Then There Were Three
Alex next to me, noticing my interest. His eyes narrow. He thinks I'm being
soft again, caring about a stranger getting his ass kicked. Then he sees my
face. He is a sharp man, very quick in grasping the content of expressions.
"You know that guy?" His voice, husky and dark, as always sending delightful
little tingles down my spine. Not now, not now. I nod quickly, giving him a
wiggle of eyebrow, and big puppydog eyes. A plea. Not that I really have to
ask. He might do it just for fun.
He shrugs casually, and is off without another look. Sleek as a panther and
twice as deadly. Lightning fast. I can see his distaste in the contemptuous
curl of his mouth, but I know it's not for Xander. Alex's contempt is reserved
for the sorry assholes that are about to die. Being the force of nature that he
is, Alex despises thugs like that, who go about their dastardly deeds in craven
numbers, three huge leathermonkeys against one lost teenager. Three big, ugly,
reeking pushers pimps gangbangers. I can smell death in the small alley. The
adrenaline of fear coming from Xander. The adrenaline of excitement from Alex.
The adrenaline of violence from the men. Blood, garbage, bile.
They are too preoccupied with turning Xander into a bloody pulp to notice Alex
coming up behind them. Even if they weren't they might still not notice him.
Stealth is not something he has to work on, it's the way he exists. I press
my back into the wall, the anticipation of imminent violence, imminent death,
making my head spin.
Alex could take these stupid thugs with one arm tied behind his back. Snakebite
punch to the face, angled just right for that lethal bonechip-to-the-brain
effect. There—his arm around the next guy's neck—they don't know what the
fuck hit them, and one's down already. And what did he do with his legs just
now? Too fast, too skilled to follow, but there is a satisfying crunch, and the
beefy thug hits the ground with a broken neck.
So far, not much blood spilled. I know Alex likes to splatter it around a
little for effect. Yes, I am aware that he might enjoy this a little too much,
but what can you do? I wait and see what he'll do with the one remaining
walking dead man. The animated corpse in question has caught on finally, and is
making a mad dash for the street. Coming towards me, in fact. I have no fear
of him. Alex is coming for him, and there is nothing between the man and his
imminent demise. Like a fox pouncing a mole, Alex is on the guy, and there, the
flicker of the switchblade. A pregnant second when nothing happens, and then
suddenly the guy has a new, red grin across his throat, matching the grimace of
fear that twists his face. I've never looked into the face of a dying man
before, and I can't turn away. I can see him lose consciousness just before he
falls.
And Alex, avoiding the spray of blood with practiced ease, wiping his blade.
His eyes are dilated, his face shining with the euphoria of the hunt. I know
what he feels. We are kin, after all. Although there is nothing supernatural
about him, he's as much wolf as I am. He keeps it wrapped tightly most of the
time, but when there is need it steps forward and revels in the shedding of
blood by the bucketful. The wolf in me can smell a natural born killer like
that a mile away.
His eyes, black and huge in the murky lighting, seek mine. I peel my back off
the wall I've been leaning against, and step into his arms. With something like
a growl, he attacks my mouth with his, leaving me breathless and panting. He is
delicately flushed and horny as hell. I know that if I let him, he'd fuck me
senseless right here, in front of three dead bodies. In front of Xander.
Xander. With an effort, I tear myself away, ignoring Alex's disappointed hiss,
ignoring the throbbing in my groin, and face Xander. He is staring at Alex with
eyes turned waif-like in a face bonier than I remember. He doesn't see me,
which is no surprise. I am so small and dun, practically invisible next to the
colorful menace that is Alex. His choirboy-gone-bad looks and his air of barely
contained violence make him a magnet for attention. Even when he's trying to be
inconspicuous, dulling the magic sheen of his charisma, he still eclipses me.
Xander is slowly backing up, never taking his eyes off Alex, resisting an
impulse to flee. He reeks of blood and panic.
Alex's hand around my waist, slipping down, cupping my ass. A bolt of lightning
straight into my aching cock. Damn, I just can't think when he's touching
me.
And then Xander's eyes shift, and he sees me, really sees just who the hell
Alex is pawing, and his mouth falls open in a great big `O' of surprise. I have
to bite down a giggle. Leaner, meaner, perhaps, but still the same Xander.
Take Me Away Part Four
by Wax Jism
Just another city, another stinking backstreet alley. Sounds of a fight draw my
attention, I smell blood. And there he is. Xander. Skinnier, older, harder,
colder. Nevertheless, one helluva blast from the past. And from the look of it,
in one big world of shit. Black-clad, spiky of hair, cut and bruised and
bleeding. Giving as good as he was getting, sure, but there were three of them
and he was faltering.
