William (13 page)

"Let's have a look," Merrick said, and when
the man offered the books to him, he gestured to me. "He's the
expert."

"Of course," Aimes said, and stepped past
Merrick to hand the books to me.

"Thank you," I said, and a flicker of
curiosity made me drop my eyes to the topmost title. No sooner had
I read the name William Blake than I heard Aimes gasp, and my eyes
snapped up again.

I'd missed it. In the instant I’d looked
down, Merrick had moved behind the man, enfolded him in his arms,
and bitten the side of his neck. Aimes gasped again and I stood up,
dumping the books on the floor.

Aimes's spine arched and his knees buckled,
and his rough hands clung to Merrick's arms where they crossed his
waist and chest. His head lolled to the side, pulling his neck taut
where Merrick's lips were fastened. The thief's face was slack with
an expression caught somewhere between shock and pleasure. I knew
the combination, and the sensation, very well.

By God, so this was what it looked like. I
raised a hand to my throbbing mouth, transfixed. My heart was
pounding. Sweet suffering Christ, it was—what had I expected?
Certainly not for it to seem so familiar. Certainly not for it to
seem so...

Merrick slowly removed his lips from Aimes's
throat, revealing not a bite but a gash. Blood streamed from it, a
deep crimson brook that met the white neck of his shirt in a
splashing bloom. Mouth agape, I looked up at Merrick and found his
eyes sparkling with a starry cast I'd never seen before.

"Come," he breathed, and bent his head to
drink again.

I could smell the blood.

I stepped forward and cupped Merrick's
elbows, then moved my hands up into his arms until I gripped his
shoulders, caging the thief in our embrace. Merrick raised his head
and caught my gaze again, dipping his chin in silent
invitation.

Not a moment too soon. I sealed my lips over
the cut, and the hot liquid filled my mouth at once. A groan came
rumbling up from deep within my chest, muffled in the thief's
exquisite throat.

I had loved, adored, the fine crystal taste
of Merrick's blood. This was different. It was darker, richer, and
unmistakably human. It was a rare taste, an unlikely taste, the
taste of spring blossoms and sun-bathed memories, of every beloved
thing I had ever lost, and every desired thing I'd never had. It
was the vast and multifaceted taste of a life and a mind and a
soul, the ripe fruit of all their combined potential. It was the
taste of a sweet and easeful death, one so pure and luminous I was
filled with reverence and gratitude for its existence. It was
divine, this taste.

The blood had slowed to a trickle, and soon
there was no more. I lifted my head, gazing down at the wound in a
stupor.

"Sit down," Merrick whispered, and I felt the
floor beneath my bottom, rather than the stool. That was all right.
I looked up to watch as Merrick lifted the dead man into his arms
and carried him around the loot-covered sofa. He laid him on the
floor and then pulled a length of drapery from a pile there,
sweeping it up in the air to let it spread and fall over the body
of Mr. John Aimes. Then he straightened his jacket and cuffs,
adjusted his collar, and turned again to look me over.

Few coherent thoughts had yet returned to my
mind, but at that moment I was sure of one thing, though it went
against all odds and flew in the face of everything I knew about
myself. Killing to live would be no problem at all.

"How do you feel?" Merrick asked softly,
after a length of silence.

"Drunk?" I guessed, and felt the stupid grin
creeping across my face. The whole room seemed clearer and brighter
now, and Merrick, Merrick seemed like a God.

"To think I feared you would take me for a
savage," he murmured, studying me in wonder. "William, your
capacity for adaptation thrills me beyond measure."

"You and sentences," I said. "Impressive.
Those words you make."

"Perhaps I let you have too much." Merrick
returned from the sofa to crouch before me.

"Oh, no," I said firmly, swinging my head
from side to side.

Merrick laughed my favorite laugh, sudden and
clear and pure. "We're going to go out the back now," he said. "The
other one is waiting. Once I have him, I want you to bite his
wrist." He lifted my hand and turned it over, tracing the veins
there. I shivered with delight. "Can you do that?"

Oh, I could do it, all right. As it turned
out, I could do it with ease.

