City of Dragons: Of Flesh and Blood (6 page)

Orin let out a low lean growl and opened his mouth
so he could pant. Heat boiled under his skin, squeezing his lungs and
drying up the blood in his veins. He jackknifed once, twice, and hunger
hit him so hard between the ribs he almost screamed.

The follow-up should have been bringing him down, but instead he was heating up all over again.

“Christ…” Ray went to the sink. Silverware clattered as it rained all over the floor. “Where’s a knife?”

Knife? “What the fuck…ah, shit.” The spasm yanked
Orin forward. A rib cracked with an audible pop. This time he couldn’t
hold back his cries, a combination of pain and arousal.

“Here…”

Bright red pooled under Orin’s nose across a
stretch of tan skin. He realized he was looking at Ray’s palm. The man
had sliced himself open.

Orin shook his head. “No…no…not that…”

“You don’t have a choice. It will bring you down.”

“If I start…I m-may…n-not…stop.”

“I know you, you’ll stop.”

But what if he didn’t? What if he latched on and couldn’t let go? “No--”

“Goddamn it, Orin. Do this or you’re going to burn up.”

There was no denying the familiar sensation of
metaphysical energy churning out, burning up everything in his body.
Damn, Orin hated it when Ray was right.

Pressing his face into Ray’s palm, Orin sucked at
the wound. The blood hit his palate, tasting like buttered chicken and
feeling like oral sex. He moaned and pulled harder, his biology gunning
for more.

“Easy there…” Ray put a hand on Orin’s head. “Watch the teeth, my man.”

Yeah, teeth. Teeth were for tearing and eating.
And Human flesh just happened to be so fucking tasty. Instinct rolled
in on waves of hunger and pushed for Orin to bite and shred. He
struggled to rein it in. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. After
all the time under Serena’s claw, control was something he’d gotten
damn good at. Effort made Orin’s body tremble like an overused muscle.

Turning his face away from Ray’s bloody hand was
the only way Orin could make himself stop. Orin said, “Enough…” When
Ray put his hand closer, he shook his head. “No…no more. Just…do it.”
Not to mention if Orin kept going, he was going to orgasm from it. Long
time friend or not, coming in his pants was a kind of embarrassment
Orin didn’t think he could live through.

“You sure?”

Hell no.
“Yeah…third round. Do it! Quick!”

Ray went back to the case and pulled out the
plasma bag. It took forever for him to fill the syringe. But then the
stuff was thick. And sixty CCs was a lot.

“Promise me,” Ray said as he knelt back down and worked to pull one of Orin’s arms out straight. “After this, you’ll
feed
like you’re supposed to. No more of this artificial shit. It’s killing you.”

Now wasn’t this a fine time to go all blackmail? “Stick me,” Orin snarled, flashing tiger sized fangs.

“Your vow.”

“Fuck you, Ray.”

“Right back at you, asshole. Swear to me you’ll
take the flesh of your own, or I’m shooting this load right down your
kitchen sink.”

Orin made a grab for the syringe, and Ray moved it out of his reach. He growled. “Give it to me, Ray. NOW!”

“Orin, you’re killing yourself. You can’t keep living like this.”

Orin glared at the man, hating him even though he was right. It was time to face the facts. He was all out of choices.

“Fine, I swear. Now do it!” Orin jacked out his
arm and tried to hold still while Ray threaded his vein. By the time
Ray had the plunger halfway down, the spasms were easing up enough that
Orin could unfold his body from the fetal position it seemed to like so
much.

“Christ.” Ray pushed the last of the plasma home. “I guess I got it too hot.”

“Not your fault.” Orin watched the needle hole
close up as the need backed out. “I told you to cook it longer.” He
heaved a sigh and laid his head back on the cracked linoleum.

Ray gave a grunt as he stood up. He hobbled back
to the table and proceeded to pack up. “You know, I’m really getting
too old for this shit.” Orin was about to tell the meta-physicist he
wasn’t, but truth be told Ray was getting gray around the edges, and
those crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes looked deeper than Orin
remembered. Hell, it seemed like just last week the man was stressing
over his finals.

