey said. “Just some basic equipment. It’s not going to be fancy, but

I wanted to give you something worth having.”

Quint thought about trying to tell Bailey he already had, but Bailey was opening packages of sterile

equipment, dropping blades and needles onto the tray.

“Strip off, then spread your legs wide,” Bailey said.

Bailey painted something cold onto Quint’s sack and thigh, coating the wrinkled skin and Quint’s

piercings.

“Want to talk to me while I do this?” Bailey said. “Since I can’t watch your face.”

“Why do you remove your eyebrows?” It was the first thing that came to Quint’s mind, and watching

Bailey frown in concentration as he angled a scalpel, the lack of eyebrows was obvious.

“Can’t afford to risk dropping a stray hair into a client at work,” Bailey said absently.

“Ah,” Quint said, and then he gasped as something sliced into him, cold and hard.

“Breathe for me,” Bailey said, and then Quint could feel pushing and tugging.

The pain was sweet, rushing through him, the meaning of it making it even better, so that fear melted

away and he knew he could face anything. Every time he did that, chose the shape he was, was one more

time he triumphed over life and emptiness.

Tiny touches slid through the pain, and Bailey looked up at him. “Halfway,” he said. “Ready for the other

side?”

“Ready for anything,” Quint said, his voice a little croaky.

Bailey didn’t move to the other side of Quint’s sack, as he’d expected. Instead, the slice of pain was

further back, on the same side.

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When Bailey had finished sticking a dressing over the area, he knelt back on his heels with streaks of Quint’s blood on his gloves. “How does it feel?” “Really tight. Kinda odd.” “It will do,” Bailey said. “I’ve put two magnets under the skin and secured them in place, so they close together. What you’ve got is a small skin pouch that no one will be able to find. I would have liked to have given you a real skin pouch, or fixed those horns, but I can’t do either of those here. This is practical, at least.” Quint touched the dressing experimentally, pressing the skin of his sack. He felt light-headed, adrenaline rushing through him now the pain was gone, and he could feel the two solid shapes, no thicker than a fingernail, under the skin. “It won’t hold much,” Bailey said, peeling the gloves off. “But sometimes all you need to hide is something small.” “Do you want me to leave?” Quint pushed himself up off the couch. “So you can sleep?” Bailey bundled up the mess from the mod and smiled. “Why don’t you stay until dawn? I need to sleep a bit, but it would be good to have some company.” Quint ducked his head, trying to work out what was happening, and Bailey laughed. “You trusted me enough to cut your scrotum open, I think I can trust you enough to sleep next to you.” Quint shrugged. He was beginning to realize how short his world was on trust.

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Chapter 5 Bailey woke Quint at dawn, letting him out of the front door into a world fresh and cool, the sky a delicate peach, currawongs calling and soaring over him. Quint walked through the morning suburbs, the dressing under his jeans tugging and pulling at the hairs of his scrotum. He'd peel the dressing off later, have a good feel of the work, but for the moment, he was still riding the post-mod high, his feet bouncing off the pavement, a smile on his face. He felt like he could fly away, with the currawongs, any moment. It was a long walk, back to the Gazza, and the sun had risen and the heat had begun before Quint let himself into the pub and climbed down the stairs to the basement, where he slept beside the generator. He'd slept a little, beside Bailey in the dark, but he could do with a whole lot more sleep. *** After an afternoon spent wrestling with the generator, helping Frood clean the tank, pump and filters, Quint was covered in dirt, no longer quite so cheerful and very hungry. The first punters of the night were wandering in, searching for cold beer. Frood, who was not a bad bloke, pushed coins into Quint's hand. “Go and grab something to eat,” he said. “Bring me back something, too.” Quint took the coins, pushing them into his pocket. “Meat-on-a-stick?” Frood nodded, already distracted by the punters at the bar. None of the food stalls near the pub sold meat-on-a-stick, so Quint ambled off into the dusk, stirring up swarms of midgies. If he cut through Randwick, to the edge of the wilderness there, he'd find someone selling meat. Randwick wasn't a corporate area, and Quint had never had hassles there, and even if he was mugged, all anyone would find was Frood's coins in his pocket. Quint's small stash of coins was tucked in his pouch, completely hidden. Thinking about the pouch, and Bailey, distracted Quint, and he pushed his hands into his jeans and grinned to himself. He hoped Bailey would drop into the pub again soon, or perhaps, after a few days, Quint could go to Bailey's house, leave a note under his door. The streets were empty, apart from a drifting beggar or two. The houses were quiet, too, no sounds of voices or guitar, no one fucking in the darkness of the shadows. Quint had just turned around, deciding to get the fuck out of there, away from the freaky silence, when a beam of light stabbed through the darkness, blinding Quint, even when he covered his face with his forearm. “Stop!” an amplified voice shouted. “Face down on the ground.” No one shot at Quint as he pitched forward into the dirt. Footsteps ran toward him, and the light panned away, across the bare dust. Quint tried to work out what in particular he'd done wrong as hands grabbed his arms and secured them behind his back, then dragged him to his feet.

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“ID!” someone barked at him, and he shook his head.

Security forces of some kind, though he couldn't see any logos on their outfits.

A torch shone in his face, less bright than the spotlight, and hands searched him roughly, jabbing into his

armpits and groin, then pulling the knife he carried tucked inside his belt out.

“Name!' another voice demanded.

“Jack Quinton,” he said. “Have I done something wrong?”

Someone hit him, hard, across his face. Now Quint was both afraid and in pain, and he could feel blood

trickling down his face.

“You're being charged as an illegal trespasser, under the authority of the Immigration and Migration

Corporation.”

Quint sagged, his knees buckling.

“How come...?” he asked, as someone shoved him into the back of a vehicle.

“Singapore has bought Randwick.”

Quint turned his head a little, getting a glimpse of a woman in a uniform. “No one told me,” he said. “I

had no idea it was corporate property.”

“Fences aren't in place yet,” the woman said. “No point in putting them up until we've cleared all the illegals out. Be quiet, talking won't help.” No fences or signs, and Quint had still been arrested. Seemed the good luck that had brought him Bailey was over. Other people were in the back of the vehicle, Quint could hear someone crying over the rumble of the motor starting up, and something warm and squishy moved beside him. Someone's leg. Asking questions would be useless, the odds he shared a language with anyone else in the vehicle were low, and they were all in the same mess. Urine, hot and wet, trickled across the metal floor of the vehicle, soaking into Quint's clothes. He didn't think it was his own. He was destined for a refugee camp, out in the desert. If he hadn't just met Bailey, he might have been more resigned to his fate.

The vehicle rattled to a halt some time later, and light shone around the edges of the door, then filled the

back of the van when the doors were flung open. Weapons pointed at the people in the back, and hands dragged Quint out and shoved him against a wall. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the light. He could smell disinfectant and shit, and under that, the pungent smell of the harbor, of rotting seaweed and sewage. He was still in Sydney.

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A dozen other people, mostly women and adolescents, were herded out of the van, and then the group shuffled its way into a concrete building. They were inside the Immigration and Migration fortress, behind towering walls topped with heavy weaponry. No one got out of Immigration, except legitimately through the front gates. Inside, Quint stood in a line, beside the others. A woman, down the end was sobbing, and when a guard hit her, her sobs became louder. Quint was shit-scared. This was the risk he'd been taking all his life, the disaster he'd been inviting by breaking into corporate suburbs and stealing water, and by wearing a modded face. His hands were uncuffed, he was finger-printed and photographed, then taken to a cubicle with an examination table and a clerk. The clerk, female and tired, didn't look at him. “All your money and jewelry on the table, clothes in the waste bin.” “What'll happen?” Quint said. “Can I make a call?” If he could get a message to someone, to Frood perhaps... Then what? Frood had nothing, except whatever he'd taken over the bar the night before. The clerk lifted her gaze from the paperwork she was filling in. “You've been fined for trespassing. If you can't pay the fine, you'll be assigned to a labor team, to work off your account. Please take your jewelry off. The value of the metal will be deducted from the fine total.” Quint took Frood's coins out of his pocket and dropped them on the desk, in front of the clerk. “How much is the fine?” “Four thousand.” The clerk counted the coins. “Three thousand, nine hundred and ninety seven.” “How long to pay it off?” Quint asked indistinctly as he unscrewed his lip spreader. “You're young and strong, so it should only take a few years. Then you'll be deported.” The lip spreader clattered onto the desk, and the clerk poked it with the end of her pen. Quint's eyebrow ring was crusted with blood when he unscrewed the ball, and he felt cautiously up his forehead, to find the cut. The skin across his horn had torn, and the hard Teflon dome poked through his skin. The clerk tapped her pen on the desk. “Please hurry,” she said. “All your jewelry.” Lip rings, then Quint tossed his jeans into the bin and began to remove the bars from his sack. He could feel the magnets and fold containing his own coins, but he didn’t open the fold. No one could see the pouch easily, and it held what might be the last coins he could ever get hold of. Naked, jewelry removed and bagged, a hole on his chest where his sternal mod had been cut out, Quint was sent out of the cubicle, to join a larger queue in a hallway. The man beside Quint was jittering with withdrawal shakes, trembling and whimpering, and Quint had to look away. The line shuffled forward in silence, until Quint could see a person in scrubs waving the queue through a narrow doorway. A metal detector or x-ray. Neither option was good, not when Quint knew he had a pouch containing coins on him.

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On the other side of the scanner was another person in scrubs, putting rubber gloves on and taking them off as each person bent over in front of them. Quint had heard things, rumors from survivors, that this happened. He was tough, he could probably take out the two medical types, but what then? He couldn't get out of the building, not without some fancy electronic equipment. He'd be gunned down. His turn, once the pregnant woman in front of him had stepped through the scanner. Quint took a deep breath, and the person beside the scanner waved him through. Nothing happened, no beeps or flashing lights or alarms. The person didn't even look at the screen beside them, just turned to the junkie and gestured for him to step forward, ready to go through, too. Quint was still trying to work out what had happened when the next medical type pulled on new gloves. “Bend over,” the person said. Quint bent forward, trying to will his arse to let go, and the person shoved two fingers inside him then yanked them out. “Through the door,” the person said, peeling their gloves off and turning their attention to the junkie. He stumbled down the corridor, following the arrows on the wall around a corner. Human error or machine failure, it was his first break since the moment the flood light had shone on him. He was hungry, naked and imprisoned, but he had a better chance than he might have had. *** The work crew clambered out of the van, under the supervision of a guard in full armor carrying a nasty looking piece of weaponry. Davo, the junkie from the same intake as Quint, stumbled beside Quint, falling to the ground. The other inmates stepped away, but Quint knelt down and shook Davo's shoulder. “Davo, mate?” Quint whispered. “You gotta stand up.” Something hard and metal tapped Quint's shoulder, and he ducked out of the way of the gun. “Go work,” the guard said, shouldering his weapon and bending over Davo. Quint could have taken the guard, got the gun, blown his way out of there, only he didn't know where there was, and he had a locator under the skin of his arm. He couldn’t hack the locator out and then run fast enough to get away. Instead, he took the spade he was handed, and followed the rest of the inmates down a limestone slope, through dry scrub in the darkness, to the banks of what had once been a storm water drain. “Dig,” someone called out. Nothing made sense, not clearing a storm drain in a city that hadn't seen rain for years, not working to clear a debt so he could be deported from the country of his birth, and Quint was angry. Cold and bright, it burnt through him, making him drive the spade into the gravel and rubbish hard, over and over. This was not his life, and he was not giving in. ***

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The absence of Quint made itself felt slowly. At first Bailey wasn't surprised not to see Quint; Quint had a job and a life, and while Bailey had done what he could to let Quint know he wanted more, he wasn't sure that Quint was interested. Then he kind of missed Quint, and found himself hoping each night, when he unlocked his front door, that there'd be a note from Quint, or even better, Quint would be sitting on his steps, waiting for him. Quint had been on the roof, and Bailey couldn't imagine that someone with Quint's life couldn't clamber up onto the roof and break in. More days, and Bailey caught the train directly to Waverly and the pub where Quint worked.

The pub door was open, letting in the remains of the daylight, so Bailey stepped into the gloom. A couple

of drinkers, in one corner, no one behind the bar. Bailey leaned across the bar, looking behind it, and a

man he recognized from the previous visits pushed open the door to the basement, wiping greasy hands

on his jeans.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting, mate,” the barman said. “Generator is on the blink, and I'm short-staffed.

What'll it be?”

“Middy,” Bailey said, pushing a coin across the bar.

The barman took a glass off the rack and angled it under the tap, pulling on the lever with his other hand.

“I know you,” the barman said. “You were waiting for Quint. Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Bailey said, and the barman handed the glass of beer over. “I haven't seen him since the night the

generator wouldn't work and you closed the pub.”

The barman crossed his arms, his grubby face concerned. “He went out the following night, to get food,

and hasn't been back.”

Bailey said, “Is there anywhere he'd go? Does he have family here?”

The barman shrugged. “Not that I know of. I thought he might have gone off with you.”

“Unfortunately, no. Could he be in trouble?”

“Wouldn't surprise me,” the barman said. “He usually was in some kind of strife.”

“May I leave my contact details with you?” Bailey asked. “If he is in trouble, or if you hear anything and

think I can help, then send me a message.” He took a card out of his pocket.

“Knew you were corporate,” the barman said, studying the card. “I’m Frood. I'll let you know if I hear from Quint, assuming he wants me to tell you.” Bailey went home, his untouched beer still on the bar. There were a lot of places Quint could be, and Bailey had no idea where to start looking, or even if Quint would want him to. He felt something, he wasn't sure what. Lonely, that was it.

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***

Quint could become used to anything. He'd slept next to a generator, or in a wreck of car, for a long time. He'd eaten anything he could get; he'd lived on nothing but beer. He was tough. The dormitory, however, was taking some getting used to. He never bothered counting the number of people in the dorm, the total would depress him even further. Fifteen hours a day they were all locked in together, latrine at the end of the long, dark room. The food was some kind of pulp, but after a lifetime of eating meat-on-a-stick, Quint didn't mind the tasteless stew. He'd begun to make sense of Immigration. Villawood was where they were being held, somewhere in Sydney's west, so at least he hadn't been shipped to the desert. The work was mind-numbing, hour after hour spent cleaning corporate solar panels while dangling over the edge of buildings, or sandbagging the harbor against the encroaching sea, or digging out drains. Some of the inmates were religious, taking about gods and saviors and penance. Quint listened to them, but none of it mattered and he just concentrated on not crying most days. The human race could deal with its own salvation. The guards had become familiar faces. The big bloke with the beard who went out with the work detail was Pete; the woman with the scar and the eye missing was Diana. Quint had formed a nodding acquaintance with Lou, the man who brought the food trolley into the dorm twice a day. Lou had lost a leg to a mine, somewhere out in the world, and he limped around the dorm, handing out food and water rations. Davo, the junkie, dried out and woken up, was slowly teaching Quint chess, drawing a board and the pieces in the dust on the floor. Davo and Quint were crouched over the wobbly lines in the dirt when Lou spoke to them for the first time. “Knight takes bishop, check.” Davo grunted and scuffed out marks in the dirt, shifting the piece. “You're in check.” Quint looked up at Lou. “Why'd you do that?” he said. “Now I'm going to lose again.” Lou shrugged. “You're going to lose anyway, you can't play for shit.” Quint stood up, stretching himself so his neck cracked. Lou looked thin, his eyes were red-rimmed and he had sores around his mouth. He was probably as much a prisoner of Immigration as Quint was. A quick look around proved only Davo was paying any attention. “Can I ask you to do me a favor?” Quint said, keeping his voice low, adrenaline pumping through him, worse than from any prank involving a corporate suburb. Lou shrugged, shifting his weight a little, favoring his intact leg. “Dunno.” “A message?” Quint whispered. “I can pay you.” It was crazy, telling a guard he had coins, but time was slipping away from Quint, lost in a stream of days in a dorm and nights cleaning solar panels. He needed to get out, before he started believing in saviors and penance, instead of just himself. Lou didn't shout, didn't throw Quint onto the floor and hit the panic button in his belt, calling for armed

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back up.

“Two,” Lou said quietly. “That's what it costs. Slip me the note tomorrow.”

He wandered off, pushing his empty food cart, pausing for the inmates to toss their empty bowls and

bottles into it.

“How did you get coin?” Davo asked in a whisper, and Quint was very glad Davo had beaten the pearl

and was no longer strung out.

“Found it, in a drain,” Quint whispered. “Shh.”

Davo nodded, his eyes suspicious.

Quint patted his shoulder. “How 'bout you show me what I've done wrong in this game?”

