Left Turn Ray Kowalski slipped his shades in his pocket and glanced around the
nightclub. The music wound its way down his spine into his feet,
but he resisted the natural urge to dance. He was here for business,
not pleasure and he'd just spotted his contact at table in an alcove off
to one side of the two-tiered dance floor. Dodging his way through
the crowd, Ray quickly made his way to Richard Ortega's table and slid
into an empty chair.
"What's up?" The question popped out as casually as it always
did, with not a trace of his worry showing. He hoped.
"Shipment's late, McCormick."
Ray nodded and breathed a mental sigh of relief that his cover was holding.
He slumped back in his chair and cocked his head to one side. "Listen, the shipment is on its way. There was slight delay in bypassing
Customs, but it'll be here by Friday."
"I have customers who needed it on Tuesday."
"And I'm real sorry about that, but stuff happens. I've got my
best guys on it. Friday—trust me."
"See, that's the problem, McCormick. I don't trust you."
Ortega waved his hand at two men standing behind him and snapped, "Take
him out back and find out what really happened to my shipment."
Ray's protests fell on deaf ears as Miguel and Tony dragged him from
his chair and frog-marched him through a darkened corridor to a back door
as if they hadn't all been drinking together just last week. The
taller man held Ray while the other stuck his head out into the alley to
check for witnesses.
"All clear, Miguel." Ray stumbled as Miguel pushed him through
the door, but the man didn't turn him loose.
"Guys, come on. You know me. The shipment'll be here just
like I promised. There's no need to get—" Ray broke off as Tony's
fist drove deep into his gut and he focused all his powers of concentration
on not throwing up on his boots.
"Fuck, that hurt. Are we done now—" Ray's teeth snapped together
as the next punch whipped his head to one side.
For the next several minutes, Ray forgot about trying to talk to his
assailants and took the beating as best he could. His vision was
so blurry from blood running in his eyes and the blows to the head, that
he wasn't quite sure what he was seeing when the new guy showed up so unexpectedly.
He'd have sworn the man had dropped straight down from the sky.
As soon as Miguel's hands were ripped away from Ray's biceps, Ray fell
to the ground, gasping and rolling into a ball to protect his already bruised
and broken ribs from the kicks that would surely come next. He heard
scuffling and a couple of thumps and then silence. After a few moments
of nothing happening, Ray rolled over and lifted a careful hand to rub
his eyes.
Miguel and Tony were crumpled in unnatural positions against the building
across the alleyway, and the newcomer was standing over Ray looking down
at him with an inscrutable expression. Dressed in faded jeans, a
T-shirt advertising the Jim Rose Circus Side Show, and a long black leather
coat, the guy looked oddly imposing despite his average size and non-threatening
stance. Ray blamed that on his up-from-the-ground perspective, but
when he painfully dragged himself up to prop his back against a dumpster,
he could see that the guy was not more than 5' 8" yet radiated the power
of a much larger man. Ray shook his head at the general weirdness
and immediately regretted the impulsive action as lights exploded in front
of his eyes and he nausea rolled through him in a bitter hot wave.
He swallowed hard and breathed deeply through his nose, which had miraculously
remained unbroken.
The man shook longish black hair out of lime green eyes and smiled at
Ray, revealing long fangs that gleamed like broken glass in the dim light.
"You're hurting pretty bad, aren't you? I can make it stop.
Do you want me to take the pain away, Ray Kowalski?"
"How—who...I'm...I'm McCormick," Ray stammered thickly through swollen
split lips.
"No, you are Stanley Raymond Kowalski. I know you inside and out,
young man, you can't lie to me."
The man's whiskey dark voice seemed to resonate pleasantly inside Ray's
skull and he closed his eyes to better appreciate the sensation.
He wondered why this man, who looked to be nearly ten years younger than
Ray, was calling him "young man" in that faintly paternal tone, but he
couldn't bring himself to ask. He wanted to ask what happened to
the other guys, but the only word he could get past his lips was, "Yes."
"Do you want me to take away your pain?"
"Yes."
"You want me to save you?"
"Yes."
"You want my gift."
"Yes."
"You want me."
The mesmerizing power in that low voice thrummed along his nerve endings,
and Ray was only vaguely aware that the man had stopped asking questions
and started making statements. It was as if he knew that Ray couldn't possibly
say, "No." And in truth, Ray wasn't sure of what the strange man
was offering, just knew that he had to have it. He had a sudden soul-deep
need for something, and this man was silently promising to give it to
him. Ray had to have it, whatever 'it' was. Without conscious effort,
he lifted his arms toward the compelling man and murmured, "Please?"
