Need (17 page)

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Authors: Todd Gregory

BOOK: Need
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Drool filled my mouth. I was so damned hungry. . . .
“Look, buddy, you're being a real dick. Just calm the fuck down. You don't own me—we're just friends, remember? Isn't that what you said? That was
your
choice, not mine, and now you bug out and get jealous because I met someone? No, fuck
you!
”
Angrily he disconnected the call and slammed his other fist into the wall.
“Hello,” I said as I neared him, barely able to keep from shoving him against the wall and sinking my teeth into his neck. I needed his blood. . . .
He just looked at me and smiled. “I've been waiting for you, Cord.”
He held up the hand holding the phone.
He was wearing a ring with an enormous stone in it.
Green.
Everything went green.
Green . . .
C
HAPTER
10
G
reen.
Everything was green.
It looked like someone had put a green filter over my eyes—everywhere I looked, everywhere I turned my head, there was nothing but green. Dark green, light green, every conceivable shade of green I could imagine and even some that I couldn't. It was starting to make me slightly sick. I didn't know where I was at first, but as I adjusted to the weird, disorienting green, I realized I was in my bedroom at the Orleans Street house. Bright green light was coming through the windows, feeling hot on my skin. I got out of the bed and closed the curtains, and realized I was naked. I picked up my robe from the floor and draped it around my body. I heard a noise from the front of the house and walked down the hallway. As I walked past the front bedroom, I could make out Jared's naked form lying there—also in shades of green. He had a raging hard-on, and even though his eyes were closed, he was playing with himself, absently pulling on his erection like it was an afterthought, like there was no driving need for him to be doing what he was doing.
I went around the corner and there, in the living room, sat my parents. On the couch.
And the green faded, and everything became normal again.
“Is it true?” my mother asked. Her eyes were red and tears stained her cheeks. Her dark brown hair was now streaked with gray, and she looked like she'd aged twenty years in the two years or so since I'd seen her. “You're not only a demon but you're also a homosexual?”
“I told her there was no way a son of ours could have turned his back on God and started worshipping the devil,” my father's voice boomed out. His arm was around her shoulders, and he was giving me a reassuring look. His voice was strong, but there was a hint of uncertainty to it, almost like he was saying,
Tell me it isn't so, son, so we can be finished with this foolishness
.
“It is true,” I replied. “I'm gay, and I'm a vampire.”
My mother started wailing, and my father turned away from me and started comforting her. I didn't know what to do, what to say, so I just stood there stupidly staring at them both.
“I can take care of this for you,”
Jean-Paul's voice whispered in my brain. They don't deserve to live, do they? With all that hatred in their hearts? Wouldn't it be better to release them from the horrors of this world so they can go be with the God they worship and obey so mindlessly?
“No,” I said out loud, but in the blink of an eye, they were all there—Jean-Paul and Clint and the others, holding my parents down and drinking from their veins and they were both screaming and I wanted to go to them, help them, push the others away from them, but I couldn't move. I was stuck in place, and then everything began to go green again, first around the edges of my vision and then it spread, everything going green. . . .
And then the colors became normal again, and I was once again tied to the posts of Sebastian's bed, in his bedroom with all the candles lit, but there were two of him, one on either side of the bed, both of them naked, mirror images of each other. One had to be Quentin and the other Sebastian, but although I remembered there were subtle differences, I couldn't remember what they were, and my eyes moved back and forth between them, and then they both were standing at the foot of the bed, each holding the other's erection, stroking, and they started kissing, two identical twins kissing and I knew it was wrong, it was incredibly wrong, but then they stopped and turned their attention back to me.
“Don't you want us?” the one on the right asked. “Don't you want me to climb up on that bed and flip you over and shove my cock so far inside of you that my come will shoot out your mouth?”
“And while he is fucking you”—the other turned and bent over, pulling his muscular ass cheeks apart—“you can fuck me like you did earlier, make me your little bitch, and we'll all be satisfied. Isn't that what you want? You want me to be your bitch while he makes you his little bitch?”
And despite everything, I heard myself saying, “Yes, yes, that is what I want, please,” and everything began going green again until it was all green, that strange shade of green I'd first seen on the street. . . .
I opened my eyes, and the hunger was there—a gnawing sense of agony that pushed everything else out of my head and consciousness.
What had happened? I tried to piece it all back together, but my head was aching, and there was that horrible ravenous hunger, the emptiness inside that made my eyes water and was so damned all-consuming.
I'd needed to feed, yes; I remembered that. I remembered talking to some old man with long white hair and cramping from the hunger; it was so intense I could barely stand, yes.
Another cramp tore through my body and instinctively I tried to curl up into a ball, but my arms and legs were restrained. I opened my mouth and howled from the agony. It hurt so much I could barely stand it. I was going to go mad from the hunger if I didn't feed soon.
The cramp unclenched, and I gasped in dank, musty air. My eyes were still watering, and I wasn't able to see—and I needed to be able to see.
Focus. I needed to focus. Focus and remember.
I'd walked out of the house . . . Oh, yes, I'd gone to feed after the old man (
Nigel, his name is Nigel
) told me some bizarre story I didn't quite understand, about why Rachel was such a bitch—
Someone she loved was killed, a victim of a rogue vampire, killed and then converted. He had disappeared, and they'd been looking for him for the last twenty years. He'd also told me about witches cursing vampires—I'd been cursed apparently by Sebastian, and the curse hadn't died with him, and we needed to figure out a way to break the curse and then the hunger had consumed me, which hadn't made sense because I'd just fed the night before; I should have been good for at least another day. I'd drunk deeply from the stripper, whatever his name was, the one in the underwear with the incredibly hot ass.