*** Quint found scraps of paper in the drain he was clearing, faded images of people, cars and food, leftovers from a time that Quint could almost remember from his childhood. The papers tucked inside his overalls, he scrabbled through the scrub until one of the guards walked over and pointed back at the drain Quint was supposed to be clearing. Quint nodded, turning back toward the drain, shoving spindly sticks from the dead wattle into his pocket when it was safer. In the dorm, while the rest of the inmates were scoffing down their meal, arguing over and trading the stew, Quint sat on his bunk, his back to the room. He'd learned to read and write as a kid, enough to get along, but remembering words was hard work. He took the sharpest of the sticks from his pocket, stuck it hard into his arm, right into the flesh, so blood welled up freely. Then, with the tip of the stick dipped in blood, he began to trace letters on the paper scraps. Flynn. SirenCare. Jack Quinton. Immigration. Please help. Bailey. He wasn't sure how to spell Bailey or Flynn, but SirenCare looked right. He was pleased he'd remembered to put his full name on the paper. Bailey only knew him as Quint, but his Immigration fine had the name his mother had given him on it. His blood looked dark and splotchy on the paper when it had dried. He folded it carefully, with Flynn's name on the outside, and waited for Lou. He didn't eat any of his meal, and that day was one of the times when he hid his face against his mattress so as not to wake anyone up.

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Chapter Six Bailey stepped out of the shower, shaking the last of the water from his eyes. He didn’t bother with a

towel, just pulled his clean trousers and tunic on over his wet skin. It had been so hot when he'd come to

work that he'd be glad of each lasting drop of water on the train home.

Flynn was waiting, leaning against the wall, outside the cubicle. He looked perplexed, or perhaps worried;

Bailey wasn't sure that Flynn ever managed a state of negative emotion more intense than worried.

Bailey, however, could plumb the emotional depths at times.

Bailey slapped Flynn's shoulder, leaving a wet hand print on his scrubs' sleeve.

“Wanna go get a bite to eat, or are you still working?” Bailey asked.

Flynn shook his head. “I've been waiting for you to get out of theatre. Something's happened.” He handed

a tattered scrap of paper to Bailey. “This was delivered to me today, some street kid brought it into reception.” “For you?” Bailey asked, wiping his hand somewhat drier on his tunic before unfolding the scrap. Jack Quinton. Imigaton. Pls Help. Baly. “Rain,” Bailey said. “That's written in blood.” “Is it Quint?” Flynn asked. “I couldn't work out who else it would be.” Bailey had to blink to clear his eyes. “It has to be him.” “What are you going to do?” Flynn asked. “Get him out,” Bailey said. “Can you lend me some coin?” Flynn nodded. “Of course I can.” *** The clerk at Immigration and Migration smiled blandly at Bailey. “May I help you, sir?” he asked.

“A friend is being detained. Can you give me details about his status?”

The receptionist's smile faded, and Bailey got the distinct feeling that everyone in the office, as well as all

the security cameras, were watching him.

“The detainee's name?” the receptionist asked coldly.

“Jack Quinton.”

“One moment.”

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Bailey closed his eyes briefly, trying not to imagine Quint being held somewhere, so desperate that he

sent Bailey a note written in his own blood.

“Jack Quinton is currently detained as an illegal, until such time as he has cleared his account with us.”

Bailey nodded. “How much is owing?”

“Three thousand, nine hundred and ninety two.”

Sweet rain, that was a lot of money.

“I want to pay his account,” Bailey said.

“Of course,” the receptionist said. “You're entitled to do so, as long as you are a citizen yourself. Jack

Quinton will then be deported.”

“I think he was born here. How can you deport him?”

“If he was born here as an illegal resident, then he will be deported to the country of origin for his parents

or grandparents.”

Bailey shook his head. “Is there any way he can stay here? Can I sponsor him?”

The receptionist looked like he'd smelled something bad. “There are few options for citizenship. A

corporate body would need to petition for the detainee's release, on grounds of corporate dependency. Will you be paying coins directly for the detainee's release?” “I'll come back,” Bailey said. “With coins.” And an entire fucking corporation, if that was what it took. *** Roser, the senior executive manager of R and D for SirenCare, looked up from the desk screen of scrolling numbers, pressing one finger on the screen to stop the flow of data. “What?” she said irritably. “Flynn and Bailey, from product development and surgery respectively. We have an appointment,” Flynn said. “Dr. Flynn,” Roser said, and the irritation on her faced eased. “Do come in. And Bailey. I've been meaning to contact you, Dr. Flynn, let you know how pleased the board is with the sales of the colorburst product line. And of course, Mr. Bailey is the hands of Dr. Ford.” “Apologies for intruding on your valuable time,” Flynn said. “But Mr. Bailey and I have some product ideas we'd like to discuss with you.” Roser's face split in a smile, the colorbursts on her forehead glistening gold. Bailey had put them in. “Excellent. SirenCare is always keen to foster innovation and research.” Flynn glanced at Bailey, who nodded slightly. “We're working on a, ahem, personal satisfaction enhancer,

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for both men and women.”

Roser's eyes widened, and she said, “Oh. Do you see commercial applications?”

Flynn nodded. “Informal surveys, consisting of asking everyone we work with, indicates that community

use of personal satisfaction equipment is more than ninety percent. We'd need SirenCare to implement any further consumer surveys of course.” “And the products?” Roser asked, sounding dubious.

“Subcutaneous devices, afferent and efferent connections, self-contained. We're hoping to mimic the

usage of substances like spike.”

“We're talking about an addictive behavior?” Roser asked. “You want people to pay to have gadgets

inserted into their groins, which they will then obsessively use?”

“That's the intention,” Flynn said. “The prototype uses microbial batteries as the power supply, and the in -”

Roser held her hand up, stopping Flynn. “Not microbial batteries. If your mod is that good, then we want

people back every few months to have the batteries replaced.”

“You like the idea?” Flynn said, and he sounded disbelieving. Both of them had expected Roser to need

far more persuading. Perhaps she had an extensive toy collection...

“It will have to go to the board, but go ahead and make up some prototypes,” Roser said.

“There's a problem,” Bailey said, speaking for the first time. “We did some testing, put the mods into a

volunteer, and he's gone missing.”

“Missing?” Roser said. “To another corporation? Did you let someone walk out of here with prototype

mods in them?”

“Immigration grabbed him,” Bailey said. “We've located him, but Immigration will deport him, even if

we pay the fine, unless SirenCare petitions for him to remain.”

Roser reached for the phone on her desk. “If he's still got the prototype mods in him, then we'll do that,”

she said, “unless he's lost the mods, if those fuckers in Immigration have cut them out of him.”

Flynn glanced at Bailey, while Roser spoke with someone in the legal department. “Relax,” Flynn

mouthed at Bailey.

Bailey unwound his fingers from the arms of the chair and nodded.

Roser put the phone down. “Legal will meet us at reception.”

“We can handle this,” Flynn said. “No need to take you away from your desk.”

“Do you think that SirenCare is going to buy an illegal from Immigration just because the pair of you say

so?” Roser said, standing up. “SirenCare is well aware that the pair of you are not ideal employees. However, ideal employees don't invent potentially addictive mods,” Roser added, and colorbursts

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twinkled across her cheeks. *** Movement in the dorm disturbed Quint, dragging him awake. He sat up, shaking his head to wake himself, eyes burning in the overhead lights.

Around him, other inmates were being shaken awake. “Are you Jack Quinton?” a guard asked Davo, in

the bunk below Quint's.

“I am,” Quint said, reaching for his shirt, at the foot of his bunk.

The guard looked up, holding his scanner out. “Prove it.”

Quint held out his arm, where the tracker bulged under his skin.

“Move,” the guard said.

Quint jumped down from his bunk, his heart pounding with fear. Bad things happened to people the

guards took away.

Unless...

Quint didn't dare let himself hope that Bailey had come to get him.

He walked out of the dorm, into the corridor, where another guard pointed. “That way, and quickly.”

Into the elevator he went, Quint's stomach lurching with the movement.

“Where am I going?” he asked the guard.

The guard shrugged. “Dunno, I just got told to find you and take you to processing.”

Processing? Quint's knees sagged, and hope burned through him, so he had to grab at the elevator wall.

He was shoved through doors, weapons pointed towards him, and then he stumbled out, into a waiting

room.

Bailey and Flynn stood there, Flynn holding hard on Bailey's arm, and Quint gasped.

Flynn shook his free hand, universal symbol for negation, and Quint bit at his lip and didn't bolt across the

waiting room and into Bailey's arms.

A corporate woman, her face disapproving, said, “Is this him?”

“It is,” Flynn said.

“Check he's still got the mods.”

Flynn pushed Bailey behind him, and Quint had to look away from Bailey's face, before either of them

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started crying.

“Hi, Quint,” Flynn said casually. “Mind if I have a look at the work?”

“What?” Quint said, but Flynn's look was an entreaty.

Quint could play along, try not to fall apart, act calm.

“Sure,” Quint said.

Flynn looked down, and gestured. “Perhaps you could undo your clothes, flop it out?”

Was Flynn talking about the skin pocket Bailey gave him?

Flynn undid his trousers, letting them drop to his knees, and reached for his balls. All the holes from his

piercings had closed over, but he'd still not got used to the weight of the jewelry being missing.

“Penis,” Flynn hissed.

The corporate woman stepped up, saying, “Is there a problem, Dr, Flynn?”

“I rather suspect Mr. Quinton would prefer not to have his penis examined by a roomful of strangers,”

Flynn said.

The woman made a dismissive noise and peered down at Quint's cock, examining it.

“Are those bumps the mods?” the woman asked, poking one long fingernail at a bead just below the head

of Quint's cock.

“Yes,” Flynn said.

Quint had no fucking clue what was going on, or why Flynn, of all people, should think that a bead that

Quint had had for years was of any interest to that woman, but he didn't say anything, not if there was a

chance Bailey could get him out.

“Count them,” the woman said. “Make sure they're all there. How many did you put in?”

“Seventeen,” Bailey said. “There're seventeen.”

Flynn ran his fingertips across Quint's cock, counting out loud, and the woman looked at Quint's face for

the first time. “Do you like the mods, young man?”

“Um, yes, ma'am,” Quint said. “Though I think they're better for my partners.”

The woman's eyes went wide, and she looked back down, at where Flynn was counting the beads on the

underside of Quint's cock.

“Oh,” she said.

“All there,” Flynn said.

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“Get him out of here then,” the woman said, looking over her shoulder at another corporate type. She pointed at Quint, and said, “You are not to wander off. You now belong to Dr. Flynn, until he tells you otherwise.” The woman walked off, following the other corporate types, and Flynn grabbed at Quint's shoulders. “Pull your trousers up, and come and sit down. It's going to take them some time to do your paperwork.”

Quint nodded, dragged his trousers back up, and let Flynn lead him over to where Bailey was sitting, his

hands shoved under his arms, face blank.

“Bailey?” Quint said, sitting down beside him. “What just happened?”

Bailey swallowed. “I, um, we couldn't get you out, so we told SirenCare you had experimental mods in

you. I think they're buying you, right now.”

Quint touched his fingers against Bailey's forearm. “Is this real?” he whispered. “Am I getting out?”

Bailey met Quint's gaze, and something in his eyes made Quint's chest hurt, just a little. “It's real,” he

whispered. *** The stitches in Quint's arm scratched and stung, where the tracker had been hacked out by one of the Immigration clerks, but Quint didn't care. He kept his hand clenched around the forms in his left hand, the precious papers that said that, despite him being an illegal resident, SirenCare wanted him, and he could stay in the country. His other hand, hidden between their thighs, pressed fingers against Bailey. He couldn't say anything, not with all the SirenCare corporates in the vehicle, but he could touch Bailey. The woman looked back between the seats, her face hidden by her filters. “Get him clean,” she told

Flynn. “And check him over medically. I'll want a report on the mods on my desk in two days.”

Flynn nodded. “Yes, Dr. Roser,” he said. “As soon as I can.”

The vehicle drove through security gates, past a checkpoint, and underneath the SirenCare tower, out of

the afternoon sun and into deep shadow. Dr. Roser and the other corporates got out of the vehicle, walking off across the basement garage without looking back, and Bailey let out a shaky breath. “Let's get you into the shower,” Flynn said. “And then find you some food.”

Quint had to be helped to the elevator, past rows and rows of SirenCare vans and ambulances. Bailey's

hands, strong and steady, kept hold of him in the elevator, and then they led him to a shower block.

At a shower cubicle, Flynn said, “I'm going back to work. Want me to book a theatre spot?”

Bailey nodded, pushing the cubicle door open for Quint. “Shower,” he said. “I'll go find you some

clothes.”

Quint caught hold of Bailey's hand. “Theatre?” he said. “And can't you stay with me?”

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Bailey closed his eyes briefly. “Surveillance,” he murmured. “We can talk at my house. Go and shower, make the most of corporate water.” The shower, blissfully hot and generous, streamed over Quint, washing away dirt, sweat and pain. His eyes leaked, too, because he was free, and Bailey had come for him.

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Chapter Seven It took time to get Quint out of SirenCare. He had a meal, and then a medical examination, with Flynn poking and prodding Quint. There were consent forms to sign for the next day’s procedure, ostensibly so Flynn could check the mods, but in fact to insert them for the first time. Finally, in the early evening dusk, Quint and Bailey walked out of the concourse, and onto Oxford St. On the train, in the crowded carriage, Bailey wrapped his arms around Quint, hugging him for the first time. Quint buried his face against Bailey's neck, and if Bailey felt moisture dripping onto his shoulder, soaking into his tunic, he didn't mind. He held Quint's hand as they walked up the hill from the train station, to Bailey's house. “I sent a message to Frood,” he said. “So he knows you're safe.” “Thank you,” Quint said. “Thank you, for everything you've done.” At his front door, Bailey said, “Please, Quint, there's no need to thank me. Flynn put his job on the line just because he's my friend; he deserves your thanks. Watch, for the code. I retrieved your retina scans from Immigration, so the system should recognize you.” “The code?” Quint asked, as Bailey pushed his front door open. The door slammed shut, the system rearming itself with an audible click, and Bailey touched Quint's face, strange without the piercings, where scar tissue had formed over one of his horns. “The code,” he repeated. “You live here, now.” He leaned forward slowly, and Quint gulped. Bailey closed his eyes, letting his lips brush against Quint's gently, and then settle on Quint’s mouth: warm, sweet, and very much alive. Bailey had been holding himself together for too long, fighting every instinct, and now he had Quint safe and home, he couldn't do it any longer. Quint gasped, his mouth opening, hands grabbing at Bailey. Quint's mouth was unfamiliar without his piercings, but the rest of him felt the same, wrapped around Bailey. They stumbled into the big room, falling onto the couch, mouths joined, tongues sliding together. Quint's hands found Bailey's trousers, pushing them down roughly, while Bailey dragged at Quint's borrowed scrubs. Quint wrenched his mouth away from Bailey's, gasping for air, and something fabric tore. Quint's weight pushed Bailey into the couch cushions as he fumbled, then blinding pressure took Bailey, and he cried out in relief and joy as Quint jammed into him. Sudden and hard, far too much to bear, Bailey shouted, and Quint began to drive into him. Quint's face was screwed up, mouth gasping, cheeks wet, and Bailey lost control, shouting and scratching at Quint, coming so hard his whole body shook, feeling Quint coming, too. Quint didn't stop, just kept on fucking Bailey, his belly sliding against Bailey's cock, spreading come across their bodies, scraping and dragging. His beads pulled and slid, too, rolling against Bailey's arse, while he kissed Bailey over and over. The next orgasm took Bailey slowly, building heat through his entire body, and when Quint picked up his

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pace, stroking hard and fast, Bailey came with Quint's mouth locked over his, stealing each gasp. Quint collapsed forward, falling onto Bailey, and Bailey hugged him. *** Quint clanked his beer against Bailey's and gazed out across the city. Naked and sweaty, come drying on his belly, Bailey threw his arm around Quint's shoulders. The roof tiles were still warm under Bailey's bare arse, and the distiller hummed faintly through the night air. “I missed you,” Bailey said. “More than I could bear.”

Quint looked at him, Bailey could tell by the way his shoulders moved. “I think I'm very glad of that.”

The smooth darkness of the harbor was disturbed by red and green lights gliding across the water as a sail

tanker slid through the night. A mosquito bit Bailey's arm, and he moved enough to slap at the insect, then

put his arm back around Quint.

“Tomorrow, when I put those mods into you, I'm microchipping you,” Bailey said. “So this never

happens again.”

Quint chuckled, in the darkness. “Fine by me,” he said. “Do I get to chip you, too, so I always know where you are?” “Sounds equitable,” Bailey said, and Quint's head settled on his shoulder. *** The room was painfully white, sparkling and clean, and the person bending over Quint was wrapped in

mask and visor.