Without a doubt, Humans just didn’t live long enough.

“You know, Alice would kill me if I let something happen to you.” Ray flashed Orin a shaky grin, one which said,
only if he didn’t kill himself first
.

Orin closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through
this.” And he was. “You’re a good friend, Ray. Thank you for putting up
with my shit.”

Ray barked a laugh. “Hey, you held my hair back
while I puked away ten years of my life on Jack Daniels. It’s the least
I can do.” He snapped the case closed, pulled a couple of napkins from
the holder on the table and pressed it into his hand. “Don’t wait too
long, Orin.” Yeah, because as high as he’d burned, it was unlikely the
artificial
feed
was going to be worth a damn. “As in, tonight if you can manage it.”

There were a million thank you’s Orin wanted to
give because once again Ray had gone above and beyond the expectations
of friendship. But then Humans were like that. Loyal to a fault.

Instead of some small inspirational speech pledging his appreciation, Orin said, “Just hand me the phone before you leave.”

After Ray was out the door, Orin dialed the number
of the local Stall. It had been more than a year since he’d used their
services, but the ten digits he punched into the phone had been his
lifeline too many times to forget it.

There was nothing illegal about buying blood and
flesh, even outside of the Gray Zone, the multi-block no man’s land
surrounding the Dens. Prostitution was illegal, but since Orin was
inhuman the laws wouldn’t apply to him. The same for Lesser-Breds—third
generation or more offspring between Humans and dragons. The ones who
weren’t Human enough to hide in society made a living servicing Males.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up.
“Hello?” A lack of introductions was a way to detour the curious who
were looking for a cheap thrill.

Orin shut his eyes. “I need to arrange a visit.”

“At this address?” Meaning the one showing up on caller ID.

“Yeah.”

“Been a while. You want your regular?”
“You better send a deuce.” The last thing Orin needed was to take too
much and put someone in the hospital. Or worse, kill them. Not all
Lesser-Breds healed as quickly as their draconian cousins. And while
some might consider them worthless since they were neither Human or
Kin, Orin didn’t. It was still a life. God of Man, no wonder Mary
didn’t want anyone to know what she was.

The voice on the other end of the line said, “Time?”
Hell, what time was it? Orin pulled himself off the floor and checked
the clock. It was after four. He was supposed to meet Mary around nine.

“Soon as possible.”

Papers rustled. “Twenty minutes?”

“Yeah.”

“See you then.”

The line went dead, and Orin resisted the urge to
kick and scream. He got to his feet after five long minutes and hung up
the phone. The kitchen was a mess; Ray had bled all over everything.
Speaking of which…he looked down at his clothes. The slacks were okay,
but the shirt was toast.

Orin thumbed the buttons open and stripped off the
dress shirt. He carried it into the bathroom and ran cold water in the
sink and put it in to soak. While the basin filled, he checked his
reflection. His skin color was relatively normal, maybe a little pale
around his mouth; but the heavy rings under his eyes were gone.

Which was good. Last thing he needed was to scare the poor souls who were being saddled with the job of
feeding
him. Orin cut off the water, and his hands closed over the edge of the sink.

I don’t want to do this.

And yet, another part of him did. Another part of
him really wanted to do it. And it wasn’t just about being safe for
Mary. No. He was hungry. Starving. But he’d had so many years to
acclimate to the discomfort, he almost couldn’t feel it. Thanks to
Serena and her sick little games, Orin’s control was legendary.

Lucky for Ray.

Hell, lucky for Athens.

Then again, if he wasn’t so strong willed, would
he have allowed himself to get to this point? Better yet, would he have
ever attempted any kind of chemical substitute?

Doubt it.

Orin stared at his reflection, and the impossibly
bright seafoam green eyes he’d given himself stared back. His face was
a sculpture of masculine beauty, a strong straight nose and square
chin. Except for his thick crop of mousey brown hair he was bare,
perfectly smooth across lightly tanned skin stretched over a muscular
frame. No belly button, no pubic hair.

His body was flawless. And yet what he saw disgusted him.

Correction--
repulsed
him.