The world spun around Ray's head, wind whipping past his ears in a dizzying
rush. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, trying not to
puke. When everything settled again, he opened his eyes and stared
up at more stars than he'd ever seen from the city. Little bits of
pea gravel dug into the back of his head, and he somehow knew he was on
a rooftop so high the light pollution from the city didn't obscure all
the stars. Lying on his back, he felt like he was floating in the
universe. Every place that he'd been punched or kicked was screaming in
agony, but he could ignore it all for the moment.
His rescuer crouched beside Ray and asked him, "Are you ready?"
Ray almost laughed, but couldn't remember why he wanted to, so he just
nodded, "Yes."
Cool lips settled carefully on his and Ray sighed into the kiss, allowing
a wet tongue to press between his teeth. His aches and pains slowly
faded from his consciousness and arousal rushed in to take their place.
This was so good, exactly what he'd needed. Ray whimpered his
loss when the man drew away slightly, licking a path down his throat, stopping
briefly to nip at his ear. By the time the cool lips settled over
his jugular vein, Ray felt his cock responding to the stimulation in typical
fashion—he was hard as a rock. His neck had always been a particularly
sensitive area for him, and this guy was hitting all the hot spots.
Moaning as the razor sharp teeth sank into his flesh, Ray flinched as
pictures and sensations bombarded his mind. A young man—not much
more than a boy—walking along a riverbank in some foreign place.
Names and faces. Swirling shadows as a woman in red danced around
a campfire. Darkness. Pain shooting from neck to groin.
Falling. The shock of frigid water closing over his head. Should
be dead. Didn't die. The last rays of a crimson sunset then more
darkness. Can't die. Won't die. A trash-strewn alley.
Pain. Two men with broken necks. Flying. Blood.
Stars wheeling through space. Weakness draining his body.
Then time stopped.
Warm salty fluid dripped onto Ray's lips and he lapped at it hungrily.
Discovering that it was blood did nothing to quench his thirst. He
needed more so he took it, until his entire body convulsed in the most
powerful orgasm of his life. Waves of pleasure rolled through him,
on and on until the night swallowed him up.
The sound of low voices nearby brought Ray to consciousness and he lay
unmoving bundled into some sort of tight space, listening carefully.
Two men—one Chicago accent, the other...not. They seemed to be arguing
over chasing a thief. Ray almost smiled when the Chicago accent rose
above the other in exasperation and said, "Benny, the guy tried to steal
hubcaps from a Pinto. If anything, I should arrest him for criminal
stupidity."
"Stupidity is not against the law, but stealing is. I believe
he ran this way." This voice was reasonable, certain, and moving
closer. It washed over Ray like a balm, and he realized the pain
from his beating seemed to be fading with every shallow breath he took.
"Should've had Dief with us. He could have retrieved the perpetrator
so we wouldn't have to be in this disgusting alley in the—" Chicago accent
broke off his complaints and muttered, "Uh oh. Fraser, look over
here."
"Oh dear. These men are dead, Ray."
Ray's ears twitched as he heard his name, but the Chicago accent answered
so he opened his eyes slightly and saw that he was wedged between the bottom
of a dumpster and a brick wall. He held himself very still trying
to be as quiet as possible, so he could figure out what was going on.
The two men continued to talk about crime scenes, calling back up, and
canvassing the area. Ray prayed that his dark clothes would keep
him out sight until he decided what he needed to do. He thought he
should try to maintain his cover, but he didn't want to be hauled in for
two murders that he didn't commit.
A group of women stumbled out the back door of the club laughing and
talking loudly and Ray took the opportunity to scoot out of his hiding
place and crouch behind the dumpster. He peeked around the corner
just as the women began screaming. The two men who talked like cops
rushed to their aid, and Ray got his first look at the owner of the voice
that had soothed him so much earlier. The man was dressed in the
red serge jacket and black jodhpurs that made up the dress uniform of the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Although he didn't look at all like a Benny, this Fraser person did
appear to be an authentic Mountie. That would explain the accent,
Ray thought to himself as he slipped away under the cover of the women's
hysteria.
Farther down the alley, Ray turned into a breezeway between two buildings
and saw a fire escape just overhead. Holding one arm against ribs
that should have ached but didn't, Ray jumped up to catch the bottom of
the ladder...and leaped about twelve feet straight up into the air.
He was so surprised he almost fell back to the ground, but he grabbed a
rail and easily pulled himself onto the second story platform. He
went up fourteen stories in seconds, his feet barely touching the stairs.
