Blood Sacraments (11 page)

But it was all right, since I wanted to die, and now I obtained my true wish. Still, it seemed fucking stupid to finally understand life only to lose it so quickly. Athan failed me, yeah, he failed me just like everyone else in my dismal life. Obviously playing the abandon Stewart game proved damned popular.

As I succumbed, I settled into the sudden darkness and floated free.

Yet as I drifted into an odd nimbus, a sensation, ahhh, it felt like powerful hands gripping me, shoved my shoulders and forced me back. The same thrilling ecstasy lashed through me and guided me backward, do not pass into death, do not give in. Do not doubt.

Apparently Athan was one detail-oriented vampire.

But why did he let me live?

*

I awoke surrounded by bleak, ancient machinery and deadly white walls. No. Fuck no! Needles attached to tubes threaded into my left arm. Numbers detailing my health pulsed on a mobile bed side unit. Wrong, so wrong. I needed to escape back to Agapios. The urgency attacked me. Escape! My trembling fingers finally pushed the call button.

A young nurse entered and smiled in greeting. She managed to look comforting, frightened and sincere. What an accomplished actress. “Lord Barlow, how do you feel?”

Like I wanted to escape from this medicinal hell, but instead I managed a faint smile. “Much better, thank you.”

“Unfortunately you suffered another stroke, a minor one, but you need to be monitored for any further problems. The doctor will help you make arrangements on where you wish to recover; we’re too small to help you in case of, well, something more serious.”

How I managed not to scream eluded me. My voice uttered polite words. “I see.” Yes, I understood I needed to escape before Samuel heard about my stroke and trapped me in yet another hospital hell far away from here. I needed to remain close to my special island. I needed to remain close to Athan’s power.

I needed Athan to heal me. He needed to heal me into eternity. After he healed me, we would make Agapios our undying home. The island wanted us there. Agapios fed on love and we would supply the demand.

The nurse cocked her head toward the door. A few black curls shifted against her graceful neck. So pretty. “Your aunt Korina and cousin Athan want to see you. The poor woman is beside herself with grief so we allowed her to stay although it’s almost morning. Can I send her in?”

Thrilled joy coursed through my itching skin. “Yes, please, send my dear Aunt and Cousin in for a visit.”

The nurse left, then Korina edged around the door. My glorious Athan hovered at her shoulder. His marvelous eyes conveyed his joy to me.

They both smiled in anticipation. Korina stepped forward. Her rough hand stroked my cheek. “You returned my Athan to me. Bless you.”

My drug-clouded mind tried to understand. “How?”

Athan sighed in remorse. “I feared my dear aunt’s rejection but she understands me. I should have come to her and let her know my situation. I feel shamed to underestimate her love. She will protect us, Stewart.” He stared into my eyes. “Will you let me heal you?”

“Please. Please tell me what I need to do.”

His adoring smile conquered me. “You need to live until you understand life. You need to use your fortune to nourish others. One day after a final, defining moonrise, we shall connect in everlasting paradise, a paradise anchored on our amazing island. Do you understand? If you willfully plunge off that calling cliff, you will end up like me, waiting for someone to invite us into their life. I won’t be able to save you. If you kill yourself, you sentence us both to wander the island because Agapios refuses to reward those who deny life. This island owns strict rules. Do you accept the rules?” Athan stroked my hair. “A little longer, then we embrace eternity together. Can you be patient?”

I nodded in eager obedience. “For our eternity, yes. I will tell my relatives to leave me alone. Korina shall care for me and keep me safe.”

“I vow to keep the world away from Agapios.” Korina’s skilled fingers began removing the needles from my flesh. “Now we need to escape.”

Athan’s cool lips brushed my cheek. “Ready to come home, Stewart?”

I was.

Forever.

I prefer hunting at the bar since they banned cigarettes. The scent of prey, so easily lost in the blue haze, has made a delightful return. I might not have noticed him, were there still those clouds of smoke. The pleasure of forcing a deep breath into my chest—a trick it took me a good while to learn—allows me to fill myself with the musk of the men around me.

An earthy scent with a slight trace of smoke of a different sort curled in my nose. I closed my eyes, took another lungful of air to make sure, then released it. I hadn’t been mistaken.

Nothing ruins a good hunt like a demon. If the demon in particular is Anders, I count myself lucky to have only one night ruined. We have history, if rivalry can be considered history.

Nevertheless, seeing Anders’s broad shoulders, generous biceps, and thick wavy black hair, I allowed myself to enjoy the sight. The incubus had his back to me, but it was still a good view. As usual, he was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans.

I hesitated, the moment stretching. He had not seen me; I could still leave. I stood motionless, considering. I did not want to give up the night, not so early.

Anders sensed me, and turned enough to make eye contact. He offered me a mocking wave. I raised my own hand, an insincere smile on my face.

It shouldn’t have surprised me to see Anders. The whole of the supernatural world is busy on the three nights of the full moon. The covens practice, the packs run, the demons worship, and the vampires gather.

We few who walk alone are safe these three nights. Safe enough to hunt on our own. I’d been caught by another vampire once before, and did not relish the thought of repeating it. Made and abandoned, I am a slave to the will of nearly all other vampires—if they told me to step into the sun, if only for their own amusement, their will would force me to act. These three nights were all I had to call my own, and I was loath to give up even one of them.

Still, I wavered. To share a hunting ground with Anders? It didn’t bear thought. But to leave merely because he was present? That credited him with entirely too much influence.

No, I decided, and strode toward the demon.

“Anders.” I smiled and slid my arm around his waist possessively. The young blond he’d been speaking with blinked, as though coming out of a daydream.

Anders flashed me a fake smile. “Luc. You look pale.”