“How do you feel, Mr. Quinton?” a female voice asked.

Quint flailed for a moment, trying to work out where he was. SirenCare, with Bailey.

“Thirsty,” Quint croaked, his throat rough and sore.

Something plastic pressed against his lips, and the voice said, “Drink.”

Cold water, clean and fresh. Quint wanted to drink forever, slaking his thirst, but the nurse took the drink

away. “How is your pain?” she asked.

Pain?

“It feels numb,” Quint said. “Maybe a bit sore. My face hurts.”

“That’s where the doctors removed your false horns and implanted the osteoblast stimulators. Here are

your doctors now,” the nurse said.

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More faces, with masks and visors, appeared over Quint, and then Bailey pulled his mask off and pushed

his visor up.

“Hey,” Quint croaked. “How'd it go?”

“Bailey stuffed it up, and we had to cut your penis off,” Flynn said, and then Bailey hit him.

“It went well,” Bailey said. “Don't believe Flynn. How's the pain?”

“Numb, hurts a bit,” Quint said.

Flynn waved a hand, and the nurse appeared again. “Give this man the good drugs,” Flynn said.

“Yes, Dr. Flynn,” the nurse said.

“Doctor?” Quint said, trying not to giggle. “Why's Bailey not a doctor, too?”

“He's a cutter,” Flynn said. “Uneducated and ignorant, he just makes holes in people. I understand them.” The nurse fiddled with his arm, and Quint felt like he was floating, on a clean, crisp cloud, something wonderful flowing through his veins. His cock didn't hurt, it didn't even throb. Bailey leaned over him and whispered, “Go to sleep. I'll see you when you wake up again.” Quint closed his eyes, the room rocking gently around him. “Good drugs,” he whispered. *** Quint looked around the room he had to himself, and tried to work out whether the image on the wall really was a window, or just a screen. “I want to go now,” he said, while Flynn and Bailey peered at his groin, unwrapping dressings. “Quint, you've just been modded, take it easy,” Bailey said, without looking up.

“I went drinking after I'd had the beads put in,” Quint said. “This doesn't hurt like that.”

Bailey did look up that time. “I've wired experimental mods into your nervous system. We need you to

work out how to use them, and to monitor you while you do.”

“How do I use them then?”

Bailey shrugged. “Alright then,” he said, unwinding the dressing completely from Quint's cock. “Watch

yourself, try and work out where the implants are, and try twitching that area.”

Quint looked down at his cock, which was bruised and a little swollen, with tiny stitches beside each new

bead. He focused on the top bead, the one just below the head of his cock, what he thought of as the killer

bead, because of what it did to people when he fucked them.

He could feel the bead, as distinct from the pain around it, and he twitched it mentally.

“Fuck!” he shouted, clutching at the sides of the bed, as tiny vibrations shook his cock, sending the best

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fucking feeling rushing through the pain.

Bailey pressed a latex-clad fingertip against the bead.

“Try and make it go faster,” Bailey said, his eyes gleaming at Quint.

“How the fuck do I do that?” Quint shouted.

Bailey shrugged, so Quint just concentrated on the feeling, on making it stronger. The vibrations picked

up, other beads joining, and Quint groaned and grabbed at his cock with both hands, trying to stop the

feelings. He rolled onto his belly, both hands under him, as his cock pulsed and purred and throbbed. It

hurt to be hard, so soon after the mods had been put in, but the pain was nothing to the pleasure slicing

through him.

“That's gross,” Flynn said. “Really disgusting.” He sounded very pleased with himself. “Want me to step

out of the room for a moment?”

Quint dragged one hand out from under himself and flapped it at Flynn. He didn't mind if Flynn stayed; it

wouldn't be the first time he'd come with Flynn in the room. What he'd die for was some quality time with

Bailey.

Bailey's hand pushed underneath Quint's hip, his fingers found Quint's cock, working around Quint's own hands. “Is that good?” Bailey asked, and he was leaning right over Quint, his mouth against Quint's ear.

Quint bellowed, his come spreading across the sheet beneath him, the good feelings mixing with the pain,

winding around the hurt, Bailey's hand over the top of it all, stroking him.

“That's repulsive,” Flynn said. “Deeply offensive.”

“Shut up,” Bailey said, over his shoulder, and then his voice dropped as he spoke to Quint. “Can you

work out how to turn them all off now?”

Quint, between gasps, tried to feel around inside his body, to undo whatever it was he'd done to turn the

beads on, while the vibrations screamed through his groin.

“Try thinking about another part of yourself,” Bailey suggested.

Quint, trying not to panic, concentrated on his hand, where it clutched at the hospital bed mattress.

Hand. Fingers. He wiggled each finger in turn, screening out his cock, and the way the beads were trying

to shake themselves out of him.

The vibrations lulled, then stopped, and Quint buried his face in the mattress, his eyes closed, too weak to

move.

Behind him, Flynn said, “Don't you dare touch anything until you've washed your hands.”

A tap ran, water tinkling, and then Bailey said, “I think that counts as an experimental success.”

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Flynn chuckled. “Definitely. I'll catch you later, I've got a report to write.”

The door thudded, and then Bailey's hand rested on Quint's shoulder, warm through the hospital gown.

Quint opened his eyes and twisted his head, so he could see Bailey crouching down beside the bed.

“That was so fucking hot,” Bailey whispered.

“Yeah,” Quint agreed.

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Chapter Eight Quint was ensconced on Bailey's couch, beer in one hand, meat-on-a-stick in the other. He wriggled over,

still moving a little cautiously post-surgery, to make space for Bailey.

Bailey slumped down the couch, beside Quint.

“Feeling alright?” he asked.

Quint nodded, holding his beer out for Bailey to clunk his bottle against. “How could it be better? I'm not

an Immigration detainee, and my cock vibrates whenever I want it to.”

“The simple pleasures, huh?” Bailey said, lifting his beer to his lips.

“I'm not sure the vibrating bit is simple,” Quint said. “But you once warned me not to confuse simplicity

of conception and execution.”

“Don't listen to me,” Bailey said. “I was probably just trying to get you into bed.”

“Must have worked,” Quint said. “Saved my life, too.”

Bailey put his beer down, took Quint's out of his hand, too. Quint's lips were slippery, from the meat-on a-stick, tingling against Bailey's, and his face felt odd to touch, now his horns were gone. Only it wasn't

just Bailey's lips that were tingling, it was the whole fucking couch.

Their lips made a wet noise when Bailey lifted his mouth. “You're vibrating,” Bailey said, trying not to

laugh.

“Um, oops?” Quint said. “Guess I've worked out what makes the mods work.”

Bailey's hand covered the front of Quint's trousers, his palm against the length of Quint's cock, where it

lay across his belly. The vibrations, strong enough for Bailey to feel them up his arm, intensified further,

and Quint moaned.

“Please tell me I'm healed enough,” he whispered. “I want you so badly.”

“You're healed,” Bailey said. “Now the sutures are out, and the skin is intact.”

The meat-on-a-stick was tossed on the floor, and Quint grabbed Bailey with both hands. “Right now,” he

said.

Bailey stood up, pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it after the meat-on-a-stick. He pushed his

trousers down, his cock springing free, jutting out. Quint slid forward on the couch, his hands running up Bailey's thighs, and then his fingers eased into the folds of Bailey's groin. Bailey gasped at the first touch of Quint's mouth on his cock. Quint licked, sliding the head into his mouth, then out to rest against his lips. “So when are you getting the beads?” Quint murmured, looking up at Bailey. His fingertips circled Bailey's arse, slipping in the fluid. “As soon as I train someone else to do the cutting,” Bailey said, his hand cradling Quint's scalp, tangling

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in his hair. “I'm not letting that butcher Flynn near my cock.” Quint slid back onto the couch, undoing his trousers, easing them over his cock, pushing them off so they wrapped around his feet. Bailey clambered onto the couch, a knee each side of Quint's hips. They kissed, slow and deep, and then Quint's hands groped behind Bailey's arse. The vibrations from the beads ran through the frame of the couch, and the first touch of Quint's cock was a shock, the humming beads purring against Bailey's arse. Bailey rocked back slowly, letting his weight push Quint's cock into his arse. The first beads, ringed under the head of Quint's cock, slid into Bailey, moving a little under the skin of Quint's cock. Quint grunted, grimacing, and it must still be tender for him, the skin still healing. “Don't stop,” Quint gasped, and then he was all the way inside Bailey. Sweat streaked Bailey's back, and Quint's fingers clutched at his thighs and hips. Bailey rocked a little forward, shifting his weight around the buzzing, and something happened inside him, something touched him in the right place, making him writhe and squirm, teeth clenched to stop from screaming. “Is that good?” Quint asked, and all Bailey could manage was to nod his head frantically. Quint's hand curled around Bailey's cock, squeezing him hard, then stroking up the length, rough and demanding. “Gonna come,” Bailey groaned. It was too soon, far too soon. Bailey wanted the feelings to last, wanted Quint to fuck him for hours, wanted the impossible buzzing deep inside him to just go on and on. But Quint was jabbing into him hard, groaning louder and louder with each thrust, his hand tugging harder and harder on Bailey's cock, fucking demanding that he come, and Bailey had no self control at all when Quint was around. Bailey yelled, shoving himself back hard as he could on Quint's cock, his come shooting across Quint's belly, going on and on, impossibly long and hard, because Quint was coming, too, shouting and thrusting, deep inside Bailey. The buzzing faded inside him, Quint's cock softening, and when Bailey opened his eyes again, Quint was staring at him. Bailey patted Quint’s cheek affectionately. “You alright?” “Fuck, yeah,” Quint said weakly. “Can we do that again? Now?” “Soon as you can manage it,” Bailey said, because Quint's cock had softened enough to slip wetly out of him. Bailey staggered to his feet, and then fell back onto the couch. They had beer within reach, the night breeze was blowing, through the open windows, and Bailey could hear the band that played at the local pub jamming over the hum of distillation units and water pumps. The season was changing again, moving away from summer to the cool dry days of winter. The meat-on-a-stick was probably not salvageable, lost somewhere across the room, but Bailey didn't care. He had Quint, who was half asleep beside him, head on Bailey's shoulder. Once Flynn got the

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vibrating beads approved by SirenCare, then Bailey could stop doing fucking boring colorbursts for a living. If Quint woke up later, they might go out for a beer, maybe even to Frood's pub. Or they might fuck again. Bailey didn't care which, he was blissfully happy with either option. “You're getting old,” he told himself, and the dozing Quint. “Losing your edge, settling down.” Quint snuffled in his sleep, so Bailey grinned at the darkened room and reached for his beer. “Sleep well, pretty one,” he whispered, kissing Quint's forehead where his new horns would eventually grow.

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Beneath the Mask

By Mychael Black

"Thank you for meeting me like this." "My pleasure." I flipped open my notebook to a fresh page and tried to ignore the slight shakiness in my hand as I clicked my pen. "I'm just going to jot down some initial notes. If anything is wrong, please feel free to correct me." There was no answer, but when I glanced up, I saw the shadowed figure nod. I fixed my gaze back onto my paper. "Triarius... Any last name?" "No." I continued. "Born in Rome in 12 BC, turned in 7 AD." I paused. "You're... over two thousand years old?" "I am." I stifled a sigh. Maybe this was a mistake. When Jeff gave me this lead, I had high hopes of a great interview -- the pinnacle of my career. Yes, vampires were quite well-known to exist, and some even held ranks within the human government, but aside from a few instances, getting into their circle was next to impossible. And that was just the Romanorum. This... was the Brotherhood. I twirled my pen in my fingers, wondering just how to start this. I've been interviewing vampires for nearly fifteen years. Why was this one so different? "Is there something wrong, Mr. Shaw?" "No!" I shook my head. "No, no." I cleared my throat. "I asked you here to fulfill an opportunity -- for us both. A chance for me to, quite honestly, get the story of the century: the history of the Inferi Brotherhood. And a chance for you to dispel the rumors of... well... less than pleasant acts said to occur within the Brotherhood." "And what if the rumors are true?" I swallowed compulsively, my mouth and throat suddenly dry. "True?" He stood and I watched him walk over to the window. Moonlight shone through the glass around his body. He was shorter than I'd expected, for some reason, and of slighter build. I'd thought one of the most feared men in the world would be much larger in stature. "Size matters little when compared to the mind, Mr. Shaw," he said without turning. He clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders straight and squared. On a lesser man, the position might have been seen as bravado; on him, it seemed natural. "I created the Brotherhood because I no longer felt the Romanorum served its purpose."

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"What if Diocourides were to find out? He would--"

"Dio knows we exist, Mr. Shaw. The Romanorum knows. At this point, I would daresay the entire world

knows. The fact remains, however, that they cannot find the worst of us. And by that, I mean those of us

who actively kill humans."

Fuck. I was in over my head. What was I thinking? Here I was, in some nondescript ghost town in the

middle of nowhere England, with a man -- a creature -- who could easily kill me. And no one would ever

know. Curiosity, however, is a strong influence.

"I know the Brotherhood is underground -- both figuratively and literally, and no, I won't ask where. I am

curious, though, as to why the Romanorum can't find you. Can't every vampire -- even a rogue -- trace his

or her blood back to the sire?"

"Not all of us are rogues," he said. "It is true that I myself am, by Romanorum standards, but you forget

that the oldest of us did not take the formulas required to make that distinction. It is by name alone that I

am known for who I am, not by any taint to my aura or soul."

"So... there are those who are not rogues within the Brotherhood?"

"Yes. The Brotherhood is not based on killing humans. We are gods, Mr. Shaw. Descended from gods,

created by them. Human are cattle, put upon this earth for us to use as we see fit."

"The Romanorum would have something to say about that," I said quietly.

"You are not writing. Is my tale that uninteresting?"

I blinked down at the paper. A large stain spread out from where the tip of my pen rested, but there were

no words. What was I supposed to say, how was I going to write any of this into a news story? I stared at

the blotch of ink and wondered why I'd even asked for this meeting.

"Perhaps you were curious, more for your own sake than that of your readers."

"You can read minds."

"I can."

I figured the best step would be to find out more about the man behind it all. "What else can you do?"

Triarius chuckled, still facing away from me. "Much. More than you could ever begin to explain to your

readers, Mr. Shaw."

It occurred to me then that I had no idea what this man even looked like. He was here when I'd arrived,

cloaked in shadows. "What do you look like?"

"Another question for your story?"

"No." For me...

Triarius turned and my heart nearly stopped. Light glinted off of something silver on the right side of his

face. Like some real-life twist on the Phantom, Triarius had a silver mask -- or at least half of one -

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covering the upper right side of his face. There was a hole for him to see out of, and the mask stopped just an inch or so above his mouth, and then tapered off to the side. The eye peering through the hole in the mask was milky white, almost glassy. His other was steel blue. His lips curled into a twisted smile that said he knew exactly what I was thinking. "I was disfigured long before my turning. A bit of sparring gone wrong, you could say." I could tell there was more to it, but he didn't seem inclined to elaborate. He stepped away from the window and closer to the table where I sat. The shadows seemed to move with him, somehow, wrapping around his body like a cloak. I knew some vampires were able to control the shadows. I'd even been witness to the Prince of London toying with them a time or two. These shadows were much different, though -- thicker, consuming. Like Triarius, they seemed to draw in the light, engulfing it until there was nothing left. I wanted to say this man was evil, but even that felt inadequate for what I saw in his eyes. There was power behind them, more than I think anyone ever realized, but there was something darker. I knew he was a rogue -- he'd said so himself. This went beyond being a rogue. It wasn't blood lust that fueled him. It was the worst kind of power imaginable: unspoken, quiet, calculating. Triarius settled back into his seat and the darkness enveloped him. His unassuming voice broke the awkward silence. "I created the Brotherhood in 1232. To this date, there are thousands of us, spread throughout the world. We have a network, a system through which we conduct business, recruit, and if need be, dispose of unwanted influences." "Unwanted influences?" "Every organization has its share of bad seeds. We deal with ours effectively -- within and without the Brotherhood itself." "So you are murderers, killing without the need to drink, then." Triarius clicked his tongue, the sound loud in the small room. "Come now, Mr. Shaw. Murder is such a strong word, don't you think? I prefer... cleansing." "How do you do it?" "We receive reports, from our members out in the open. We then send teams to investigate. If we find the reports to be true, the subjects in question to be threats, then we dispose of them -- quickly and efficiently. If an answer cannot be determined right away, the subjects are brought to me." I felt the blood slowly drain from my face and I shivered as the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "And you hold them prisoner? How do you determine if they are a threat or not?" "There are many ways to prompt a person to speak when he or she is not normally inclined to do so." "Torture?" "If necessary, though I find it tedious. I prefer mind over body. The mind does not lie, only the mouth. If I want truth, I need only to see a person's thoughts." "So you invade their brains, basically?" "My, but you are abrasive in your choice of words." He sighed. "But yes, I do."