When he got to the last floor, he took a deep breath and swung off the
grill and onto the small metal ladder that hooked over the wall surrounding
the roof. He climbed up and huffed a sigh of relief when his feet
settled securely on the cracked black tar.
Ray crossed the roof, backtracking toward the alley he'd just left.
He was too curious to go home without knowing what was going on, and he
really didn't feel all that bad anymore. He poked at his ribs—not
even a twinge. Licking dried blood off his lips, he discovered the
swelling was gone and the cuts had healed. He touched his forehead
and found that the cut that had been dripping blood into his eyes was gone,
the skin sticky but as unmarked as when he'd left home that evening.
The odd disoriented feeling of being slightly outside of himself was fading
too. To test the theory, he walked cautiously to the edge of the
building, bracing against the wind.
When he looked over the edge of the building, he didn't feel as dizzy
or frightened as he might have expected, even though the ground seemed
very far away. He looked at the next building, maybe ten feet away
and one story taller, and he remembered his jump to the fire escape.
He hadn't even been trying that time. Imagine what he could do if
he really put his mind and body into it.
Ray stepped up onto the knee-high wall, bent his knees, and pushed hard,
flinging himself off into space. His triumphant laugh when he landed
safely on the roof of the next building startled some sleeping pigeons,
but he barely noticed. He was too caught up in the wonder of the
moment. He was tempted to do it again... and again and again until
he had circled the entire city on nothing but rooftops. But he remembered
his original plan to check out the crime scene so he continued silently
on his way until he found a good vantage point.
Other cops had joined the first two and the area was cordoned off with
crime scene tape and wooden barriers where a couple of uniforms guarded
the mouth of the alley. One of them was Joey Crosetti whom Ray had
worked with before and the other he didn't recognize but the nametag on
his jacket read Gregory. Ray shook his head when he realized he could
see all that without his glasses. Something very queer had happened
to him tonight and he settled back against a shed to watch the circus below
and try to remember the details.
The Mountie stood off to one side speaking to a uniform and Ray found
that if he concentrated he could hear the conversation. He closed
his eyes and listened to the melody of the Mountie's voice, not paying
much attention to the actual content until the man said, "Good evening"
and moved away from the officer. Ray opened his eyes in time to see
him follow a balding guy in an expensive suit to an old green Buick Riviera,
which they got into and drove away.
Ray jumped to his feet and followed, running across rooftops until he
got to the street where he'd parked his car. He somehow managed to
get ahead of the Buick, so when it passed he waited a few seconds and pulled
out behind it. He followed the two men to the twenty-seventh precinct
station house where he parked a couple of blocks away and waited.
Two hours later, the two men came out again, got back in the car, and drove
away with Ray following at a discreet distance.
When the car stopped outside a shabby apartment building in a rough
neighborhood, Ray was surprised to see the Mountie get out and the cop
just leave him there. Ray parked his car and hoped it would
still be intact when he got back. As he approached the building,
he saw a flash of that distinctive red in one of the upper floor windows
with his newly enhanced sight. Ray was sorely tempted to climb the
fire escape and peek in the window or otherwise spy on the Mountie, but
he made note of the location, turned around, and went home.
His earlier exhilaration had worn off, and he had much to think about,
questions in need of answers, bizarre events to be assimilated. He
was also very, very thirsty.
Entering his apartment, Ray didn't bother with lights. He went
directly to the kitchen and filled a glass with water straight from the
tap. He drank it down, refilled the glass, and walked around the
counter into the living room. He'd just settled tiredly on the sofa,
when a voice drifted out of the dark to his left.
"That's not going to help, you know."
Sighing, Ray reached out and clicked on a lamp, illuminating his uninvited
guest lounging comfortably in an easy chair. "What?"
"The water. It won't quench your thirst, not for long anyway.
You need to feed."
"How did you get in here? Who are you? And just what the
fuck are you talking about?" Ray had the fleeting thought that he
should be scared or worried or something, but all he felt was tired— and
thirsty, of course. Still thirsty. "Did I cover everything?"
"I fear that you will have even more questions before the night is over,
Ray. May I call you Ray? I suppose I should after the incredibly
intimate experience we shared. I did save your life after all."
White teeth and pale green eyes gleamed in the lamplight, sparking a memory
in the back of Ray's mind.
"No, you didn't. I was getting my ass kicked, sure, but they wouldn't
have killed me. Tony's a sadistic little fuck, but Miguel wouldn't
have—"
"Are you so sure of that? You had some broken ribs. The
right blow—" The man demonstrated sharply in the air with one hand.