Orin took off his glasses and opened the medicine
cabinet. In here he kept his favorite ones. All twenty-three pair. The
crown jewels in his collection. The other four hundred odd pair
occupied the closet in his bedroom.

For variety, he told himself. When actually, collecting was a compulsion imbedded in the species like vanity or the
need
for flesh and blood. Collecting was one of the few things about his instincts Orin didn’t fight.

A light knock brought his head up. They were here.

Orin didn’t remember walking to the front door and
opening it. No, it was kind of like his brain took a moment to
recalibrate while his body just did what it wanted to. Two pairs of
eyes looked up and met Orin’s gaze. Both men were handsome, but then
they would share some of their grandsire’s ethereal perfection. Like
most of the Lesser-Breds working the Stalls, their faces were marked,
making it impossible for them to pretend to be anything but what they
were.

Monsters.
b_d

Orin didn’t invite them in, he just sort of moved
the door out of their way. They stood in the middle of his living room
while he pulled all the shades and flipped the dead bolt. He didn’t
take them to his bedroom. That was his space. Or more precisely, Mary’s.

To do something this foul would soil it beyond
repair. He led them to the small spare room with high-gloss brown walls
and a thick futon mattress. Once inside he shut the door. Shut out
everything he was going to do from the rest of the world.

“Why?”

Haley must have asked the same question a hundred times since Farley got to her apartment. Her long curly hair fell over her shoulders in a heavy veil as she put her face in her hands. At least she wasn’t crying. Maybe the tears had finally run out.

Farley didn’t want anything between them when he came to bed, so he helped her undress and covered her up. Haley’s dark stare saw nothing, and she looked absolutely fragile in so much grief. It pained something inside him to see her like that. When Farley stood up, she caught his hand.

“Don’t leave.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I won’t.” No, he had no intentions of leaving her alone tonight. Even if she had wanted him gone, he would have camped out on her doorstep. “I’m going to nuke a few TV dinners. I’ll be back in a few.” She let him go and burrowed into the covers.

Farley closed the bedroom door behind him as he headed into the kitchen. He checked the fridge hoping she had some meat thawed. No such luck. Man, he needed to do some grocery shopping for Haley. He took the gallon of milk, popped the top and nursed it while he dug frozen food out of the fridge and crammed it in the microwave. Eating processed food was a poor substitute for fresh meat, but it would have to do.

This was just one of many reasons why Haley needed other Males besides him. Farley couldn’t
feed
her as often as she needed it. Ever since Deshi had gone solo with his Human wife, meeting Haley’s needs was proving to be a task. Especially when Dens business kept him occupied for days. Haley needed blood and flesh, but Farley had burned up his resources healing the wounds the two transit cops had given him. Between that and the stress of everything else happening, Farley was in no shape to tend to her.

Damn it. Why the hell did that cop beat the Male like that?

Farley scrubbed his hand over his face and waited for the countdown on the microwave. On the counter, beside the keys to Haley’s Mustang, his phone danced across the Formica like a dime store box of Mexican jumping beans.

Farley checked the number and groaned. It was Claire. A month ago he would have ignored her, but recently, she’d been making a real effort to be nice. Even to Haley. Last week they went on their first date since September. It had been awkward, and Farley kinda hoped she’d want to end it. No luck. Claire had wanted to go out a day or so later, but Farley had to be in the Dens and it didn’t happen.

He took a breath and flipped the phone open.

“Hi Claire, whatcha need?”

“Hey, I just called to see if you were okay. The office is talking about what happened. You are okay, right?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Farley looked at the microwave and willed the seconds to pass.

“I thought maybe you’d want to come over, and we could talk. I know what you saw had to be awful.” The microwave beeped, and Farley popped the door. The plastic trays burned his fingers when he pulled them out so he sucked on the ends to cool them off. “I can’t.”

Claire paused. “Are you with Haley?”

“Yeah, she was shook up pretty bad. I’m trying to get her to eat.”

Any minute he expected Claire to fall apart but instead she said, “I could bring you something.”

Farley double checked the number on the phone to make sure it was really Claire calling. “Uh, yeah, that’s really nice of you. But…”

“You don’t want me to see you two together, do you?”