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"I guess it's pointless to argue about morals, then." Triarius laughed. "Mr. Shaw, I have, in my two thousand years, taken great pleasure in watching men die. Do you really think morals matter to me?" "No." I had to look away. Something in his stare unhinged me. I didn't like feeling as if I was a bug under a microscope, and yet, despite being the interviewer, that's precisely what I felt like. "So..." My brain frantically searched for something else to say, something to ask him. Anything to keep the conversation going. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me about the Brotherhood?" "Aside from where we are, details of our membership, all of which would require me to kill you lest it get out? No." I blew out a breath. "Okay," I announced. "I think I have enough to write up a good piece here." I closed my notebook, tucked the pen in the spiral, and stood. "I want to thank you for this opportunity, Triarius. I'm sure my readers will find it very interesting." I started for the door, only to have it close before I reached it. "I am afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Shaw." He hadn't moved. "I cannot allow you to publish anything I've told you." "Excuse me?" Fear began inching its way into my gut. My heart hammered against my ribcage and I backed up, heading for the window. The lock on it twisted shut, then snapped off. I spun around to find Triarius standing only a foot away from me. Words stuck in my throat, lodged in a scream that refused to come out. "I promised an interview. I said nothing about having it printed." *** "Beth yw e?" There was a pause and I heard gravel crunching under shoes. Then a car door slammed, rocking the entire vehicle. I kept still, quiet. If I let on that I was awake, there was no telling what these men would do. I didn't know if Triarius was here, but I remembered enough to know he'd brought me here. Wherever here was. "Pam rydyn ni'n aros?" I couldn't make out a single word they were saying. I inhaled slowly, hoping to catch any scents that might give away our location, but all I got was the thick, cloying smell of old leather. The car rumbled to life and a moment later, we were moving. Riding was bad enough. Riding while blindfolded, without the ability to look around, sent my motion sickness into overdrive. I fought back the nausea, the low, rhythmic hum of the engine not helping in the least. Fear clawed at my insides, but if I was going to get out of this alive, I had to stay rational. Panic only led to stupid mistakes, and in the presence of vampires, stupid mistakes meant certain death. I wasn't going to go out without one hell of a fucking fight.

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It was night. The cool air blowing into the car from a window up front gave that much away. With my hands bound behind me, I couldn't pull off the blindfold, but I knew the car was big. I was stretched out on my stomach, head facing the front. Words occasionally drifted from the front, but they were still talking in a language I didn't know. I wanted to get the blindfold off, but if I did, they'd know I was awake. For some reason I'd yet to fathom, Triarius hadn't killed me. Why? Why keep me alive when I might find an opportunity to escape? The air thickened and crispness gave way to the rich smell of earth and stone. I felt the car turn, and then we started up an incline. My equilibrium was off, which made me feel like I was on some sort of carnival ride. I squeezed my eyes shut under the blindfold, more focused on trying to will away the urge to throw up than figuring out where the hell we were to begin with. By the time I got a hold on it, we’d stopped. It took a moment for me to realize we were on somewhat level ground again. The door opened and I willed myself to go limp, hoping it would be too much dead weight for my captors to carry. I hadn't factored them being vampires into my plans when one simply hefted me over a broad shoulder like I was nothing more than a child's rag doll. We went down steps, then into total blackness. Even if I didn't have the blindfold on, I knew sight would've been pointless. The darkness was a living thing -- consuming, almost crushing. It reminded of the shadows around Triarius, the coils that circled and enveloped him. Footsteps and voices echoed off the rock, giving me enough to know that we were in a tunnel of some sort. Sounds were hollow but long, stretching out in front and behind us. My captor, the one carrying me, grunted and shifted me, his shoulder digging into my stomach. My arms ached and my shoulders had long since stopped throbbing and now only burned. I almost dreaded them releasing my hands; I knew the pain of the blood rushing back would be excruciating. "Ry'n ni'n gadael yfory." I listened intently, hoping for maybe a familiar word. I didn't know the accents of the men around me. When we stopped, everything grew quiet. Instinct told me we weren't alone, but no one was speaking. A moment later, we continued on. Down more steps, then another tunnel. Finally the space opened up and voices filled the air. More of the same language, though there were other languages mixed in. I thought I heard someone speaking English, but before I could figure out what they'd said, I was carried into another place. Without regard to whether the impact would break my arms, I was dropped onto what I assumed was a bed. Then a door closed. "Beth yw'ch enw?" I had thought I was alone. I stayed quiet. "Do you speak English, then? I know you are awake." "I am." "Ah, so you do speak English. What is your name?" "Lance." The blindfold was removed and I blinked my eyes open. Soft light filled the room, but it wasn't overwhelming. I looked up and over. A young man stood beside the bed, smiling down at me. He tossed the blindfold to the side.

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"I'm going to release your arms. It would be in your best interests to cooperate and not fight me when you are free." I had no intentions of fighting. I'd need my strength if I wanted to get out of here alive. I nodded. He bent down and unlocked the restraints on my wrists, then set them on the bed. I hissed and ground my teeth together tightly as I moved my arms. Bright, sharp pain bolted through them, from my shoulders to my wrists. I rolled onto my back and blew out a breath, working through the tense aches to get the blood moving freely again. "Who are you?" I asked the young man as he poured a glass of something clear from a bottle nearby. He handed me the glass. "It's water." I sat up and took it from him, giving it a cautious sniff. It didn't

smell odd. In fact, it smelled clean and clear. "I am Dai. One of Master Triarius' human servants."

Human? I glanced back up at him. "You're human?"

Dai nodded. "A ghoul, but still somewhat human."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me where I am then."

The smile he gave me wasn't entirely pleasant. "You already know the answer." He pushed away from the

wall he'd been leaning against and wandered over to a stone table. "Tell me," he said, finger tracing a grove in the gray stone. "What were you hoping to do with the information he gave you? Did you hope to prove we existed, even though the world knows we do? Did you hope to find clues to our whereabouts so your governments could assist the Romanorum in finding us?" "No. To all of it. I only wished to dispel the rumors about the Brotherhood -- about what goes on down here."

Dai snorted. "Dispel? Oh, I can assure you that the rumors are very much true, Mr. Shaw." I stared at him.

"You are wondering how I know your last name." I nodded. "Who do you think set up the interview, Mr.

Shaw? Do you honestly think Triarius did it himself?"

"Why did you set it up then?"

"Because you have been a thorn in our side for far too long. Years of speaking with our kind,

broadcasting information. Even venerating those who've done the Romanorum justice by serving it

without question. By helping them, you are a threat to us."

"What's going to happen to me?"

Dai shrugged and turned for the door. "That is for my master to decide."

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"We are going to dinner. Come."

*** The sight I walked in on was something out Dante's Hell. Blood flowed as freely as the wine, and the

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diners feasted on one another more than the banquet set out before them. A single, long table made of polished stone dominated the room. At its head, Triarius sat, draped in shadows. Candle flames danced across his face, sparking off the silver mask. His pale gaze swept slowly over the others, then rested on me. "You wished to know more about our kind, Mr. Shaw." Triarius gestured toward the dinner guests. "Join us. Enjoy the veritable feast our cooks have prepared." I took a deep breath and a cautionary step forward. Only a few looked my way; most simply ignored me. I was grateful for that as I took my place at the only empty place at the table -- beside Triarius. He gave me a bit of a smile before lifting a crystal goblet. A moment later, a servant set another matching goblet before me. I stared into the dark, reddish purple liquid. "It is only wine." "I take it you no longer enjoy human food?" I asked, looking up at my host. Triarius sipped at his own drink, and then shook his head. "It holds no interest for me any longer. Though I do admit a fondness for wine." I picked up my goblet and tasted it. It was sweet and strong, a very good, semi-dry red if I remembered my wines correctly. "It's very good," I said. "A nice bouquet." "You enjoy wine, then?" "To a degree. I've never been much of a drinker." I drank a little more, the flavor growing on me. It really was rather sweet. I could see myself drinking it on occasion. Before I realized it, however, I'd finished the wine. It was the most I'd had to drink in a while, and I almost enjoyed the warm sensation as the alcohol flowed through me. Without my asking, a servant returned and refilled my goblet. "I must ask, Triarius: what do you intend to do with me?" "You're taking it quite well that you're here," Triarius answered. Long fingers stroked the crystal chalice in his hands and I found myself mesmerized. Visions of those fingers sliding over my skin drifted through my mind, but Triarius' voice broke through the haze. "I had, in the beginning, the full intention of killing you, Mr. Shaw." Funny. That didn't bother me as much as I'd expected it to. I watched the way the shadows curled and uncurled around his slender wrists, the tendrils like thin snakes circling his arms. "And now?" "You intrigue me." I intrigued him? Here was a man of unbelievable power, undeniable sensuality, telling me that I intrigued him. I laughed a little, though the sound seemed far away, even to my own ears. "How?" The shadows entwined around his arms, looping in and out, as if they were alive. Transfixed by their serpentine dance, I wasn't aware I'd finished my wine until the glass was refilled once more. "You enjoy them." It wasn't a question, but I nodded. I wanted to touch them, to know what the smoky swirls felt like when they caressed my bare skin. Unable to look away, gaze riveted on the enigmatic creature before me, I

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sipped at my drink, each swallow easing an ache somewhere deep inside me. I'd never needed anything in my life, so much as I needed to taste him. "Perhaps," Triarius said, though he sounded as if he'd whispered the word in my mind, "we should retire to more private surroundings." Drunk on wine and the overwhelming need to lap at his skin, I licked my lips. "Yes." Triarius simply smiled and everyone's attention shifted to the doorway. Brow furrowed, I turned and watched as several young men and women filed into the room. Dressed in flowing robes of crimson and white silk, they glided across the polished floor and stopped in a line, facing the table. When they bowed, they did so in a wave, the effect unsettling, like a serpent. Then they spread out, the men on one side, the women on the other. One of the women stepped forward, her robe falling away to reveal porcelain skin studded with tiny silver discs in elaborate patterns. The candlelight flickered over her body, the sparkles of the discs dazzling. She danced to an unheard rhythm toward the men, arms beckoning, hips circling, sable hair swaying over her back. When she reached the men, she extended one arm, turned it palm-up, and crooked a finger. The one to answer was ethereal, as flawless in beauty as the woman. He took her hand, linked their fingers, and drew her up against him. He wasn't hard, which surprised me. I would've been. Individually, they were both beyond words; together, they were intoxicating. The man turned his partner and cupped the front of her neck, just below her chin. He tipped her head back and licked the side of her throat. Her eyes closed and they began to move, their linked hands moving slowly over the front of her body. Shadows crept up around them, the smoky tendrils snaking up the woman's legs. She parted her thighs, her gasp audible when one of the shadows slipped between them. I was so enrapt with the display, that I didn't feel anyone behind me until sharp pain burst over my senses. I couldn't move, not when the pain blossomed into something stronger, deeper. Pleasure flooded me with every hungry pull at my throat. I wanted to touch, to feel the body pressed tight against mine. I didn't have to look to know who it was. A sensation in my gut told me it was Triarius. High on his touch and too much wine, I could only watch and stare when the silver circles on the female dancer's body began pulsing. The pressure on my throat strengthened, my cock filling in my pants in answer, and the woman's cry when she shuddered in her partner's arms left me breathless. I leaned back against Triarius, eyes rolling as I finally gave in. Heat spread in my lap, every throb of my cock met by a low growl from the man behind me. Spent and dizzy, I slumped back against him, the world sort of fuzzy around the edges. I barely remembered a soft tongue licking my neck, then someone lifting me. A few minutes later, I curled on my side, consciousness slipping away. *** I don't know how much time had passed, but when I woke, I was alone. I sat up in the bed and looked around the room. It wasn't the same one I'd been in before. The first had been sparse, barren. This room, however, was immaculate: rich, dark woods, polished stone, dark, luxurious fabrics. I was in Triarius' room. I wasn't sure how I knew, but I had a good feeling I was right.

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It took me a few minutes to gather the strength to stand. While the effects of the wine had faded, I still had a touch of dizziness. One hand on the end post of the bed, I got to my feet, the room shifting a little before settling. I never got hangovers; that had to have been some strong fucking wine. There was a tray of fruits on a nearby table. Beside it sat a glass. A note lay on top of the fruit and I went over and picked it up. The handwriting was elegant, unhurried. I trust you slept well.

You will need to eat something. The fruit will replenish you. There is water as well.

I look forward to your company.

T

Something wasn't right. Without the wine muddling my brain, I knew that now. I stared at the platter of fruit. He hadn't taken that much. Had he? My stomach growling stilled any other thoughts, however, so I grabbed an apple and bit into it. I couldn't begin to stop the groan. It was sweet, needed. I took several more bites, eyes closed while I savored every one. When I finished, I set the core on the table and drank some of the water. I needed more. Hunger was beginning to take precedence. I picked up a pear and started on it, the flavor bursting on my tongue. That one, I devoured quickly. Pangs of hunger clawed at my gut and I chose an orange next. The more of the peel I tore off, the worse the pain got. I couldn't get the fruit into my mouth quickly enough. One after another, I ate nearly every piece on the tray. The water was long gone. Yet my hunger was stronger than ever, burning its way through my body. I heard voices -- outside in the hall, in a room nearby, above me, below me... I doubled over, hand catching the platter before I hit the floor. The metal dish crashed to the stone floor, but I barely heard it. My blood pounded in my ears, heart thundering. Then hands were on me, lifting me to my feet. His smell. Oh, God. I could smell him -- his skin, his breath, his fucking blood. The pain sparked and then my mouth was on his throat, his blood flooding me. I clutched his arms, fingers digging into his skin as I swallowed every precious drop, the hunger finally subsiding. Soft words that made no sense drifted around me. He stroked my hair and I almost whimpered when the cut healed, cutting me off from the only thing that... The truth slammed into me and I shoved him backward. Triarius offered nothing but a knowing smile. "What the fuck have you done to me?" I shouted, backing away from him, toward the door, I hoped. I didn't know. "You wanted to know more about us -- about me," he said, making no move to stop me. "Where will you go, Mr. Shaw? If you leave, you do so without a supply of my blood. You've tasted me. That is something no amount of words can erase." "What am I?" Even as I asked, I knew. I didn't want to, but I knew. I wasn't stupid. But oh, God... his blood. I wanted to die, but at the same time, I wanted to drink him forever. "You know that as well as any other. I cannot have you escaping, and you are much too enticing to kill.

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What better way to insure you remain by my side -- than to give you my blood?"

"The wine." It all made sense now. Fuck. The son of a bitch had spiked the wine.

Triarius nodded. "And now... you can't leave. With my blood in your veins, you are a dead man outside

the Brotherhood's protection. Without my blood, you will not survive for long."

"You've killed me anyway."

"Perhaps. Consider it... a trade. My secrets, for your life."

I fell back against the wall, mouth open, my brain not quite processing everything. "I'm your prisoner."

"You are my servant."

I had a life. Not much of one, but I wasn't ready to give it up. "People will know I'm missing."

"No one knew where you were," Triarius countered. "Dai made certain of that. Did you not agree to total

secrecy?" I looked away from him and closed my eyes. I had agreed to it, and for the first time in my life, I chastised myself for being a man of my word. I'd been so desperate for the story, I'd done exactly what they wanted: not told anyone where I was going. No one knew I was here. Eventually, I'd be forgotten as just another reporter lost in the line of duty. I slid down the wall and rested my head back against it. A quiet resignation followed. A moment later, I sensed him close and when I opened my eyes, he was right there, crouching before me. I hated him. And yet, I wanted him more than anything else in the world. He insured that. "I am a reasonable man, Mr. Shaw."

I couldn't stop the laugh even if I'd wanted to. "Reasonable? You kidnap me, drag me down to only God

knows where, and to keep me here, you essentially sign my death warrant. How is that reasonable?"

"I could have killed you," he said without emotion. "In that room, I could have torn your soul to shreds, rendered your flesh in such ways that no one would ever know what existed before." Shadows slithered out from the corners of the room and circled him. "Do you wish to see what could have happened, Mr. Shaw?" "No." When I first saw them, those shadows enthralled me. But as they moved, they took on a more ominous presence. I knew, without a doubt, they could kill.

"They are not all for death and destruction." Triarius held out a hand and a thin tendril of smoke stroked

his wrist. "Let me show you..."

"Like hell."