"—could have driven a rib through a lung and then how long would you have
lasted? A few more blows to the head, the kidneys, blood...loss."
"What'd you do to me?" Ray asked with a sick feeling in the pit of his
stomach, fearing the answer, but having to ask.
"I gave you my gift. I made you a vampire."
"Yeah, right. That's Anne Rice books and Hammer films."
"Lucky for us, there's no Doctor Van Helsing making our extinction his
life's work," laughed the man in Ray's living room.
"Who are you, ya freak?" Ray was getting seriously frustrated,
and the burning in the back of his throat seemed to be spreading to the
rest of his body. He picked up his forgotten glass and drank the
water, but the thirst was hardly lessened.
"You can call me Trevor."
"But that's not your real name is it?" Memory stirred again, disjointed
and splintered. Memories only nominally his own. "Dario.
Your real name is Dario Ale—"
"Not anymore." The Vampire cut him off sharply. "It was
once upon a time, but now it's Trevor. Real can be so relative."
He sat up and rummaged around in his coat pockets, finally withdrawing
something, which he pitched casually at Ray. "Here, this will make
you feel better."
Ray caught the tossed object reflexively, and stared down at the warm,
slick bag in confusion for a moment before the dark red color finally made
sense to him. He raised his eyes to Trevor and stammered, "This is...this
is really blood? This is blood."
"Yes, O Positive. You're going to need it." Trevor stood
up slowly and removed his coat, revealing a snake tattoo winding around
his right forearm from elbow to wrist. Flinging his coat over the back
of the chair, he sat next to Ray and took the bag from his unresisting
hand. His eyes seemed to glow as he spoke in that soft resonating
voice that Ray remembered from the alley. "Trust me, Ray. This
is the only way to relieve the hunger inside you."
Ray swallowed hard as the vampire bit a small hole in the top of the
bag and filled Ray's empty water glass with thick maroon liquid.
He tried not to think about what the substance was, only that it would
make him feel better. Trevor tilted the glass to his own lips, then
quickly took Ray's mouth in a deep kiss, letting the blood pour over his
tongue and down Ray's throat. Moaning deeply, Ray sucked and licked
every bit of blood from the other man's mouth. When he was ready
to beg for more, Trevor sipped from the glass again and returned for another
nourishing kiss.
Ray was astonished to find his cock getting hard, and thought to himself
that those books he'd read had gotten one of their facts wrong. Needless
to say, this discovery pleased him greatly. The rush of arousal through
his bloodstream seemed to twine with his hunger, until there was a single
twisting, sparking need. A burning desire for the man he'd wrapped
his arms around at some point.
Ray's teeth felt unaccountably itchy, and he ripped his mouth off Trevor's.
The other man grinned widely showing an impressive set of fangs that hadn't
been visible earlier. Instead of revulsion, lust hit Ray like an
electric current. He lunged at Trevor, sinking his teeth into the
long pale throat, bent and bared for his delectation. There was a
brief moment of disorientation when Ray's fangs pierced skin for the first
time, but the iron sweetness that dripped onto his tongue focused him.
He'd barely gotten his first mouthful when fingers fiercely gripped his
hair and pulled his head away.
"No, no, my eager young friend. I've already fed you once tonight."
Trevor shoved the glass into Ray's hand and tilted it to his mouth.
"Here, this is your nourishment. Consider your taste of me...foreplay."
Drinking it down greedily, Ray asked for more and the second glassful
disappeared as quickly as the first. Licking the residue off his
lips, Ray sighed with relief as the burning hunger abated, leaving behind
only arousal. He gave Trevor a sideways glance and saw that the vampire
was watching him intently, waiting for something. Waiting to see
if Ray would make the first move or if he would flee in terror?
Ray smiled and flicked the end of his tongue over his new fangs, feeling
a well of personal confidence that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
He could make the first move all right, and he would, just as soon as he
got a few more answers. He took the bag off the coffee table and
asked, "Where'd this come from?"
"Blood bank. Your first feeding should be human, but after that
it makes no difference."
"So I don't have to kill people to survive? If I do bite somebody,
do they die or become a vampire or what?"
"No, you don't have to kill, although many do out of sport or lack of
self-control or their own evil natures. I don't know what motivates
the more predatory among my brothers." A look of sadness passed through
Trevor's eyes, then he ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the strands
back from his face. He smiled with self-effacing charm and
said, "But I don't always understand my own motives either—not in killing,
that I understand all too well, but in turning or procreating, you could
say. You're a good example of my inability to control my impulses.