And I'd gone out of the house to feed; he'd told me to. I'd heard a heart beating and I'd smelled blood—someone on Dauphine Street—so I'd walked around the corner and . . .
Yes, the boy on the cell phone.
That was the last thing I remembered, walking up to him and then everything went green.
I had no idea how I'd gotten here, wherever I was, or what he had done to me.
He'd known who I was, had called me by name, said he'd been waiting for me.
Who the hell was he, and what did he want from me?
I tried remembering what he looked like, but for some reason whenever I tried to picture his face, his body, what he'd been wearing, all I could see was green haze.
I blinked rapidly a few times, and the water cleared. I needed to get an idea of where I was before the next hunger pang consumed me again.
The room was dark as pitch, but of course I could see through the darkness. I tried again to sit up but my arms were restrained at the wrists. I tried to raise my head, but there was also some kind of restraint around my neck. I was tied down, spread-eagled, so that I could barely move.
And I was naked.
This is exactly the way I'd been restrained by Sebastian that night.
I swallowed and closed my eyes again. Surely that couldn't be a coincidence, could it? I opened my eyes and turned my head to one side. I could make out the wall—it looked like it was cinder block. There were no windows on that side, so I rolled my head the other way to stare at another wall of cinder blocks. There was a small rectangle up near the ceiling that could be a window, but it was completely blacked out. I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, moving my eyes as much as I could—but there was nothing I could detect that would be helpful up there, either.
I strained to listen, to see if I could hear anything beyond the walls; there was nothing but silence.
Of all times for that stupid bitch to not be listening to my thoughts,
I thought angrily.
How was I taken without them knowing anyway?
I opened my eyes and looked around the room again, as much as I could without being able to lift my head. I felt the cramp coming and started breathing more rapidly in an attempt to lessen its exquisite agony. When the pang came, it was even more blindingly intense than the last one. With no other choice, I opened my mouth and screamed as loudly as I could. It seemed to go on forever; it felt like my body was on fire and being ripped in half.
Death would have been preferable.
It faded away, leaving me gasping for air, tears streaming out of my eyes.
If I didn't feed soon—
I heard a door swing open, and the room filled with a dazzling light from above as a switch was flipped. I couldn't see who it was but could sense him—for it was definitely a male. Men and women smell profoundly different.
And more important, I could smell his blood, hear his heartbeat. It took all of my strength not to growl in anticipation.
“You're hungry, aren't you?” the man said in a soft, low voice. I heard him shuffle across the room until he was at my side, and I rolled my head to the left so I could look at him.
He was dressed in a black silk shirt that was open to just below his rib cage, revealing smooth skin and a deep valley between his pectoral muscles. His pants appeared to be made from clinging black velvet that outlined the strong muscles of his legs. There was a prominent bulge in the crotch area. He had long, curly blond hair that fell gently to his shoulders and deep green eyes that almost glowed in the darkness on either side of a strong, sculpted nose. There were dimples in his pale cheeks as he looked at me, and his lips were thick and sensual.
Around his neck was a gold chain, from which hung a green stone.
The green stone—it was like the one in the boy's ring.
As I stared at it, it started glowing.
He stretched a white wrist to my mouth, and with his other hand stroked my forehead. “Go ahead, bite my wrist, drink from me,” he instructed in a soft, gentle voice. He smiled. “You are so beautiful, so much more beautiful than I thought you would be, than I could have possibly hoped for. Go ahead, don't be afraid—I'm not going to hurt you.” He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Can't you hear my heart beating? Can't you smell my warm blood?”
But it wasn't just his blood I could smell. Oh, the metallic coppery smell of his blood was definitely there, and there was an underlying sweetness that was unusual—and I could feel my cock beginning to harden from its scent—but I could smell his essence above that.
It wasn't quite human.
Don't drink from him—it's a big mistake.
The hunger tore through me again, and I sank my teeth into his wrist, even if I knew somehow I shouldn't. I had to stop the agony, make it go away, do whatever it took to never feel that way again. My canines sliced through his skin and the blood . . . I could taste it at last and nothing else mattered.
His eyes closed and he moaned as I tore into his skin, ripped it apart in my need. I closed my mouth around the jagged holes, and his warm blood flooded my mouth. I gulped hungrily, greedily, yet even as I lost myself in the unspeakable pleasure of replenishing myself, I knew there was too much blood. No one I'd ever drank from before had filled my mouth so quickly.
Something was definitely wrong here.
The blood tasted sweet, as though it were mixed with raw honey, and it was also more viscous than most. I gulped it down and felt intoxicated from its power and taste. I could feel my muscles growing stronger with every swallow, my veins almost on fire as this blood absorbed into my system and ran through me. My eyes began moving rapidly from side to side, and my cock got harder, my balls were aching and demanding some form of release, and I could feel it; an orgasm was beginning. I was going to come, but I didn't care, not as long as I could drink from him. Who was he? What was he? I didn't care . . .
“That's enough,” he whispered in my ear. “Let go of me.”
It was a command, and even though the bloodlust was still driving me, I withdrew my fangs from his arm and opened my mouth.
He held the wrist above my mouth and allowed more blood to drip into my mouth. “You know what to do,” he whispered, and my tongue darted out, licking the tears and getting the last drops, until the wounds closed.
He smiled and waved his arm. The blinding overhead light went out, and candles mounted in sconces on the walls burst into flame, casting flickering light and shadows through the room.
“I find candlelight to be more pleasant than electric light, don't you?” he asked in a slightly bemused tone.
I used my tongue to get every last drop of blood on my lips and dribbling down my chin.

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