The shadow jerked and sliced through Triarius' pale flesh. Blood welled to the surface, weakening my

resistance. I fought it, forced myself to remain against the wall, to not move, even when the scent hit me. I

squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to block it all out -- the shadows, his voice, his scent, his blood.

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"You can not run from it," Triarius whispered. "The longer you deny it, the worse the pain of hunger becomes." I knew that. Oh, God, I knew that. My insides twisted into knots and my mind screamed for relief. With a defeated sound, I grabbed his arm and bit down, sucking hard on the cut. The more I drank, the less I hurt. The more I drank... the more I needed him. The wound closed and a finger slipped under my chin. I had a split second to stop what I knew was going to happen. I didn't. Triarius' lips opened over mine and I was powerless to deny him. Soft-spoken in speech, he was someone completely different in this. He devoured me -- lips, teeth, and tongue consuming every ounce of defiance within me. One kiss, and I was hard as stone. In one kiss, the most feared and wicked man on earth had me in the palm of his hand. "Touch me." I reached out, fingertips skimming the arch of his neck. His skin was smooth, flawless, warming under the heat of my touch. Triarius sighed into my mouth, and then stood. He extended his hand to me. I hesitated, knowing what this meant. If I gave in to this, I would have nothing to stand on later. He'd taken everything from me without remorse; he could've taken me by force now. But he didn't. Meeting his gaze, I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. Despite how much my mind protested, my body betrayed me. I wanted him -- of that, there was no doubt. I went to the bed and he stepped up behind me, hands sliding up under my shirt. His lips moved over my neck, the tip of his tongue tracing a line along my pulse point. He inhaled deeply, a soft hiss of breath warming my skin. Then he pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside. "I've wanted this," he murmured, hands moving down my body. My stomach muscles tightened in response as he neared the waistband of my jeans. Deft fingers popped the button and eased the zipper down. "Since I first saw you in that room. I wanted to taste you." I bit back the groan that desperately wanted out when his long fingers eased into my pants. My cock throbbed, anticipating. "Why me?" "Because you are fearless..." Those fingers stroked the tip of my prick and my knees threatened to buckle from just the simplest touch. "You are strong..." "I don't break," I answered, eyes rolling back as my jeans slid down my legs. Triarius wrapped his hand around my cock and I nearly hit the floor. "I do not wish to break you." No. You only want to drive me insane. I fisted my hands at my sides and it took all the will I had to keep from thrusting as he stroked my length slowly. "I want to test your limits, Mr. Shaw. I want to know how much one man can take before need overwhelms reason." Keep that up, and you'll find out really damn quick. The movement of his hand quickened. Unable -- and unwilling -- to hold back any longer, I started meeting his strokes, the defeat heavy with every thrust of

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my hips. Don't stop... "Do you taste bittersweet, Mr. Shaw? Or are you strong, the flavor musky and thick?" "Triarius..." I felt him smile against my neck. Then he released me. Before I could yell and demand he continue -- or finish it myself -- he turned me and kissed me hard. My lip split under the assault and his growl filled me, growing stronger as he lapped up the blood. I tried to pull away and he shoved me onto the bed. His robe dropped to the floor and I simply stared. Black tribal tattoos covered his chest and snaked down his torso. A single spiral wound its way around his cock, then spread out, up the creases of his hips, around to the back. The patterns on his skin weren't random, but I had no idea what they meant. The lines resembled barbed vines, and they circled each nipple, then merged in the middle of his chest to form an intricate web of sharp angles and coils. Each nipple was pierced, black captive rings begging for my fingers to pull and twist them until he pleaded for me to stop. Triarius knelt on the bed between my legs and leaned down, licking a path from my neck to my sternum. One hand slipped under the small of my back and lifted me, pressing our bodies together. I groaned and shifted, trying to find some sort of friction for my cock. Unrelenting, Triarius circled my left nipple with his tongue. I gripped his hair, fisting it in my hands, and pressed his face to me. Sharp pain burst over my senses and I shouted, hips jerking against him as he sucked on my nipple. "Triarius..." His other hand pushed between us and tightened around my cock, pumping fast. I bucked, breath leaving me as my come poured over his fingers. He released my nipple and licked the bite marks, then slid down my body, cleaning my skin. Hands on the backs of my thighs, he shoved my legs up and with a hungry growl, thrust his tongue inside me. "Fuck!" My hands hit the bed, knuckles white as I grabbed the blanket. He fucked my ass with his tongue, over and over, the quick stabs driving me crazy. I needed more, needed him to fill me. Triarius pulled back and lifted his head. The smile he gave me should have been warning enough. Shadows surrounded me, brushing my heated flesh. I watched, utterly breathless, as one long strand drifted over my thigh. Another soon mirrored it, and together, they spread my legs, holding me open, unable to move. My heart hammered in my chest, and the fear returned. Then I felt nothing but fullness. "Oh, God." I arched, back bowing as another shadow filled me, stretching me open, pushing deeper than I thought possible. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Too much. Oh, fuck, it was too much. I wanted to beg him to make it leave, and I wanted more. My body couldn't decide what it wanted, and my brain simply shut down. Blood dripped onto my lips and I licked it away. Triarius' taste flooded me, heat rising inside. The shadow began to move, fucking me deep and slow. I wanted to fucking kill him, even as I shouted his name, my entire body shuddering as I came. "Yes." The word was hissed on my lips, Triarius hovering over me. I lifted my head and took a hard kiss.

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Triarius groaned, hips rocking and pushing his cock along my ass. The shadows faded, leaving me empty. I refused to beg him, but I didn't have to. I didn't have the chance to ask where he got the lube, because two slick fingers slid deep inside me. I arched and bore down on them, hands digging into his biceps as he finger-fucked me. He was evil in every sense of the word -- my mind knew that. When he filled me finally, however, when his cock replaced his fingers and drove inside my body, I didn't care what he was -- only that he was pumping in and out of me with hard, deep strokes. I couldn't catch my breath, and looking up at him, at the mask over the side of his face and those eyes that saw through my soul, only served to hurtle me toward the edge again. Triarius caught my hands and pinned them to the bed. He nudged my head to the side and a second later, bit down. I bucked wildly, the world graying around the edges as white-hot pain mixed with pleasure enough to nearly stop my heart. I felt his growl more than I heard it, and warmth flooded me, his grip tight on my hands. When had I slipped so far, that it took a monster to show me what being human meant? *** "Who are you to him?" I'd been watching Dai for several minutes as he put up clothes in the tall wardrobe near the door.

Without looking up, he folded what looked like a silk shirt and said, "I am his servant, his personal

attendant, if you will."

"Are you lovers?"

Dai smiled over at me. "We were -- ages ago."

Something eased inside me, though I didn't want to dwell on what, or why. Since last night, I'd fought the

urge to seek Triarius out. Instead, I shifted my focus to Dai, hoping he could tell me something about

Triarius. "How long have you known him?"

"Hmm..." Dai closed the wardrobe doors and leaned back against them, arms crossed. "Sixty, maybe

seventy years? I'm not sure anymore."

"You don't look any older than twenty."

Dai chuckled. "Twenty-one, actually -- that's how old I was when we met. As ghouls, we age slower than

mortals."

"Did..." I took a deep breath. "Did he change you without consent?"

"No. I was ready to die. A fire destroyed my family home, left me with nothing and no one. He found me

when I was at my lowest, and he offered me another life. He needed an assistant, someone who could be

his eyes and ears on the outside. I just needed a reason to go on."

"Do you love him?"

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"In a way, I suppose. He's my master and I would do anything for him. And he would do the same for me." I couldn't quite bring myself to believe that. "Somehow, I doubt he would."

Dai tilted his head and grinned. "You don't know the Triarius I do. Despite outward appearances, he is a

man of honor."

"Honor."

"Some of his methods might be... unconventional, but when Triarius says he will do something, rest

assured that he will do it."

"And ghouling someone without their knowledge?"

"Safety measures," Dai said with a shrug. "You presented a danger to all of us, so we had to stop any

chance of your story getting out."

"So I'm a threat."

"Not anymore."

I sighed and fell back onto the bed. "Okay. So he ghouled me to keep me quiet. Why not just kill me?"

The mattress dipped beside me. "Because he wanted you."

"For what? A quick fuck and feed?"

"He's lonely."

I snorted. "You're kidding, right?"

"Do you think humans are the only ones who feel loneliness? Every soul needs a companion."

"Then why not you?"

"Triarius is a great lover, but we found that anything more wasn't for us."

I couldn't deny the lover bit. Triarius ignited something inside me, whether I wanted it or not. I wanted to

fucking hate him. He’d stolen my life and my freedom from me. But he'd also given me more pleasure in

one night than I'd had in years. How could one man inspire hatred and need in the same breath?

"You're thinking too hard."

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?" I grumbled.

"Do you want a tour?"

I looked over at Dai. "I'm trusted enough to see everything?"

"Well, you certainly can't leave to tell about it."

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"Do you always have to remind me of that fact?"

Dai sat up and patted my leg. "Come on. There's much more than just the dining hall and his bedroom."

Sighing in defeat, I got up. "Since I can't leave, can you tell me where the hell we are?"

"Snowdonia," Dai said as he led the way out of the room.

"Snowdonia. As in the mountains?"

He nodded. "The Brotherhood had many homes through the centuries before Triarius finally came down

here. The vampires are guaranteed protection from sunlight, it's easily guarded, and honestly, no one

knows this cave system even exists."

"Makes sense why he'd come down here, that's for sure." I followed Dai down a narrow stone hallway,

but just before we reached the dining hall, he turned left and descended into darkness. "Dai?" My voice

echoed back at me. "Dai, where did you go?"

"Come down," he said. He didn't sound nearly as far away as I'd thought. "Be careful -- the steps can be

slippery sometimes."

"Uh, yeah."

There was no railing, so I did my best with a hand on either side, skimming the walls. The stone steps

were damp, but wider than I expected. I went slowly and soon found myself in a vast cavern. Dai stood at

a railing and grinned over his shoulder at me. I stepped up to the rail and words simply left me.

"Welcome to the heart of it all, the final headquarters of the Inferi Brotherhood."

It was a city beneath a mountain. Firelight filled the space below us, and niches lined either side of what I

discovered was a river. The dark water shimmered as it moved, and people -- human and vampire alike, I

presumed -- were everywhere. Most seemed to have purpose, as they ducked in and out of doorways.

"How...?"

"How did he do it? Triarius had help, of course. One man, god or no, could never do this himself. Humans

thrive here with their vampire hosts, and food for them is brought down the river. Where it empties outside the mountain, we have established a stronghold out of castle ruins. It is there that animals and plants are raised for food. Humans are quite industrious." "You said it was well-guarded. How?"

Dai crooked a finger and beckoned me toward a door to right of the one we'd just come out of. I followed

him up more steps. "The Proeliatores are the elite guards of the Brotherhood," he explained. "The first,

Triarius trained himself. They, in turn, trained the others, and so forth. Triarius no longer fights with

them, though he still has his weapons and armor."

"So he was a soldier?"

"Of a sort, yes. He was a soldier for the Romanorum in its infancy. But it was a falling out with Dio that

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drove Triarius to create the Brotherhood. He wasn't happy with how the Romanorum ran things."

"Back to the 'god' complex?"

Dai laughed and stopped at a closed wooden door. "You could say that." He pushed the door open. "I

must leave you now. He's waiting for you, and I have other matters to attend to."

"But where--?"

"Come in, Mr. Shaw."

I went up the last couple steps and walked into the room. Triarius sat in a high-backed chair at a long,

rectangular table. Armed -- and armored -- guards stood behind him, one at each side. The door closed behind me. "You slept well, I assume?" Triarius waved a hand toward the chair beside his.

"Yes. Thank you." I sat down and a servant appeared out of nowhere with a goblet and a jug. Without

thought, I put my hand out to stop her. "No. I'm not thirsty."

Triarius smiled and waved her away. "You still do not trust me."

"Should I?"

He nodded. "A fair question. I do not know how much Dai has told you, but I want you to know that you

hold a place of honor here."

I blinked and stared at him. "First, you say I'm a threat and then proceed to change me in such ways that I

can never leave this place again. Now, you tell me I have a place of honor? Forgive me if I seem a bit...

pissed."

Something crossed Triarius' expression that I couldn't place. "I admit that I have done nothing to warrant

your trust, or, for that matter, your loyalty to me. Dai did not agree with my choice to keep you alive. He

thought I should be rid of you."

I wasn't sure how to feel about that. Nothing in Dai's actions or words gave me the impression that he

didn't like me. "Why did you keep me alive?" Despite having heard it from Dai, I wanted to hear it from

Triarius -- provided he would even admit to it.

Triarius stood and went over to a window that I assumed looked down onto the area Dai had shown me before. Several moments passed before Triarius spoke again. "I've walked this earth for longer than I care to remember, and while I've always had others around me, I've never let anyone deeper than the surface. I can not afford to be seen as weak." "Needing companionship isn't a sign of being weak."

"You don't know my world, Mr. Shaw."

Instead of the monster I'd seen before, all I saw standing before me was a man. A wicked, driven man, but

a man nonetheless. I stood and went over to him. Taking a chance, I slipped my arms around his waist. I was surprised when he leaned back against me.

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"I know I don't know your world," I said. "But I'm willing to learn."

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

I shrugged. "Not so much a change of heart, as admitting that I'm stuck here and I might as well make the

best of it. Granted, it doesn't excuse what you've done."

He actually laughed a little at that. "I'm not known for regrets."

"Good." I turned him around and before I could weigh the wisdom of my next move, I kissed him.

Triarius groaned and I smiled against his mouth, realizing I'd surprised him. I reached up and touched his

face, tracing the bottom edge of the mask with my fingertips. He closed his eyes and for a moment, I saw beyond the amoral facade. I understood then, everything Dai had said. I didn't have to like it -- hell, I didn't have to agree with any of it -- but Triarius made more sense than I really wanted to admit. He was right; I didn't know his world. "You are thinking too hard," Triarius said, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Funny." I laughed. "Dai told me the same thing earlier."

"Then perhaps it is true. You have much on your mind; that is expected."

I sighed and stepped around him, toward the window. Below us, the inhabitants of this city under the

earth went on, blissfully unaware of the mortal -- or not-so-mortal -- in their midst, who was now questioning... everything. As a reporter, I strove to always keep an open mind. I tried to remain accepting, especially of practices and lifestyles different from my own. I was so busy, so driven to uncover the secrets of the Inferi Brotherhood, so intent on the more barbaric practices, that I'd forgotten about the man who’d created it all in the first place -- and why he had created it. Arms snaked around my waist and a kiss was pressed to the side of my neck. Triarius' breath warmed my

skin and wherever he touched me; the contact left heat in its wake.

"I'm an idiot."

He chuckled softly. "No. You are human."

"Well, not quite anymore. And..." I stared out the window, not wanting to admit what I was going to say.

"I think you are more human than most of us out there."

"Why do you say that?"

"Most humans want wealth and care nothing for others," I said dryly.

"I have no use for wealth, true."

"You created this society because you felt it was the right thing to do."

Triarius laughed. "If it helps you to believe that, then you're welcome to."

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I tipped my head back and to the side, peering at him somewhat upside down. "You did, didn't you?" "I created it because the Romanorum wanted to bow down to the mortals. I am part of the Caelestes family, most of us -- primarily the original Brotherhood members -- are. We are descended from gods; we are gods. Gods do not pay allegiance to mortals." "Hence using mortals as nothing more than food sources, even to the point of killing them." He nodded. "I do not apologize for my beliefs or my actions, Mr. Shaw. I do not feel remorse for the lives I have taken, nor for the lives I will continue to take." "Will you please stop that?" "Stop what?" I smirked. "Calling me Mr. Shaw. That's my father's name." Triarius smiled and cupped the front of my neck, keeping me in place as he lowered his head to brush his lips over mine. "As you wish... Lance." Sweet fuck. My name had never sounded quite so provocative as it did then. He stole my capacity for speech just as easily as he stole my freedom. Triarius' tongue swept through my mouth, and I was lost. I still hated him for everything, even as I moaned into the kiss, hand going up to slide through his hair. The metal of his mask was cool and smooth, and I wanted to touch it. I wanted to watch the light flicker across it while I rode him. "Now there is a thought," he murmured. "Get out of my head." "I think I'd rather you get out of these," he answered, one hand going down to pop the button on my jeans. He eased the zipper down, then slipped his hand inside. "So hot," he breathed, fingers wrapping around my cock. I tried to come back with something – anything -- but words failed me. I groaned and thrust into his touch, needing more. With his other hand, he pushed my jeans down. "Triarius... what about... oh, fuck..." He pressed his thumb against my slit, the burn sweet. "Shh, stop thinking." He bent me forward and I felt him kneel down, his breath hot on my bare ass. Before I could say another word, he spread my cheeks apart and licked my hole. Fire shot up my spine and I moaned, pushing back against his face. His tongue pierced my body and I no longer cared who saw or heard us up here. All I wanted was more. I clutched the edge of the window, the stone cold beneath my fingers. I closed my eyes and all focus went to the sparks rushing through me with every thrust of his tongue into my ass. Dual sensations kept me offbalance: the touch of skin on one side; smooth, cool metal on the other. My head fell forward, breath panting. His fingers dug into my flesh, holding me open for his torture. If this was my fate, then so be it. I would die to feel this man's touch.