I saw you and I wanted you to have the gift. I felt great pain in
you—not just from the assault either. An old pain radiated from
your very soul and I wanted to take it away. I am too full of myself
sometimes."
Ray was so angry he could hardly see straight. "You're full of something,
all right. I'll deal with my own pain and my own soul, thank you
very much. You just tell me what I'm supposed to do now. Sleep
in a coffin, turn into a bat, what? You made me what I am, so tell
me what that is and answer my questions."
"I like you, Ray Kowalski. You have fire." Ray's eyes narrowed
and Trevor laughed and continued, "You have to drain someone to the point
of death and then give them your blood to turn them into a vampire.
You will be too weak to do so for awhile, and I don't recommend it anyway
until you fully understand the life."
"Hypocrite," Ray muttered under his breath, but Trevor ignored him.
"You may drink from a human—or animal if you prefer, although I can't
imagine why you would— for sustenance or purely for pleasure and they
will recover quite nicely as long as you don't take too much. Draining
them completely will kill them, taking a bit too much will put them in
the hospital in need of transfusions and that raises too many questions.
If you have taken so much that your victim is that weak, go ahead and kill
them and save yourself and all the rest of us the potential trouble an
inquiry would create."
"That's cold."
"That's survival! If you prefer to avoid intimate human contact,
you can be one of those angsty, suffering vampires who only takes from
butcher shops. I'll give you an address where you can safely procure
all the blood you could need at a reasonable price." The smile returned
as he added, "I know a guy."
"You know a guy that sells blood to vampires right here in Chicago?
Sure, why not? Makes as much sense as anything else that's happened
tonight."
"You may sleep anywhere you wish, anytime you wish, as long as you stay
out of direct sunlight, of course. It hurts like a motherfucker."
Ray's eyebrows shot up and Trevor said just a tad defensively, "Well,
it does. The coffin, the dirt, the compulsion to sleep as long as
the sun is up is all myth. The stake through the heart, unfortunately,
is not. Avoid all sharp, pointy wooden things."
"Myths, huh? What about..." Ray abruptly stood up and went into
the bathroom and turned on the light. He stared into the mirror,
relieved to find that he still had a reflection. His hair was still
blond and spiky, if really in need of washing at the moment, and his eyes
were still blue. He opened his mouth and inspected his teeth, but
the fangs were gone. "Hey, where'd the fangs go?"
Trevor answered from directly behind him just as his reflection appeared
over Ray's shoulder. "The lust has faded, more's the pity. At first,
they only extend when you need them or have strong physical reactions,
but as you get older and stronger you will be able to control them.
It's a learned skill, like walking or talking."
Ray nodded absently and picked at his blood and dirt streaked clothes.
"I need a shower. You won't leave, will you?"
"I'll even join you if you want."
"No thanks, but don't leave yet. Please?"
"I will stay here, but when dawn approaches, I will have to go home
or I'll be stuck here all day."
Ray looked Trevor up and down and felt his teeth getting itchy again.
Time to make that first move. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"You may wish to be alone to deal with the changes." Ray started
to strip off his clothes with slow languid movements, and Trevor cleared
his throat. "Or not. I have to go out for a moment, but I will return
shortly."
"I'll be here." Ray took off his underwear, turned on the water,
and stepped into the shower, unconcerned that Trevor was still in the doorway
watching his every move. He felt good about himself, Trevor, the
Mountie he'd seen earlier, his new life, everything. It was a sensation
that he was not accustomed to feeling, and would probably not last long,
so he was determined to enjoy it while it did.
He washed his hair, soaped his body, and luxuriated in the hot water
until his fingers started to wrinkle. He shut off the water and grabbed
a towel, drying off quickly and thoroughly before walking naked into his
bedroom for clean clothes.
Ray had just slipped on a pair of boxer briefs when he heard his front
door open. Quietly taking his spare gun from the nightstand, he went
and peeked around the edge of the bedroom doorframe. Trevor gave
him a friendly wave, as if he didn't notice the gun pointed at him, and
set a grocery sack and smaller white bag on the counter that divided kitchen
from living room. "It's just me, Ray. No need to hide...or
dress."
Ray put the gun down since he was unsure if it would do any good.
Shooting Trevor was the last thing he wanted to do right now, especially
when he pulled off his coat and turned to hang it up, revealing just how
snugly those faded jeans fit his backside. The vampire moved gracefully,
as if his feet didn't quite touch the ground. He reminded Ray of
some of the men at a ballroom dance competition that he and Stella had
once entered. Those men had moved with such flowing grace that Ray
had felt clumsy and slow in comparison, but he and Stella had come in second
anyway. She'd gotten the trophy in the divorce, but he'd gotten the
picture, which meant much more to him than any cheesy hunk of metal and
plastic.