Merrick had only to take a few steps into the
cluttered back lot and loiter for a moment before the thief McClean
stepped up behind him. This time I saw the speed of Merrick's
attack, the way he pivoted behind the man and took his throat even
before locking his arms about him. Of course that would be the
ideal order of attack: as soon as Merrick's teeth penetrated his
skin, the man surrendered wantonly. And I saw that Merrick did not
merely chomp down on the man's throat, but slid his teeth along it
first, which explained the gash. And then he simply held his lips
there tightly, his face concealed in the shadow of his dark
hair.

Remembering my cue, I stepped foreword and
took the thief's hand, pushing back his loose cuff to expose his
wrist. Lord, at last, to bite! The pleasure that shot through my
body as I sank my teeth into that tender skin was incomparable. Was
there no upper limit to the ecstasies I would partake in tonight? I
found my knees going weak as I drank this new liqueur, and I was
thrilled to realize that the taste, while equally incandescent as
the one before, was entirely unique from it. Still the sense of
treasures recovered, still the brilliant evanescent quality, but
all wrapped up now in a different mind, life, and soul, in an
entirely new incarnation of the sweetest and most easeful death. As
my thirst grew quenched, I felt the drunkenness clear away to be
replaced by a satisfaction that was silky and serene. Satiated
beyond my wildest un-dreamed dreams, I sat back on my heels—had I
sunk to the ground, then?—and let my head fall forward with a
blissful sigh.

Merrick offered his hand and drew me to my
feet. I leaned over, feeling loose and languorous, and brushed the
dirt from my knees. I wasn't even bothered. Straightening up, I saw
the second thief on the ground behind Merrick, insentient as a pile
of firewood.

"William?"

I looked at Merrick. God, he was aglow. My
eyes moved down the length of his shapely body and back up again to
drink in the coppery brilliance of his eyes. "Yes?" I asked softly,
my fingers twitching at my sides, longing to grab him.

"You are all right?"

"Oh, I am quite all right," I said firmly. "I
assure you."

Surprise smoothed Merrick's features for a
moment, and then he let out a breath of laughter. "Very well," he
said, disarmed. "Let us be gone, then."

The pleasure in his eyes was like a dollop of
whipped cream atop my already considerable satisfaction. I wanted
to step forward and embrace him, but feared it would be too
unbearable to let him go. We were so close to the house. I could
save it for then, so long as we hurried.

"Let us be gone," I agreed, staring at him as
hungrily as I must have stared at Mr. John Aimes.

Merrick nodded and beckoned me to the rickety
fence at the back of the lot, where he offered me his cradled
hands. "A leg up."

Scaling fences with Merrick. I was beside
myself with delight. I placed my boot in his hands and let him
spring me to the top of the fence, then braced my hands on the edge
and vaulted over. I turned to see Merrick's hands appear atop the
planks and watched him spring over the top as neatly as a deer,
landing on his toes with nary a sound. This gentleman. I shook my
head. This splendid gentleman.

What a fine choice I had made, by God. This
time I really had, really, truly had done it. And for once, I meant
that in a good way.

Merrick did not take my arm, perhaps sensing
it would not be detachable. Quite astute. We strode side by side
through the narrow alleyway, leaving the shells of our feast behind
to be absorbed by the past. Well, by the ground of the potter's
field, likely, but it made no difference.

We were back on the main street in moments,
and then the house was within our sights. I was strung high and
tight with anticipation, and soothed myself by thinking of what I
would do once we reached the privacy of the house. I wondered if I
ought to try and resist grabbing him as soon as the door was closed
behind us, if perhaps I should endeavor to make it to the bed. That
was, if I could wait one second longer before I sprang upon the
fastenings of his clothes. Oh, there was no shyness left in me now.
No longer was I the baffled victim of an unfamiliar passion.
Tonight desire had risen above all other forces that ruled me. I
was a flame! I would consume!

Merrick opened the door and bid me to enter
before him. I turned as I crossed the threshold, keeping him in my
sights as I walked backward into the hall. He shut the door, turned
the key, and crossed the distance between us to take my face in his
hands and kiss me.