My French Canadian heritage balances my sunless complexion, but likely Anders was just trying to raise my ire. I smiled.

“Too much sun is bad for the skin,” I said, then noted his darkly tanned arms with a notable arch of one eyebrow. “Though you positively reek of health.” I tugged him toward me and leaned against him. He wrapped his muscular arms around my waist and squeezed. His grasp had enough strength to be uncomfortable.

“It’s been too long,” he said.

“You only say that when you’re trying to pick up cheap little blond things,” I said. The cheap little blond thing glared at me. “You know I don’t mind you fucking around, as long as you still come home to me in the morning.”

“Asshole,” the blond said, and pushed past us to return to the dance floor.

“Dommage,”
I said, and pouted at Anders. “That hurt my feelings.”

Anders let go of me roughly. “I suppose that’s vengeance for last month?”

I blinked, the picture of innocence. “Last month?”

Anders smirked. His face is one of angles, chiseled and strong. His brow is perhaps deeper than I would prefer, but he certainly exudes masculinity in a traditional—if overpowering—way. That he is shunned by his own kind I have always thought had as much to do with jealousy as anything else.

“The redhead?” he reminded me.

I knew what he meant, of course. Last month I’d had a red-haired young man completely ensnared in my glamour, all but begging me to take him home. Before I’d managed to have so much as a sip from my date, he’d vanished. Anders had “bumped into” the redhead in the bathroom and taken him home instead. He claimed he’d had no idea, which was about as likely as either of us showing up for Sunday Mass.

“Are you going to chase away all my choices?” Anders asked when I didn’t respond.

I shook my head. “No.
Détente
will do.”

Anders frowned. “What?”

I sighed—a carefully studied trick for one who does not breathe. “A truce.”

Anders offered his hand. I took it. When we shook, he squeezed just short of breaking bones.

*

As with Anders, I smelled my prey before I saw him. He was out of my line of sight, and he smelled of simple things: soap, and sweat, and also something less tangible but far more alluring. There was an innocence in the air. A scent not unlike vanilla, or the air moments before lightning strikes. Something new.

It is the new—or even the false new of the rarely encountered—that stops me from giving up. Three nights a month is not much, and means dozens more hiding, drinking mostly from vermin and avoiding the notice of the other vampires.

A trace of the scent returned, stirred in the air. Fresh. Clean.

I walked slowly, turning my head, and kept my eyes sharp. The bar was dim, but no trouble for my night eyes. I traced the air, following the currents around the lower level of the bar, where people stood around tables with too few seats, played pool, and tried not to let on that they watched each other.

My prey was at a back corner table, on one of the rare chairs, and alone. He was not tall, though his wide shoulders saved him from seeming small. He was clean-shaven, with dark brown hair and eyes that matched, behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses that were both slightly out of date and style. Unlike the rest of the crowd—who all seemed to have been told the uniform of the night was monochromes of black and white only—he wore a plain pair of tan pants and a pale orange V-neck shirt that left an inch below the hollow of his throat exposed. A simple silver chain, from which hung a small orange crystal of some sort, brushed his throat when he took a sip of his drink.

Seeing the stone touch his neck was all it took; I wanted him. Almost unbidden, I felt my glamour wash over my skin.

The crowd around me shifted perceptibly, and I smiled. My glamour is particularly strong, a rare gift from my broken lineage, and the men around me were caught unawares. They looked at me from the corners of their eyes, lost the train of their conversations, or openly stared, whichever was closest to their preference and how naturally open their minds were to such influence. I made eye contact with Anders’s cheap young blond thing, the sort I myself might take on my first night, quickly and with a more animal pleasure. The boy had to lean back against the wall for a moment, blinking at me.

Perfect.

I watched my prey a moment longer, and seeing his glass—I could smell tonic water, and gin—was nearly empty, stepped to the bar and ordered a replacement. The shirtless, muscular bartender, who I could tell worked here for the money and had no interest in men, poured me the drink and handed it over with a shaking hand. I smiled and passed him a ten dollar bill, letting my fingertip trace his palm as he took the money. A flush crept up the man’s neck, his arousal and confusion palpable.

Perhaps I would have him tomorrow night. I do love a challenge.

Tonight, though, was for the prey in the corner.

I brought him the drink, the glamour cool on my flesh. I put the drink on the table, and he flicked his gaze upward at me, startled.

“Oh,” he said, and took me in.

“Your glass was almost empty,” I said, letting a little bit of my French accent come through. I leaned against the tall table, half facing him. My glamour spread like frost, taking my appearance and casting the most favorable qualities to his attention. If he preferred a strong man, he would see the hard planes of my chest; if he was a kisser, he would see the line of my lips, or the cut of my jaw; if he secretly wished to be debased, my height would catch his attention, and he would imagine himself kneeling before me, taking me in his mouth.

Behind his glasses, his brown eyes blinked, once. “Thanks,” he said simply. “Listen, could you do me a favor and watch my seat for a second?”

The smile froze on my lips.
“Quoi?”

“I just need to make a run to the bathroom, and I don’t want to lose my spot.”

I forced myself to nod, and he hopped from the high stool and slid past me. He was nearly a head shorter than me, and as he passed, he looked up, and I willed my glamour at him.

He blinked and touched his forehead, blushing only slightly. “Uh-oh. Maybe I should skip the other G and T.” There was only the faintest hastening of his heartbeat.

Then my prey was gone, heading for the bathroom.

I gripped the table so tightly with one hand I heard the wood crack.

*

With my glamour still alight on my skin, I asked the two men sitting at the table beside me if I might have one of their chairs. They both wanted to be the one to do me the favor, and I ended up with three chairs at the table. When my prey returned, I had regained my composure. He seemed surprised at the extra chairs, but sat across from me readily enough.