"So what's in the bags?" Taking Trevor's advice about not putting
on clothes, Ray walked into the living room clad only in his shorts.
"If there's a severed head in there, I'm going to be very upset."
Trevor laughed and said, "Wayne's World. I loved that flick."
"You watch movies?"
"Breaks the monotony of haunting musty old mansions and hanging out
in graveyards."
"Yeah, okay, I got you. So, the bags?" Ray found the other
man's habit of straying from the subject and his own tendency to follow
rather irritating.
"Ah, yes. Well, this one is... groceries." Reaching into
the big brown bag, Trevor pulled out three dark green wine bottles and
a six pack of beer in dark brown bottles. Groceries for an alcoholic
maybe, thought Ray but he didn't say anything, just crossed his arms and
leaned against the back of the couch. Trevor held out one of the
beer bottles and showed Ray the label that read Butcher Breweries, Limited.
"These will probably get you through the week. When you get stronger,
you won't need to feed nearly as much."
There it was again. The word 'feed' sent a shudder down Ray's
spine, driving home just how strange his life had become. Now he
was a freak like this man who was rummaging around in his cabinets.
"What are you looking for?"
"Wine glasses." Pulling out a couple of Scooby Doo jelly glasses,
Trevor muttered under his breath complaints that Ray chose to ignore.
"What for? We already... tonight."
"For the wine." Trevor reached into the white bag and pulled out a wine
bottle with a traditional sounding name. "I was in the mood for Chianti."
"It's real wine?" Ray refused to be surprised by anything else
for the rest of the night. He was just surprised right out.
"Yes. It's odd, no? We can drink anything we want, just
can't eat." Now he rattled around in the kitchen drawers, finally
pulling out a combination bottle/can opener that had a built-in corkscrew.
"Trust me on this. Eating will make you violently ill. Alcohol
doesn't have as much effect as on mortals, but it will eventually make
you drunk."
Opening the bottle and filling the glasses, Trevor handed the Shaggy
one to Ray and held up his own Velma cup, saying, "To your new life!"
"Yeah, cheers," Ray snorted, but he did tip the glass back for a long
sip. "What else you got in there?"
Trevor's eyes took on that glowy look and he smiled. "Astroglide.
Not my favorite, but it's what was available."
Nodding his understanding, Ray took another sip of wine then set the
glass aside, reaching for Trevor. The other man moved into his arms
smoothly, his hard body coming to rest against Ray's nearly naked one.
Ray felt a tingle that started in his teeth and moved straight down to
his groin, taking no detours. His hands clutched the back of Trevor's
t-shirt and it was all he could do not to rip it off his body. Instead,
he pulled it out of the vampire's jeans so he could get at the smooth cool
skin underneath.
Opening his mouth under Trevor's kisses, Ray discovered that the fangs
that were so useful in the neck area were also a danger to tongues.
Until he learned to avoid them as instinctively as Trevor seemed to, the
kisses were blood flavored, and not unpleasant as he might have imagined.
Ray moaned into Trevor's mouth as the vampire's clever hands skated
over his body, teasing and tempting him with light touches. Ray's
own hands seemed frozen on the other man's ass where they had worked under
the denim of his jeans. His hips bucking sharply as Trevor nipped
at his throat, Ray dug his erection into his partner's and tried to maintain
his slippery grip on control.
"Trevor...wait a minute," Ray gasped, pulling one hand free to tug at
the other man's clothes. Trevor's hands left Ray's body and started
to help Ray with the disrobing. His mouth remained on Ray's throat,
licking, kissing, nibbling— but not sucking, never puncturing the skin.
As Ray worked at getting the other man naked, he pushed his throat into
Trevor's mouth, wanting the bite again. Needing it.
Trevor lifted his head and smiled. "Not yet." He stripped
his shirt over his head and shoved his jeans down not bothering with his
shoes and socks. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the tube of lubricant
and pressed it into Ray's hand. Then he spun around and braced himself
over the back of the couch.
Ray looked at the lube in his hand and then at the expanse of creamy
skin before him, and nearly ripped his underwear off. He slicked
his fingers and prepared Trevor first, not taking as much time as he might
have liked in a calmer state of mind. He gritted his teeth as he
applied the cool gel to his throbbing erection. He had to close his
eyes and breathe deeply, before he could even think of approaching Trevor
because he knew it would be over in a flash if he didn't.