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Triarius pulled back and stood, long body leaning over mine. His lips brushed my shoulder blade and he rocked his hips forward. At some point, he'd freed himself and his cock now rubbed along the crease of my ass, teasing me relentlessly. When I groaned and tried to push back, he evaded me, just barely keeping contact. I hated him even more then -- for much different reasons. "Just feel," he whispered. Oh, I felt, all right. There was no mistaking the hard cock nestled between my ass cheeks, or the hands on my hips. I licked my lips and bit back a desperate sound when the slick head of his cock pressed against my hole. I held still, every muscle tensed, waiting. With a long, low growl, he rocked, rubbing and pushing, but never quite going in. The man excelled in torture. "Fuck me, goddamn it!" I snapped, my patience gone. Triarius stepped back and turned me around, shoving me to my knees. Without a word, he thrust his cock into my mouth. Hands on my head, he pumped in and out, silk steel sliding over my tongue and driving me mad. I looked up and watched his head fall back. I wanted, more than anything, to hear him cry out to me. I needed him to be vulnerable, though I didn't know why. I sucked harder, head bobbing, determined to trip him over the edge. Triarius knew -- the son of a bitch knew what I was doing. He pulled out and spun me around roughly, shoving my upper body to the cold stone floor. "How dare you," he snarled as he thrust his cock deep into my ass. I didn't have a chance to ask him what he meant. His strokes were hard and brutal, his determination to break me crystal clear. I refused. I rose up onto my hands and slammed back onto his prick, making both of us groan. If he wanted me to fucking break, he'd have to do much better than this. "Stop fighting me." "No." I flashed him a glare over one shoulder and a second later, my eyes rolled back as he rammed inside me in response. I felt like I was playing the devil for my soul, and that only spurred me on. I wanted him to fold, to buckle. I wanted to be the one person who could undo him. Triarius sped up, hips slamming into my ass. His hold on my hips was strong, and I knew I'd have bruises. I could already feel them forming. We both shifted at the same moment then and he nailed my gland. I damn near bit my tongue off when bolts of lightning rocketed up my spine. I didn't have to look back to see the smug grin I knew was there. There had to be a way to get to him. Searching it, I sat up, the motion driving his cock deep inside me. I let my head fall back against his shoulder and he kissed my neck, fangs just barely scraping the surface. That was it. That was the key. "Triarius..." I bared my throat to him -- in full submission. The moment he struck, I shot, come splashing onto the stone floor as I shouted his name. Triarius jerked, arms tightening around my waist as he filled me. I felt him shake, and knew -- just knew -- I'd gotten through. "Damn you," he whispered gruffly.

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"You already did that."

Then he was gone.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. His scent was still in the air. I smiled.

*** "Whatever the hell you did, it must've been good." Dai leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and a

wry smirk on his face. "Or really fucking bad."

"We fucked. What else was there to do?"

He snorted. "Yeah. I figured that out when you came back with his scent all over you."

"You're jealous..." I smiled slowly. I wasn't sure why that thought was so appealing, but it was.

Dai's jaw clenched. "I am not," he said finally.

"He said you didn't agree with me being here, that you wanted him to kill me."

He shifted a little and looked away. "Maybe. You were a threat."

I stepped up to him and he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "And to you, I still am." Then I

went around him and out the door.

Triarius had sent Dai to deliver a message to join him in the throne room. I wondered what sort of reception I'd get, given how he'd left me before. And what of Dai? When I first met him, I didn't see anything about Dai to give me the impression that he was one to watch, but now... I shook my head and followed the directions Dai had given me to the throne room. It wasn't quite as far as the walk to where Dai had taken me earlier. Without a clock or the sun, I didn't know what day it was anymore, or if it was even day. I assumed it was evening because Triarius was not alone when I walked through the throne room doors. The room itself was smaller than I'd expected, but the polished black stone floor made it appear larger. Flames flickered off the surface, lighting the room up further. Stone benches with plush crimson seats lined the walls, and on them sat many vampires -- and some humans, I guessed. At the other end of the room was Triarius. He was seated on a throne of dark wood and several armored guards stood near him. In the light of the torches and candles, his mask looked gold. He gestured for me. "Please, sit." He waved toward a chair at the bottom of the short dais, near his throne. As I sat, he

continued. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, though I do wonder what day it is."

"That is of little importance. I long ceased to care."

His answers were short, clipped, and I couldn't help but smile to myself. I'd gotten through that damned

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barrier and found the man behind the devil. I didn't doubt that he was cold-hearted when he needed to be - or even when he wanted to be -- but I knew now there was much more to Triarius than met the eye.

"Dai seems to think I've done something terrible," I ventured.

Triarius scowled a bit, though I had a feeling it wasn't necessarily directed at me. "He is spoiled."

"Do you trust him?"

He was so quiet, that I thought he might not answer. Then he said, "I don't know," under his breath.

The admission was a surprise, but I kept it well-hidden. "Why do you doubt your trust?"

"A gut feeling. My instincts are something I learned long ago to trust."

I nodded. That made perfect sense to me. "Can't say that I really blame you. I honestly don't think he likes

me much."

"He thinks you've bewitched me."

"Have I?"

Triarius didn't answer and instead waved over a servant. "Would you care for a drink?" he asked me.

"Water?"

"Water, it is."

The servant bowed and hurried out of the room. Despite his attempt to look nonchalant, I could see the

lines on Triarius' face, as if he was lost in thought. He'd avoided my question altogether, and that gave me more to wonder on. How could I -- a mortal -- even begin to control someone as powerful as Triarius? Before I had the chance to dwell on it further, Dai walked into the throne room. I swallowed the groan and schooled my features into something less leery. Dai strode up to the dais and bowed low. He didn't even look my way. "I've come to collect Mr. Shaw for his evening meal." Triarius nodded, and then glanced at me. "I will meet you in my chambers when you are done."

I didn't want to leave, especially with Dai, whom I didn't trust, but my stomach was growling. I stood and

gave Dai my best smile. "After you."

Without another word, Dai pivoted on his heel and left the throne room. I followed him, grateful for the silence. I figured I pretty much hit the nail on the head earlier when I’d confronted him. I might not have been a threat to the Brotherhood at large, but to Dai, I sure as fuck was. He seemed to hold a bit of weight with Triarius, but with me here, I had the feeling that changed. We turned down a hallway and then Dai stopped at a door. He opened it and stepped back, the smile as

fake as my own.

"Enjoy your meal."

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I didn't answer. I just walked into the room and he closed the door behind me. Only then did I realize something was terribly wrong. I was the only one in the room, and there were no other doorways to be seen. I swallowed hard, and then turned to open the door -- only to find it locked. "Dai?" I knocked on the door. "Dai, the door is locked." Only silence. "Dai!" I pounded on the wood with my fists. "Dai! Open the fucking door!" I heard a sigh on the other side. Then came Dai's voice, though muffled. "I really hate to leave you, Mr. Shaw. There are matters that require my attention. And don't worry, Triarius will not suffer without you. In a few weeks, he'll forget all about you -- everyone will." "Dai!" I screamed. "Of course, by then, you'll be dead. Have you ever seen a ghoul die, Mr. Shaw? It's a very unpleasant thing to watch. But... you'll find out soon enough. Goodbye, Mr. Shaw." I banged on the door until my fists bruised. My heart pounded, the sound thundering in my ears. A week. I had a week before my body would need blood. After that... I scanned the room, searching for any sign of another exit. A single stone table stood in the center. It was the only furniture, and there was no way in hell I could move it enough to break down the door. I thought about kicking the door in hopes it would shatter, but I'd be more likely to wind up with a broken foot. There had to be a way out. I started feeling the walls, walking the perimeter of the room, hands running up and the smooth stone. If there was another door hidden in the rock, there would be a telltale crack. I spent the next hour and a half going over inch I could reach. Nothing. Movement just outside the one door startled me and I rushed over to it, slamming my fists against it. "Hey! In here!" More silence greeted me, then a hiss. I stepped back as blue-gray smoke seeped through the cracks. What the fuck? The vapor rose and I bumped into the table behind me. As it filled the room, it obscured my vision. My eyes began watering and I coughed. The noxious gas swirled around me and made breathing difficult. Then a figure stepped out of the cloud. Or so I thought. "Triarius?" I reached out just as I went to my knees. He faded. I shook my head and coughed again. My throat threatened to close in on itself and panic finally set in. I crawled to the door and clawed at it, blood running down my fingers where my nails tore on the stone. My gut tightened and I dropped to my hands and knees, dry heaves starting seconds before the blood. I opened my mouth, hoping to scream, but nothing came out. The world faded as the smoke filled me. ***

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Something cool touched my forehead and a soft voice intruded on the only escape from hell I had.

"He's fevered, but intact." It was a woman's voice. The coolness returned, smoothing across my skin,

down my cheeks. She said something else, but I couldn't make it out.

Another touch followed, this one stronger but no less cool. What felt like fingertips ran over my lips, and

then lower to trace a line over my throat. I heard a man's voice. It took a moment for recognition to set in.

I opened my mouth, wanting to ask how he'd found me, but a finger pressed to my lips.

"Shh, rest." It was the woman again.

It took a few seconds for my eyes to focus and I stared up into light green ones. She smiled.

"I am Victoria, Triarius' personal physician."

My throat was dry, scratchy. I swallowed convulsively, and then felt someone lift my head a little. A cup

was put to my lips and blessedly cool water poured into my mouth. I think I might have moaned. I wanted to protest when the cup was taken away, but I couldn't get the words to form. Darkness slowly took over once more. *** When I next awoke, I knew where I was. On my back, I stared up at the canopy over Triarius' bed. I wasn't even sure how I'd gotten here. The bed dipped beside me and I looked over to find him sitting on the edge. He reached out and brushed a fingertip down the side of my face. "You know who I am?"

One eyebrow rose and I stared at him. "Of course I know."

Triarius smiled. "Victoria said you might be a little hazy when you woke up. How are you feeling?"

I blinked and looked around. I honestly didn't know how I felt. Everything that had happened seemed like

a dream, almost -- or a nightmare, rather. I remembered the room, the smoke, Dai's final words.

"It was Dai," I said, looking back at Triarius.

"I know. He's in the dungeon, awaiting trial."

"How did you know?"

Triarius sighed. "When you did not come to me, I knew something was wrong. I went in search of Dai,

but I couldn't find him. Before I could send out an order to bring him to me, your pain hit."

"You felt it?"

He nodded. "Your blood is a part of me, Lance."

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"What was the smoke?" "That is a little more difficult to explain... I believe Dai had help, from someone with more abilities than he possesses." "So it was magic?" "Yes." I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. "What will happen to Dai?" "He will be tried. While I do not doubt he is guilty, that guilt must be proven to the other Elders before a

sentence can be declared."

Opening my eyes, I stared up at the canopy. "What will his sentence be?"

"Death -- by the same means he attempted to exact on you, though much quicker."

"You're going to starve him?"

"Tooth for a tooth," Triarius said. He tapped the mask on his face. "An eye for an eye."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"You said you wear that due to a sparring match gone wrong. Is that true?"

"Yes... and no." He looked away for a moment. "Not long before I was turned, I found myself on the

wrong of the law, so to speak. I survived by stealing whatever I could -- food, clothing, objects to sell. I

soon caught the attention of a palace guard, and in return for his silence, I offered him my body. The

arrangement was better than most. He taught me how to please men, and how to kill. But, as you've found

with Dai, jealousy is a deadly thing. Another guard wanted what he could not have. While my lover

taught me, I was attacked. I refused to give in, and for my insolence, my attacker took it upon himself to

mar my appearance. He hoped it would prevent others from ever wanting me again." "It didn't work," I said dryly. "No." Triarius laughed. "It did not." I leaned up on my arms and watched him. "Take it off?" His gaze met mine. "It is not a pretty sight." "I don't care. I've seen worse." With a nod, Triarius reached up and hooked his fingers on the top edge of the mask. Then he pulled it off

slowly. My heart skipped a couple beats when he looked at me.

In sharp contrast to the ethereal beauty of the rest of his face, the right side was grotesque. Deep lines

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marred the disfigured skin, running from the bridge of his nose, across his eye, and down to the upper part

of his cheekbone. The flesh was misshapen and shriveled, and the eye was milky.

"Can you see?"

"With my right eye? No. I am half-blind."

It was miracle he hadn't died. "How did you survive this?" I asked. I rose up the rest of the way and

touched one deep scar. Triarius drew in a ragged breath.

"Luck," he said quietly. "I should have died."

"I know." A part of me didn't want to think on that.

Triarius ran his fingers over the metal mask, remaining silent. I took the mask from him and studied it. It

was cool and smooth, inside and out. I turned it over and over, brow furrowing.

"Okay," I said finally. "I give up. How do you keep it on?"

He ran his finger along the outer edge, and a split second later, I shouted and dropped the mask. Blood

pooled on my fingers from tiny puncture wounds. I looked at the mask and saw several small barbs, curving inward. Then I glanced up at him. There were no signs of punctures, but then again, they would have healed immediately when he took off the mask. "I didn't get the mask until after I was turned," he explained. "Until then, I was forced to wear a cloth over the right side of my face. Where I'd been loved before, I found nothing but revulsion after. When I was turned, I vowed to give them all a reason to hate me." "So you set yourself up as something like a devil."

"Something like that."

I stared down at my fingers and was only partially surprised to see the cuts healing, albeit slowly. "When

you carry out Dai's punishment, will you do it in private?"

"It usually depends on the crime. If the crime was directed at the Brotherhood, then the punishment -- or

execution -- is public. But because it was directed solely toward me and you, then it will be private."

"You?" I eyed him warily. "How did it affect you? I'm the one he wanted dead."

"Do you think I would have taken your death lightly?"

That shocked me more than seeing him without the mask. "What?"

Triarius set the mask aside and turned, bearing me back down onto the bed. "Do you doubt me?"

"I don't know..."

His breath warmed my skin, making it difficult to think.

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"Triarius..." His lips covered mine and I groaned, opening to him without hesitation. I refused to dwell on the meaning behind his silence, or the knot forming in my stomach. Instead, I drowned myself in his kiss. He growled softly, tongue sweeping through my mouth, devouring every ounce of doubt I had -- and doubt I hadn't realized was there. I cupped his face in my hands, the difference in skin texture fascinating. It drew touch after touch, my fingers stroking as I sucked on his tongue, letting my teeth graze it. Without breaking the kiss, Triarius shifted and knelt between my legs. Still fully clothed, we lay there, content, for the moment, to taste one another's mouths. His breath filled me, and I was dizzy. "Triarius..." I whispered. He kissed and licked his way over my jaw, down the side of my throat. I felt his fangs graze my skin and I hissed, thighs spreading as my prick filled. He pressed harder against me, letting me feel how hard he was, how I affected him. I rolled us, surprising him. Straddling his waist, I ground my hips to him, both of us groaning as I rocked on his cock. He gripped my waist and thrust up. "Need..." My words faltered when shadows opened my pants. I watched, utterly mesmerized, and the shadows dipped inside, taking my breath away when they curled around my shaft. "Fuck," I hissed, bucking into the touch. "Is that not the idea?" Triarius chuckled. I wanted to come back with something witty, some smartass comment, but nothing registered except the sensations rippling up and down my length. "Please..." He lifted me up and helped me to push my pants down. Somehow, I managed to get them off, and in the interim, he'd freed himself. When I straddled him once more, he handed me a jar. I studied it curiously, and then glanced at him. "Victoria is an accomplished alchemist as well as a physician." Sounded good to me. I opened the jar and scooped a little bit of the clear gel on two fingers. Then I set the jar to the side and reached back. Triarius' gaze was like a caress, watching me intently as I pushed both fingers deep inside myself. His hold tightened on my hips and his cock swelled beneath me. I thrust my fingers in and out, eyes closing. Then two of his joined them, all four pushing deep, stretching me. "Fuck!" I threw my head back and rode our fingers, the need for more surging, strong and hungry. "Now. Oh, fuck, now!" Our fingers were quickly replaced by his cock and Triarius tugged me down, impaling me in one hard, swift thrust. I shouted, hands going to his chest to brace myself as I rode him. He gripped my ass cheeks and spread them open, hips pushing him deep, over and over. I couldn't catch my breath, couldn't speak. All my senses honed in on him -- his scent, the relentless strokes driving into my body, the way his very presence enveloped me. Shadows circled my cock and began stroking, timed to the rhythm of Triarius' thrusts. Caught between the two overwhelming sensations, I was lost. Triarius flipped me and growled, fangs sinking deep into my throat. I bucked and clawed his back, pleasure and sharp pain shoving me over the edge as I came.