"You've charmed me, William," he whispered,
once he'd stolen my breath. "You've painted the world a different
color."

I groaned, making fists where I gripped his
jacket. "The things you say." As if he himself had not changed my
palette to midnight silvers and blues. Loosening my grip on his
lapels, I spread the garment open and pushed it off of his
shoulders.

"Upstairs," he murmured, catching the jacket
in his hand and placing a firm hand at the small of my back. "Away
from the street."

Very well, then, I would consume upstairs. By
some unexpected grace I was able to ascend the steps at a dignified
pace. But my determination faltered a little once we crossed the
threshold of the bedroom, for when I saw the dark mahogany bed I
realized I actually had no idea how, exactly, this was best
begun.

Before I could form a plan, Merrick stepped
up against my back and ran his hands from my forearms to my
shoulders I turned my head to find his lips and let my body follow,
sliding my arms about his shoulders and molding myself against him
like hot wax. He opened my waistcoat with one hand and pulled my
shirt free of my trousers, until at last his smooth palms slipped
beneath the linen and he spread his fingers over my naked ribs.

An obscenity burst from my lips, one of a
class I had never uttered before him. I stammered an apology out of
some confused sense of habit, which Merrick rejected by laughing
and pulling me harder against him.

"You mustn't fear offending me." Beneath his
amusement, desire rolled through his voice. "I ask for no
pretense." He grasped the hem of my shirt to pull it over my
head.

"Thank God," I mumbled, distracted both by
the fresh air on my back, by his hands spreading over my chest, and
by the task of unbuttoning his waistcoat. Damned clothes. I
betrayed my impatience when I yanked the last button free, and
Merrick came to my assistance in shrugging off the thing and
getting rid of his shirt.

I had seen men like Merrick in the paintings
of Classical sculptures, those carvings of god-like youths and
Olympian men whose muscular perfection and masculine charisma
provoked a peculiarly intense feeling of admiration. Or was I the
only one who found those spectacular figures so difficult to look
away from? There was a thought. But who had time for thoughts? I
was absorbing the ridges of his abdomen with my hands, running my
palms over the solid planes of his chest. And then, as he was
presently finishing the job of unbuttoning my trousers, I reached
for the front of his. But he caught my hands and began to walk me
backward toward the bed.

"Blast it, you don't mean to stop me, do
you?" I demanded breathlessly, stopping when my thighs ran into the
mattress.

"I would let nothing stop you." Merrick let
go of my hands and I called his bluff, finishing the breeches just
in time before he pressed me down to sit and knelt to remove my
boots.

Damned, cursed clothes. Why could we not
dress as those Ancient Greeks had dressed? Our togas would have
long since fallen aside and we would be entwined already. I set my
mind to ridding us of shoes and stockings until we could fell into
the bed and let our pants slide away. Bracing himself above me on
one hand, ran the other down the bare length of my body and claimed
my lips with a searing kiss

Merrick and I had never been in this state
together. Not once. I had only seen him fully nude when we bathed,
and there I was able to experience a few passionate interludes skin
to skin. But in the darkness of the bedroom Merrick always kept
strict barriers between us. Though his hands and mouth had been
over and around nearly every inch of my body by now, it was only
rarely that he allowed my hands to roam below his waist. My
sweetest torment had been to feel the hard evidence of his arousal
through his breeches or his nightshirt or his robe, hot and
demanding, and yet forbidden. Not now.

I reached down between us where the thick
length of his sex jutted against my hip and found the root of it
with my fingertips, drawing circles over the softer skin below.
Merrick exhaled and closed his eyes, his brow tightening with
desire. No, he was not going to stop me. I took him fully in hand,
stroking with a tenderness that belied my passion. I had gone this
far before, before he stopped me. Now I reveled in his surrender.
My other hand traveled his chest, feeling the hard points of his
nipples and the tension in his shoulder muscles. I cupped his face
in my hand, watching the pleasure change his features as I touched
him, until he opened those fiery eyes and fixed me with a gaze that
brimmed with such raging, animal lust that I momentarily forgot my
efforts. In the next instant he rocked the length of his body
against me and crushed his lips to mine.