As Ray opened his eyes and stepped closer, Trevor growled at him to
hurry. He glared at Ray over his shoulder, eyes glowing and fangs
fully extended. Ray's cock jumped in his hand and he swallowed hard,
placing the head of his cock at the entrance of Trevor's body. Wrapping
one arm around his middle, Ray pressed slowly inside, pausing briefly to
let the other man adjust to his presence then pushing steadily until he
was completely buried in the warmth of the Trevor's body. He asked
hesitantly, "Trevor...are you okay?"
"Yes!" The vampire thrust his hips back and pleaded, "More, Ray.
Hard and fast."
Hard and fast suited Ray's desires, so he whispered, "All right, hang
on." And then he braced his hands on Trevor's hips and gave him what
they both wanted, stabbing deep, pulling almost out, then slamming home
again. Over and over, he thrust his cock into the man who had most
likely destroyed his current life and given him a new one that he could
barely fathom. He bit back the anger, knowing this was not the time
for it, and focused on the pleasure of the tight warm body he was pumping
into. Leaning his head forward, he buried his nose in the back of
Trevor's soft dark hair. A fleeting image of a beautiful man in red
flashed past his closed eyelids and then Ray was coming explosively inside
Trevor.
Collapsing onto Trevor's back, Ray rode the wave as the gasping man
jerked his own cock until he climaxed, groaning Ray's name. Ray felt
a minute flutter of guilt that he'd been thinking of someone else at the
golden moment, but he shook it off easily. He didn't owe this man
a damn thing, if anything it was the other way around.
Yeah, he owes me, Ray thought suddenly. He took it upon himself
to turn me into a monster like him. Monster—arrogant— freak—son
of a bitch.
Without another thought, Ray raised one hand and twisted his fingers
in Trevor's hair, pulling his head around, baring the side of his neck.
He lunged forward and drove his fangs in before the other man could protest.
The savory-sweet blood rushed over his tongue and through his veins like
fire. His cock stiffening again inside Trevor, Ray started thrusting
again, even harder than before, shoving inside with a fierce ache in his
gut that he'd never felt before during sex. With a wet groan, he
pulled his mouth from the promise of Trevor's throat. Cursing with
every ragged, sobbing breath, Ray fucked the vampire with hard, jerky thrusts
until he came with a pain wracked whimper.
Wrenching himself free without a thought for the other man, Ray stumbled
back against the counter. "What'd I just do? Fuck! What've
you done to me?"
Blood trickling down his shoulder and the inside of his thigh, Trevor
straightened to his full height and cocked his head to one side, turning
slowly. His blank stare met Ray's horrified gaze as he asked mildly,
"Feel better now?"
"No!" Ray choked out the word and fled to his room, feeling stupid
and dirty. He slammed the door and then cursed himself for acting
like a teenage girl. He stomped into the bathroom to wash off.
"You have fucked up royally this time, Ray. You have...you have really.
Fucked. Up."
After another long shower, this one cold, Ray walked out of the bathroom
and noticed his bedroom door was still closed. Yet, he could feel
the other man still in the apartment. Trevor must have decided to give
him the space that he so obviously needed. He'd thought he was dealing
fairly well with the complete alteration of his life but apparently that
wasn't the case.
Dressed in comfort clothes of worn chinos and a faded sweatshirt, Ray
opened his bedroom door to find his...what? Lover, attacker, victim,
killer...what could he call the man currently lounging on his sofa with
a glass of wine and yesterday's newspaper? He shook his head and
noticed that the radio was playing low in the background.
"Make yourself at home," offered Ray with a feeble attempt at a smile.
"I did, thank you. Are you feeling better now?" Trevor laid
the paper aside, and sat up straighter, watching Ray carefully.
"Yeah. Uh...no."
"Feeling guilty for what you did and angry for what I did?" Trevor
slowly got to his feet and stalked toward Ray, smooth as a panther after
prey. Ray stood his ground, although a cloud of butterflies took
flight in his stomach and a fine sheen of sweat popped out on his forehead.
"Ray, look at me." Ray almost laughed at that because he couldn't
look anywhere else, and he was trying. He blinked once and suddenly
Trevor was there, surrounding him, crowding him up against the wall.
Ray's eyes widened as Trevor's hand closed around his throat and lifted
him a good six inches off the floor. "No matter what happened earlier,
you can't overpower me. I let you get rough with me because I felt
that you needed the release. I've already healed."