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Triarius followed, his cock throbbing and heat pouring into me, filling my body in a rush. Breathless and shaky, I collapsed. He licked the wounds and kissed his way back up to my mouth, tongue slipping between my lips. I moaned and tangled my fingers in his hair, the flavor of blood strong. With a flick of his tongue to a fang, he added his own blood, the two mixing until I could no longer tell them apart. Whatever this was, I was powerless to stop it. Hell, a part of me wasn't even sure if I wanted to. *** We went down to the dungeon, though a part of me sure as hell didn't want to. I'd been in castle dungeons before, but this place was far different. The stench of death was strong. Old death. Pain and despair, rage and madness -- it all permeated the rock around us. I couldn't shake the dark feeling that much more went on down here than mere imprisonment. Triarius and I were joined by several guards, and it occurred to me that, other than Dai, I was the only human down here. One of the guards who led the way, stopped at a door and I peered around him, curious. The door, made of wood and banded in iron, looked heavy, and it emitted an ominous groan as the guard opened it. The smell was even worse, the rush of stale air exhaling out of the hallway before us, nearly knocking me over. I felt Triarius' hand on my shoulder, steadying me, but it was little comfort as we started down the corridor. I didn't know what I expected, but silence certainly wasn't it. It was so quiet, that for a moment, I wondered if Dai was even still alive. The lead guard unlocked a cell door and stepped inside. When he stood to the side to allow Triarius entry, I realized Dai was definitely alive, but there was a madness in his eyes that I hadn't seen before. Dai was chained to the wall, his wrists in rusty iron manacles. His hands gripped the chains and I thought I saw dried blood tracing a line down one arm. He was standing, his ankles shackled as well, and his clothes were in tatters, like someone -- or something -- had shredded them. More blood -- some fresh, some dried -- showed through the rips in the fabric. His eyes were wide and held an air of wildness and rage that made me take a step back. "David Bristow, you will appear before the Elders to answer to the crime of attempted assassination of Lance Shaw." Triarius nodded to two guards and they stepped forward to unlock the manacles from where they were attached to the wall. Dai's ankle shackles were unhooked from the floor and linked together, effectively hobbling him while allowing him to walk with tiny steps. Triarius tapped my shoulder and I followed him out of the cell. Instead of heading back toward the door, however, we went farther down the hall. When we reached another door, he pushed it open. I was surprised to see several other vampires sitting around a crescent-shaped, stone table. All eyes were on us as we entered. "Go sit," Triarius said, nodding to two empty seats near the center of the table. Nervousness prickled at my skin as I went around and sat down, yet no one paid me any mind. They were all watching the doorway as the guards dragged Dai into the room. Only then did he start shrieking and screaming. What made it worse, was that his curses and venomous rage were directed at me. Not at Triarius -- but at me. Triarius took the seat next to mine, directly in the center of the table, and leaned forward, hands folded on

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top of the smooth stone. "Dai, you know why you are here." "Fuck you!" Dai snapped. Then he shot me a look full of hate. "I'd do it all over again if it meant getting rid of you." I swallowed, but kept my mouth shut. This whole thing was well out of my league. One of the other Elders spoke up. "So you do not deny the charges against you?" "No," Dai snarled. He jerked against the chains and lunged for the table. A hard tug hauled him back into place, the guards gripping his arms so tightly, the skin turned white around their fingers. "You stole my place! You fucking mortal, you stole my position with him!" I glanced down and saw Triarius' hands tightening where they were linked. Without hesitation, I put my hand down on his thigh, just to let him know I was there. Instinct made me do it; something made me leave it there. His hands eased a bit. "Why did you do it?" he asked Dai, with much more calm than I expected. Dai sneered. "I had everything -- your ear, your bed, every fucking perk being a master's ghoul. Then he came here. In one goddamn night, I lost everything." "That as it may be," another Elder said, "you attempted to kill your master's chosen." I blinked. Surely I didn't hear that right. I looked over at Triarius, but his gaze was fixed solely on Dai. Chosen? "And I'd gladly try again!" Triarius rose so suddenly, that it nearly threw me off balance. "Enough! Your greed and jealousy has gained you nothing. I trusted you once, but that time is past." Shadows seeped in through the front corners of the room, sliding across the floor like vaporous, black serpents. Dai's eyes widened and he struggled against the firm hold on him. The closer the shadows got, the more desperate he became. The smoky tendrils slithered up to form a mass in front of him. Then he screamed. I watched, my blood running cold as ice, as the shadows invaded his body through his mouth. He thrashed wildly, but the guards held on. Dai's eyes turned dark and black lines began forming under his skin. His eyes rolled back in his head. Without warning, Triarius had my face buried against him, obstructing my view. I tried to push away, but then Dai let out a scream that I would never forget. A split second later, an explosion shook the room. I fought against Triarius when I felt wetness splatter my skin. My heart pounded, nausea overwhelming when the undeniable smell of blood and dead flesh filled me. Darkness consumed us and when it faded, I shoved away from Triarius, only to find us back in his chambers. Far away from the dungeon. I stumbled backward until I slammed into the wall, then I slid down to the floor. I couldn't stop shaking, couldn't get that scream out of my head.

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"You said you were going to starve him!"

Triarius didn't approach me. "That was the intention. Had he been misguided. But he was in full control

of his thoughts and actions."

"He..." I shook my head. "How could you do that? How could you just... tear a man apart?"

"I told you before. My world is far different from-"

I jerked to my feet and stalked over to him, shoving him hard against the wall. "Fuck your world! You're

a butcher!"

"Yes!" He pushed me back until I landed on the bed. Then he towered over me. "I am a butcher, and a

murderer, and a thief. I am also lord of this Brotherhood, and as such, it is my duty to mete out

punishment as it fits the crime."

I stared at him, hating him all over again.

"If I soften every time my lover grows squeamish, then I lose the respect of those around me. That... is not

an option." Before I could respond, he turned abruptly and stormed out of the room, slamming the door

behind him.

I stayed there for what seemed like ages. The events of the past several days played out, over and over, in

my mind. What had possessed me to dig so deep into the Inferi Brotherhood that I ended up a prisoner of

the leader?

I didn't get very far in my thoughts before the door opened again. I was surprised to see the same woman

from before – Victoria -- enter the room. She smiled and set a tray of vials and fruit on the nearby table.

"Triarius thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks," I grumbled. I fell back onto the bed.

"He is not an easy man to get along with at times," she said, coming up to stand at the foot of the bed.

"But he is a good leader -- fair. Brutal at times, yes, but fair."

"He's a monster."

"Aren't we all?"

I looked over at her.

"I came to the Brotherhood, not at his bidding, but of my own will. Triarius and I have always butted

heads, over some matter or another, but we respect one another. He knows I am good at what I do, and I know, as a leader, he will never steer us wrong." "How long have you known him?"

She shrugged. "I don't know -- thirty years? Long enough to know that the man needs a Valium every

once in a while."

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I laughed at that. "Yeah. No shit."

"Look, whether he admits it or not, he cares greatly for you."

"I'm sure he does, in his own bizarre, twisted way."

"Lance."

Sighing, I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. He's a good man, good leader, hot as sin in bed, blah, blah, blah.

Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay. How about: he needs you?"

"Uh. Nice try. He needs a lot of things, but I seriously doubt I'm one of them."

The bed post creaked when she leaned against it, arms crossed. "You're his Chosen."

"Okay. What the hell is a Chosen?"

She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip for a moment, then nodded. "A Chosen is a companion, a

lover. The only soul a vampire would die for if need be. A soul mate, if you will."

"Die. Somehow, I don't see Triarius ever putting his life before mine."

"You would be surprised. Why don't you go to him?"

I grumbled and rolled onto my stomach, partly to get more comfortable, partly to escape that knowing

look directed at me. "He's pissed."

"He'll get over it."

I snorted.

"I'm serious. Go to him, try to accept him -- his beauty and his faults. Allow him the benefit of a doubt."

When I didn't answer, she sighed. "I have to go. Think about it, and eat. There are two vials of his blood

as well. You'll need them."

I stared at the tray of fruit, or rather, the vials of blood. I didn't want to believe that Triarius and I were so

wrapped into each other's lives. Getting involved -- especially with a vampire -- had been something I had

effectively avoided for a long time. Too much bullshit, too much headache. But I was also stuck here,

caught between death above ground, and the devil below.

This was why I never got into relationships.

When Victoria left, I got up and went over to the table. The last time I’d stood here, with fruit in front of

me, I hadn't known that I was his ghoul. Now, I knew. Somehow, it made food less appealing. I scowled

at the vials, my fingers itching to touch them, to uncap them and swallow every precious drop. Instead, I

picked up an apple.

Ignoring the vials, I sat back down on the bed and ate the apple, though I didn't really taste it. I never

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realized before how much the brain controls taste, but I knew now. Every thought strayed back to Triarius' blood, sealed in thin, glass tubes, beckoning silently. I looked down at the half-eaten apple. I stood and walked over to the table. The apple in one hand, I picked up one of the vials. There was power in this blood, an end to hunger that no food could ever appease. I set the apple down and opened the vial. Eyes closed, I inhaled deeply, and then turned the vial up. The sweetest fucking torment was the way this man could take over my senses without even being in the same room. His blood rushed over my tongue and down my throat, blessedly warm, rich. I shuddered and dropped the vial to the tray, then picked up the other. I drank the second one just as quickly, and mourned the loss when it was empty. I had to find him. *** I caught a servant in the hallway. "Where is Triarius?" "Master is in the baths, I believe. Do you know the way?" "No." He smiled. "This way." We continued down the hall and he stopped just outside a door. "In there, down the steps. Be careful, as they might be slippery." I nodded. "Thank you." He left and I opened the door. Heat and steam wafted up the stairwell, making me sweat within seconds of closing the door behind me. A hand on either wall to brace myself, I took the steps slowly, wary of the water. Soft, golden light bathed the bottom of the stairs and when I made the last step down, I found myself in a large room of stone and marble. An oval, yet natural pool was in the center of the room, and in it, Triarius. I walked over to the edge and sat down, pulling up my pants legs to dangle my feet in the water. It was surprisingly warm, though I figured magic had a good bit to do with the heat more than anything else. Triarius floated on his back, arms spread out, eyes closed. His mask lay on the edge nearby, as did his clothes. His muscular form captivated me, the scars on his face only adding to his otherworldly beauty. If one could call it that. I certainly saw it as such, I now realized. Despite his questionable morals, the man had captured me in more ways than one. "Why are you here?" I started, unaware he’d even known I was there, though I immediately felt foolish for even doubting he would know. "I wanted to see you." The lower half of his body sank down and I saw that the pool wasn't as deep as I'd first thought. He stood there in the middle, arms crossed over his chest, regarding me with something between curiosity and irritation. I couldn't help but want him, no matter how much the man infuriated me.

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"Well?"

"What?" I looked up at his face.

He smirked. "Are you going to sit there all night? Or are you going to get in?"

I scowled at him, pissed that he knew, without a doubt, how he affected me. "Arrogant prick."

Triarius sighed. "Must we revert to such things, Mr. Shaw?"

Jaw tightening, I stood, but instead of undressing, I started for the door. "This was a mistake."

"Lance."

The use of my name, instead of the formality of Mr. Shaw, stopped me. I closed my eyes and took a deep

breath. He was a proud, monstrous son of a bitch... but that didn't stop me from falling.

Goddamn it.

Arms slid around my waist and a wet body pressed up against my bare back. I didn't lean, but I didn't pull

away either. "What am I to you?"

"My Chosen." The words were whispered in my right ear and Triarius kissed his way down my neck.

"My lover."

I shivered and barely managed to bite back the moan when his lips found a particularly sensitive spot on

my neck. "Triarius..."

"Join me." His hands descended, deft fingers working open my pants. They slid down my legs and pooled

at my feet. "I would never harm you, Lance."

His hands almost burned where they touched the front of my upper thighs, just close enough to my crotch

to make me bite my tongue to keep from begging. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. I didn't know why I knew

that; I just did. Oh, God, I wanted him...

"Come," he murmured. "Join me in the water, let me prove myself to you."

"You don't need..." My eyes rolled back when he cupped my balls in one hand, rolling them gently. I tried

to finish, but couldn't remember what the hell I was going to say. I spread my thighs and pushed back a

little, groaning when I felt his cock, hard and hot, pressing against my ass.

I stepped out of my pants and let him walk me back toward the pool. Then he turned me around to face

him. He studied me just as intently as I did him.

"You are stubborn and have an uncanny knack for irritating me."

I laughed and shook my head. "Like you're one to talk."

He smiled at that. "I won't deny it. I know I am not an easy person to deal with at times."

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"I guess we're evenly matched in that regard, then." Triarius cupped the back of my neck, pulling me a little closer until our lips were a breath apart. "That we are." Impatient, I closed the distance, kissing him hard. So what if he drove me insane? So what if he killed? We came from very different worlds, and yet that didn't stop me from falling in love with the man. A step back and we both hit the water. I caught my breath at the last second before going under, and then swam back up to find him waiting for me. He pushed me against the edge and kissed me again, hands on either side of my face, keeping me from moving. Like I really wanted to be anywhere else but here. I sucked on his tongue and was rewarded with a low groan. His cock throbbed alongside mine, and I wrapped one leg up around his hip, tugging him closer. Both of us gasped into the kiss as our cocks pressed tightly together, the friction beyond words. Triarius pulled back for a moment, rocked his hips into me, and then crushed our mouths together again. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, and then relied on the water and his strength to hold me up as I wrapped both legs around him. "I have nothing to slick the way," he mumbled. "Don't care." I just wanted that cock inside me -- now. "Please." Triarius reached down and rubbed the head of his prick over my hole. Holding my ass cheeks apart with his hands, he thrust up, driving his cock deep inside me. "Fuck!" "That's the idea," he grunted, hips pumping that thick cock in and out of my ass. All I could do was hold on, watch his eyes. Everything was there -- every fucking bit. He didn't need to say it; I just knew. I threw my head back, breath leaving me as he filled me over and over. I wanted to beg for more, and I wanted to beg to come. His strokes were deep and hard, but at a torturous, slow rhythm. I couldn't get enough friction to get myself over the edge. Then he sank his fangs into my throat. Shouting and bucking, I came hard enough to see stars, hard enough for tears to burn my eyes as I squeezed them shut. Triarius slammed into me, faster now, then stiffened. The growl vibrated my entire body, from my throat to my ass, as he came deep inside me. Sweet fuck, I was so lost. It took a few minutes before either of us could even think clearly enough to move. He pulled out and I let my legs fall back down. Triarius rested his forehead to mine, his eyes closed. His hands remained on my waist, my arms draped over his shoulders. I breathed in deep, drawing him into me. It wasn't the first time I'd fallen so quickly, but I'd sworn I would never do it again. I didn't even know when I'd finally fallen in love with him, and a part of me hated myself for doing it so quickly. Yet another part found a sort of peace, strangely enough. I laughed a little at the thought. "What?" His eyes were still closed, but he looked more relaxed than he had when I first came in. "Just thinking."

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"About...?"

When I didn't answer right away, he opened his eyes and stared into mine. At such close proximity, it was

a bit unnerving. His slight smile dissolved that, however.

"Dai accused me of bewitching you."

"In a sense, yes."

"Are you sure it's not you who has bewitched me?"

I felt one of his eyebrows lift. "Why would you say that?"

I swallowed and looked away. Fingers cupped my chin and turned me back to face him. The compassion

and knowledge in those eyes unsettled me more than any horrible thing he could ever do. Then he smiled

and kissed me.

I could've handled a hard, hungry kiss much better than the one I got. This one was soft, almost reverent.

It unraveled me. Kisses like that made me say stupid things, like...

"I love you."

Only then did the kiss take my breath away, Triarius thrusting his tongue into my mouth and taking

possession of every ounce of me. I cursed myself even as I gave in to him completely. He lifted me and

put me on the edge of the pool, leaning me back. Standing between my legs, he kissed his way up one

thigh, then the other, taking great care to avoid everything higher. I groaned and spread my legs.