Spots dancing in his eyes from lack of oxygen, Ray clawed at the hand
on his throat, but Trevor just shook him like a rag doll and tossed him
through the doorway to land with a bounce in the middle of his bed.
He lay there gasping for breath and imagining how easily Trevor could have
tossed him through a window or up against a brick wall. Like Tony
and Miguel, a little voice reminded him. Yeah, exactly like that.
For one long endless moment, Ray was paralyzed with a terror like he'd
never felt before, not even facing down three escaped felons with no backup.
The enormity of what this man was and could do to him overwhelmed him,
and it was all Ray could do to draw air through his tortured throat.
The room went grey around him and he felt that floaty disconnected sensation,
that before tonight he'd only associated with massive amounts of alcohol.
Since he'd never cared for that feeling, he didn't drink much.
"Ray. Ray. Ray!" His name being repeated with increasing
volume finally penetrated the haze. Ray blinked and shook his head,
limbs twitching as if to reassure him that they could. A bump from
the end of the bed made him raise his head and look around. Trevor
was kneeling on the end of the bed between Ray's spread feet, wearing an
impatient look on his face.
"What?" Ray muttered for lack of more intelligent comment, surprised
but pleased that his throat didn't hurt anymore.
"You're not going catatonic on me, are you? Because if so, this
will be one very long day."
"Day? What time's it?" Ray turned and squinted at the clock.
"Nine-thirty? For real?"
"Sunrise came and went while we were...too busy to notice. You've
been lying here staring at the ceiling for over two hours." As Trevor
spoke, Ray sat up and faced him. The man looked a bit sheepish as
he said, "I'm afraid you're stuck with me until this evening."
"It's okay. Umm...what now?" Ray asked, truly having no
clue as to how to proceed from here.
"Well, it's been a long, eventful night, so I'd just like to go to sleep,
if it's all right with you. I can go sack out on the sofa..."
Ray thought for a moment about rolling over and going to sleep alone
and then sighed. "Nah, come on up here. There's plenty of room."
Ray got up and pulled the covers back while Trevor checked to make sure
the windows were sufficiently covered. After a moment's hesitation,
Ray stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed, watching as Trevor
did the same.
The two men lay in the not quite dark for several minutes, each carefully
staying on his side of the bed. Finally, Trevor rolled over and reached
out to Ray, asking softly, "If I hold you while we sleep, you won't get
too attached will you?"
"Uh, no. I guess not," replied Ray, with a shrug. He moved
closer so that Trevor could wrap himself around him. Ray got a mental image
of the snake tattoo that made him distinctly uncomfortable. Yet it was
so nice to share a bed with another person again that he shook it off and
settled into sleep.
Ray caught himself reaching for the jar of instant coffee, and checked
the movement. Maybe later, he thought, opening the refrigerator door
and grabbing a bottle. Unscrewing the top, he took a long gulp straight
from the bottle and made an important discovery. Cold blood was not
nearly as appetizing as the warm variety. He choked down that first
mouthful, then filled a coffee mug and popped it into the microwave for
about a minute.
Propping his elbows on the counter, he read the note that lay propped
against the telephone. Trevor was gone, as Ray had already suspected,
and the note indicated that he wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.
True to his word, he'd left a card with an address and hours of business
and the instructions, "Ask for Len. Tell him you know me."
The bell dinged on the microwave and Ray removed the mug of warmed blood,
taking a cautious sip. "That's more like it," he hummed with satisfaction,
then settled down to figure out how he could keep his job and his new secret
at the same time.
Right now, he was undercover trying to infiltrate a drug ring, so moving
only at night was definitely do-able. After this assignment, it was
anyone's guess where he'd be sent. He wasn't going to sweat it for
now. He could always quit. He'd never really wanted to be a
cop in the first place. Hell, he could track Marcus Ellery down and
then go on about the rest of his life. His very long, night-time
life.
Ray groaned and went to refill his cup. This was going to be one
long night, and he had to suck it up and get going. He had to try
to salvage his cover and find out what was going on in the murder investigation.
For purely personal reasons, he was also going to look into why a Canadian
Mountie was riding with a Chicago detective.
Permanent Midnight I
by Amy B
"I'm here and I wonder if I'm lost
'cause I can't seem to understand the way I feel
I'm not here to be a creep
I'm just feeling incomplete
Take me home"
— from "Home" by Econoline Crush
When Ray woke up, the room was dark and the bed was empty. A glance
at the clock showed that he'd slept a little over nine hours. He
rubbed at his eyes and tossed the covers back. The back of his throat
was burning and his insides felt hollow, so he headed straight for the
kitchen.