Triarius moved up, finally, and licked a path from the base of my cock to the tip. I slid my fingers through

his hair, wanting more. He lifted my cock and circled the head with his tongue. The motion drove me

insane and I growled, thrusting deep into his mouth. He moaned around my prick, sucking hard.

"Fuck!" I pumped my cock in and out, holding his head still as I fucked his mouth. "Don't stop. Oh,

fuck..."

Hips jerking, I shot down his throat. He licked me off, kissed the tip of my cock, and sank back down into the water. I just lay there, boneless. Dear God, the man was talented. *** "There are things I do not speak of freely. Things that others could never understand."

After our time in the pool, we went back up to the room overlooking the underground city. Triarius leaned

out the window, hands braced on the sill as he stared down at the flurry of activity below. I sat in the chair

behind him, listening.

"You've had no one to confide in, not even all this time you've been alive?"

He shook his head. "I do not trust easily."

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"Why trust me?" "A kindred spirit, perhaps? Something I can't pinpoint, but know in my soul." I had the feeling it was the closest I would get to any sort of admission on his part. I couldn't imagine surviving that long, without a soul in existence to talk to, even if only idle chatter. Triarius struck me as the type to avoid idle chatter, though. Still, it had to suck. "So what happens now?" I asked him. "If Dai didn't accept me, then what makes you think anyone else will?" "Dai was corrupted. Twisted." I bit my tongue. Those words seemed a bit... odd, coming from a man like Triarius. "What does that have to do with the others?" Triarius turned to face me. "The word of the Elders is law. My word is law. With the Elders behind us, your presence will never be questioned again." It took a moment for what he said to sink in. When it did, my mouth dropped open and I stared at him. "Wait. You... you're talking about me... at your side. Not just a lover." "Co-ruler, if you will." I blinked. "Co-ruler. You're kidding." He shook his head. "But I know nothing about ruling -- anything. I don't know anything about your world, the Brotherhood. Hell, I know only a tiny bit about the Romanorum." "What better time to start learning?" I thought about it for a few minutes. I was certainly here for the long haul, so what other choice did I have but to embrace, more or less, my new-found position. I hadn't really expected him to make me co-ruler, but I couldn't deny the fact that a part of me was thrilled. It gave me a sense of power, even though it was nowhere near Triarius', or the Elders'. But still, it was power. "All right," I said, nodding. "Teach me." Triarius smiled and walked over, extending his hand. "Come. I want to show you the world I've built." I took his hand and stood. "After you." We went out and down a set of steps I hadn't realized was there, to the left of the door. When we reached the bottom, we were on one side of the dark river I'd seen from the landing above. Several people humans and vampires -- stopped and bowed when they saw us. Triarius nodded at them in turn, leading me down the path. On our left sat a row of what looked like caves. Fires burned in many of them from central circles. Pottery stood stacked along walls, wooden furniture filling the spaces. Thin, tattered cloths covered windows, though the doors remained open. Across the water, I thought I saw a blacksmith's shop, and even a grocer. A single wooden boat floated in the river, tethered to a post. It amazed me how efficient, how structured everything seemed to be. Everyone had a job, and they all went about it with purpose. It really was a city beneath the mountains. Primitive, but fully functional and

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self-sufficient.

Triarius pointed to the cave the river flowed through. "Just on the outside, there is a stronghold. Farmers

work the land, raise livestock, and do most of the processing there. They send the products down the river on small barges." "Don't you worry about the farmers and those patrolling the stronghold? What if they decide to turn you into the Romanorum?" "The humans who stand guard and those who farm, all belong to the Brotherhood. Most of them are ghouls to other vampires here, some even to the Elders." "Okay, that makes sense. Put those you trust -- those with something to lose -- in charge of that area. So if they go to the Romanorum, they are doomed to die as well, so they've gained nothing."

"Precisely."

"So, what about the Elders?"

"Well..." Triarius stepped aside when two women came down the path, carrying a large basket of fruits.

He smiled and nodded at them before they stepped into one of the spaces. "The Elders already know you are my Chosen. As it is within the Romanorum, we in the Brotherhood follow the practice of co-rulership when choosing a companion." "Master Triairus!"

We both looked up at the young woman calling from the landing above.

"The others are ready, Master," she said.

Triarius nodded and waved toward the steps we'd come down. "Shall we?"

I led the way back up the steps and down to the landing. The young woman was gone. "Where'd she go?"

"Oh, probably back with her mother."

"Mother?" I followed Triarius to the throne room.

"Victoria. Marie is her daughter -- in the vampiric sense. No familial relationship beyond Victoria having

turn Marie about twenty years ago. Marie is also her assistant."

Triarius opened the throne room door and stepped aside for me to enter. The Elders sat on benches around

the room and Triarius went up to the dais. I was surprised to see a smaller throne-type chair beside his. He

smiled and motioned to it. I went to him, and then sat down. It felt odd being up there, the subject of all

those gazes around me. Yet none of them seemed malicious. If anything, I felt like they all supported us -

or at least, they supported Triarius' decision. Whether they supported me specifically, I figured time

would tell.

"You all know why I have brought you here," Triarius said from where he stood in front of his throne.

"You all were witness to the trouble Dai brought down when he objected to my choice. Let it be said: if any man here objects to my choice of companion, then leave now."

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I looked around, but no one moved.

"Then let me formally introduce my Chosen, Mr. Lance Shaw." He looked back and held out a hand.

Taking it, I stood and bowed a little. Much to my surprise, everyone clapped. It helped to ease the worry

inside me. We both sat back down and the throne room doors opened. Servants appeared at our sides,

offering Triarius a cup, of blood, I assumed. For once, I took the wine offered to me without question. I

stared into the dark red depths, then over at Triarius.

"You only need to ask," he said. Then he bit down onto his own wrist and held it over my cup as the

blood dripped into the wine. The cuts healed and he took a sip of his own drink.

I closed my eyes and drank, almost moaning when I tasted him just beneath the flavor of the wine. Sharp,

sweet, powerful. When I opened my eyes once again, the room filled with dancers. I smiled when I

recognized the woman and man from my very first night here.

The woman came up and made a low bow before us, then turned to her partner. As if dancing to silent

music only they could hear, they began moving. Their rhythm was much like it had been before: slow,

sultry, erotic as hell. She circled her partner while he stood in the center, cock hard, her fingers dancing

along the length. She licked his shoulder, drifted behind him, and stopped.

Heartbeats passed.

Then she bit down, fangs piercing his throat. From out of nowhere, dancers surrounded them, men and

women, kissing, touching, licking... The man in the middle tipped his head back, eyes closed as another

man knelt down and swallowed his cock. Women flanked them, hands sliding over the man's chest, their

fingers linking when they met in the middle. The man cried out, hips jerking.

I watched in amazement as wings unfurled from behind him. Horns emerged from his hair, teeth turned to

fangs. The female dancer circled back in front of him, to face us. The discs on her body shimmered. Arms

spread, she tipped her head back and dropped to her knees, body shuddering as she transformed from

female into male. I was mesmerized.

"Now you see," Triarius whispered in my ear. "We are much different than your world."

"Yes..."

"You can have this," he said, waving his hand toward the dancers. "You can learn to do these things."

"How?"

"By becoming one of us."

I looked over at him. "What?"

"Let me turn you."

"I thought you wanted me to remain human, someone who could go to the outside if need be."

"That was my intention, before..." He smiled slowly. "Will you do it?"

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I glanced back at the dancers, with their bizarre rituals, their shifting forms. Was I willing to give up my humanity, to become like them, like Triarius? Being his ghoul had its perks, namely that I was off-limits should anyone think to let jealousy take over their reason. I wanted to learn. Whether or not I ever reported another news story again, my curiosity was insatiable. Sometimes to my detriment. Then again, sometimes not. "Okay." A tray was brought to me, and on it sat a small vial. I knew -- somehow knew -- what it was. Vampires couldn't turn without a formula to join the blood. I also knew that if I killed a mortal after this, my soul would forever wear the mark. A few days -- a week? -- or so ago, I would've fought with everything I had. Now, I only wanted to be a part of this world. If Triarius' plan had been to draw me into the Brotherhood, then he had succeeded. I took the vial and the servant stepped away. When I looked up from studying the viscous liquid, Triarius was standing before me. "Come. Join me." When I stood, he pulled me close and shadows swirled, engulfing us. I clung tightly to him, too startled to ask anything. When the shadows left, we were in his room. I eased my hold and looked around. "Wow. Neat trick." "Something you will learn to do in time." He cupped my chin and tilted my face up for a kiss. "On the bed." I stepped back, hit the edge, and fell backward. He came down with me and took the vial from my hand. Then his lips were back on mine, the kiss deep but unhurried. One hand ran down my side and gripped my hip, pressing us together. "If you change your mind, do it now." "No. I'm ready." He picked up the vial and uncapped it. Then he bit his wrist and held it over my mouth. I caught his arm and drank, prick hard as stone but my mind solely on the flavor bursting over my tongue. We both groaned, and he pushed against me, over and over, hips rocking until I cried out, the sound muffled by his arm, as I came. Triarius gasped, jerked hard against me, and I watched his eyes roll back a little, felt his cock throbbing beneath his pants. Then he pulled his arm away and tipped the vial over my mouth. I swallowed, ignoring the weird, almost caustic taste. When it was gone, he slit his wrist against and fed me more blood. The pain hit then. It slammed into me, twisting my insides into tight knots. I tore away from his arm and screamed, my throat closing. Clawing at my neck, my clothes, I thrashed on the bed, body seizing. I felt Triarius pin my arms down, his strength overwhelming. Still I fought. I knew I was dying, I knew it was necessary. But, oh, God...

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"Stop. Let it happen."

"Triarius!"

I bucked, the world fading fast. I tried to get him off of me, but the deed was done. I felt my heart, my

entire body, dying -- and there was nothing I could do to stop it now. With a final scream, I gave in. *** A few days, or nights, later... The first sight to greet me when I woke was Triarius. He hovered over me and smiled.

"Welcome back."

"I'm hungry." It was the only thing on my mind -- a gnawing, piercing hunger that twisted my gut.

Triarius helped me to sit, then made a slit in his own throat. He drew me to it and I groaned when the

scent of his blood hit me. Without thought, I latched on, the sensation of my fangs sinking into his flesh diminished in the rush of blood over my tongue. I drank deep, sucking, fingers digging into his shoulders. He moaned and cupped the back of my head, pressing me tighter to him. All I wanted was more. Fuck, he tasted good.

Somehow, he freed himself from me, and I growled in response, fangs bared, his blood on my lips.

"Shh, there will be more."

The door opened and Victoria came in, carrying a tray with several bottles. She set the tray on the bed

beside me, smiled, and left again. Triarius opened one of the bottles and handed it to me.

"Drink. It's mine. Taking any more from me will push me to feed, as well."

I grabbed the bottle and tipped it up, nearly choking on the blood but not caring in the least. By the third

bottle, the hunger had finally dissipated. I collapsed back onto the bed as Triarius set the tray on the floor. Then he stretched out beside me. I didn't question him when he wrapped me in his arms. This was where I needed to be -- now, and forever. "Forever is a long time," he whispered.

"Yeah, it is."

"Are you certain you can handle me for that long?"

I laughed and looked up at him. Only then did I realize he wasn't wearing his mask. Come to think of it...

"You... you haven't worn it since the pool..."

"No."

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"Why did you wear it, honestly?"

"People modify their bodies in many ways, for many reasons. Some do it for art, some for the pain. And

some, like myself, do it to hide from themselves. Self-loathing is a strong bedfellow to self-abuse."

"And the mask, its barbs... They were a way for you to remember what happened."

"To remind me that I am no longer beautiful."

I smiled. "Don't you think it's time to acknowledge the fact that you are, despite appearances?"

His brow furrowed. "I do believe you are blind," he said dryly.

"Nope." I rolled us until I was on top, straddling him, looking down at a face I'd grown to love in a very

short time. "While everything else might have changed in me, my eyesight is perfectly fine." I leaned

down and kissed a scarred line just below his right eye. Triarius' hands tightened on my waist.

"I am not perfect. I never will be."

"I don't want perfect..." I kissed along the line, then down to his lips. "I want you."

"You have me."

"I want everything, Triarius."

His hands left my waist and came up to cup my face, lifting my head until I was looking into his eyes.

"You have it, Lance."

I did. I saw it his eyes. I smiled and kissed him again, knowing full well what he left unsaid. He moaned softly, hands sliding back down to my hips, pulling me down onto him. I rocked, licking his lips, cock filling. His was hard, pressing against my ass. Triarius slipped his hands down into the loose pants I wore and pushed them over my hips and ass. Then he spread my cheeks, fingertips tapping against my hole. "Please," I murmured, pushing back. "In me."

One hand left and I attacked his neck as he shifted to reach the oil. Just as I grazed his throat with my

fangs, two slick fingers slid deep into my ass. I groaned and thrust back, driving them deeper. He stroked

them over my gland and sparks shot behind my closed eyelids. Then the fingers were gone and I lifted up

so Triarius could shove my pants down and off. I settled back onto him and sat up, sinking down onto his

cock.

"Oh, God..." Hands on his chest, I rode him, slow and easy.

Triarius watched me, his hold on my hips strong, every rock of his body going deeper. "Lance..."

I sped up, leaning down as he drew his legs up. He thrust harder, faster, forcing my breath out of me.

"Fuck. Triarius. Don't stop."

"Never." Fingers digging into my skin, Triarius pumped in and out of my body with enough force to make

the world spin. "Lance."

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I opened my eyes, right on the edge. "Please..."

One hand came up and fisted in my hair, tugging me down for a deep, hungry kiss, the words "I love you"

growled against my lips.

I shouted, eyes going wide as I came. He followed right behind me, pinning me down onto him as his

cock throbbed, heat pulsing deep into my ass.

I collapsed, panting. "Holy..."

Triarius nodded and I felt him kiss my head. "Indeed."

"Did... did you mean it?" I lifted my head to look down at him.

Triarius smiled. "I did. Never thought I'd say it, but it's true. Do you still think me a monster, a devil?"

"No, but you can still be infuriating."

He chuckled and flipped us, putting me on my back. "I do believe, Mr. Shaw, that you've warmed up to

me."

"Enough to see the man beneath the mask, and not the evil I thought he represented."

"Do you still regret your decision to interview me?"

"No. You've opened up my eyes to a world I never really knew, one that I wouldn't have understood if

you hadn't brought me down here." I stroked a fingertip down the right side of his face, but this time, he

didn't flinch. "And I thank you for that."

"Will you wear my mark?"

"Mark?"

He seemed to think for a few seconds before answering. "Something akin to a tattoo -- a sigil, a brand. It

shows that you are mine, and I am yours. The process is painful, but as a vampire, your body can

withstand more pain now that it could before."

"Then yes, I will," I said without hesitation.

Triarius placed his palm on my chest, just over my heart. "Mine." The second the word was out, fire

burned into my skin, searing and painful. I shouted, back arching as the heat rushed through me. Then it

faded. When Triarius lifted his hand, a golden sigil, the same one tattooed on his breastbone, was now

etched into my skin.

"Yours."

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Contributors

Mychael Black Mychael has been writing gay erotica for several years. When not writing, Mychael can usually be found researching or brainstorming. Mychael’s favorite subjects of research are: Medieval history, Welsh history, Welsh culture, Welsh language, Swords, Castles, Archaeology, Celtic history, Celtic mythology, Vampires and vampire mythologies, Magick, Christian mysteries, Angels, and other such topics. Mychael welcomes feedback and will gladly answer all messages. Laney Cairo Twenty five years ago, Laney Cairo rode with her local BMW Motorcycle Club and dated a mechanic. She still has her leather jacket. Jourdan Lane Jourdan Lane currently lives in south Texas with a husband and three very energetic children. When not playing the part of referee, maid, household bookkeeper, chef, etc... she writes. She does, however, have a fickle Muse that just can't decide who he likes to play with more. From vampires, demons, and angels to cowboys and country boys, writing time is never dull. Her interests are vast and too numerous to list, but there is one constant: she likes smut, any way you can serve it up, and has an absolute love of porn. To find out more, get a list of work in progress, or find out about other published works, visit her site: http://www.jourdanlane.com/ Willa Okati Willa Okati lives by the quotation: "When I have a little money, I buy books. If there’s any left over, I buy food and clothes". An avid reader since she was able to pick up a book, she spends just as much time writing stories about men, women, and the fun they get up to together. Physically, she lives in North Carolina, but mentally thrives in a world where each adventure is bigger and brighter than the next. She is also owned by far too many cats, but she insists that they serve as emissaries from the Muse and can’t spare a one of them. Please feel free to visit her web page at http://www.willsheornillshe.com/

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