William by Claire Cray
We went in silence for several minutes, turning down the impressive tree-lined path along the edge of the Common , and I was surprised by a memory that captured my attention as I gazed into the dark shadows of the public green. It was one of my earliest memories, from just after my father died. I was corralled behind the bar at one of the inns where my mother worked, listening to a group of men on the other side. They were debating when the gallows went up in the Boston Common. One was sure he knew, because he’d been there to see his father and his friend executed in the same year, one on the Great Elm and one on the new gallows. And then the conversation became gruesome, and something scared me— something one man said about hanging. I could not recall what it was, but it sent my imagination running off into the dark. When my mother took me home and we settled down to sleep, I started to cry inconsolably over the horrible things that had come into my head.
Funny enough, that was the only time I ever recall being too soft for the rough talk of those grimy taverns. After that, I was forever ducking out of my mother’s sight as soon as she was busy, searching out the best storytellers among the drunks. No tale, no matter how nasty, ever scared me off again.
What a strange thing to remember. But how far were we now from the gallows, from the Great Elm? I looked into the darkness again, wondering.
Noticing my gaze, Merrick nodded toward the deeper part of green. “Shall we see the pond?”
“Yes, let’s.”
A Brush of Darkness by Erastes
Florence, 1875
Now I think back on it all, it's ironic and yet so very apposite how I always associate him with light. It seems impossible to think of him in any other way but surrounded by a bright halo of iridescence—the bright yellow glare of candles, or the greener glow of the gas lamps. Light shrouds him, an impossibility he manages to achieve. Perhaps the light is jealous of him, or perhaps it misses him and clings to him where it can. Like a lover, or a second skin. A never-ceasing wonder to someone like me, who lives his life through every hint of light and shade. Even in the dark he is never entirely obscured but seems to shimmer with a phosphorescence all his own. Even his very name means light.
There was no wonder, and little enough light, in the alley at the back of the Pitti Palace. This story probably began there, although it is always hard to decide that kind of thing when one is in the eye of the storm.
I'd been prowling the streets of Florence late at night. Even a newcomer to the city such as myself knew it wasn't a sensible thing to do in some areas, even in daylight, but my muse had deserted me and I was driven to it by desperation. If I didn't paint, my patron—the unctuous and two-faced Signor Bettano—would soon think twice about supporting me and my family.
The shadows on the walls of my bedroom, so often an inspiration in their shrouded beauty, were nothing but the flickerings of the candle flame and the promise of little else. They failed me when I needed them—they gave me neither inspiration nor joy. So I dressed in the dark and slipped down the creaking staircase in stockinged feet, shoes in hand. Past Bettano's rooms and out in the musty cool of the Florentine night, charcoal in pockets, a sketch pad optimistically tucked beneath my arm.
I knew little of my surroundings. The city was unfamiliar to me, but as I slid into the stream of the night—joining a small drift of others who, for their own reasons, also found solace in the shadows—I felt a peace that had recently eluded me, shut away in the top of my patron's house.
I moved aimlessly by the Arno. The river poured by, black and swift. The moss-dank stones of the river's path were cool, slippery and slick to my touch, like drowned flesh beneath my hands. For an hour or more, I sat on the muddy edge of the empty riverbank, getting myself chilled in the process, watching the yellow moon rise above the black edges of the city. Pregnant and gibbous, she cast her sickly reflection in the water beneath.
But nothing spurred me to take my charcoal in hand, and even under the bright light of the moon, I did not feel moved to commit anything to paper. I saw nothing to inspire me. For all the glamour of my relocation from Fiesole to Florence, for all the excitement I'd felt—and yes, some trepidation too—at leaving my family behind to restore our fortunes in the city, I saw only water, light and stone. And that was nothing I couldn't have seen at home, despite the buildings that towered over the river and me.
The moon had moved above the buildings and was perched overhead, hanging like a huge yellow apple on a tree I couldn't see. I was considering walking back to my rooms and drinking the remainder of my wine in an attempt to sleep when I heard a scream and voices raised in consternation. The human reaction is to run towards these cries of distress, it seems—however unwise—and without a thought I found myself running along the bank, up the narrow cobbled streets, towards the inhuman cries.
End Street Volume 2 by Amber Kell & RJ Scott
The Case of the Dragon's Dilemma #3
"And you’re sure you are going to be okay looking after our little guest?" Bob didn’t look convinced even as he asked.
"I’ll be absolutely fine," Mikhail said firmly. "It’s not like she does or says anything. She just sits there." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked squarely at the small blonde-haired girl curled up on a temporary bed with her thumb in her mouth. He knew absolutely nothing about children, other than that they were shouting, squealing bundles of confusion that he couldn’t quite get his head around. But at least this one was quiet. She hadn’t said a single word since being rescued from the docks and the cage she had been held in. The fact that she had been one of the children in the cages was another contradiction. He could understand Mal being in a cage—the small vampire was a spitfire and constantly back-chatting and by all accounts had made life difficult for her captors. This child, though—why would any human think she was threat enough to cage her?
"We don’t know what her species is," Bob reminded him. "I could stay here and back you up." There was no trace of sarcasm in Bob’s voice, but there was an element of slyness there that Sam picked up instantly.
"You’re not staying here," Sam said firmly. "We have two schools to check out with Mal and she needs both her guardians with her."
Bob muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue his position with any conviction.
Mikhail chuckled. Bob was handling having a surrogate daughter in about the same easy way as Mikhail was handling having children around him at all.
"I don’t have anywhere to be," Mikhail confirmed. "I don’t mind sitting and watching."
"See if you can get her to talk," Sam suggested. "We can’t return her to her people if we don’t even know what she is."
Mal ran into the room and slid to a stop next to Sam. She grabbed at his jacket to stop from falling on the wooden floor.
"Sam," she said quickly. "It’s time to go."
Mikhail waved them away and shut the front door after they left. He wandered through the house and spent a short while in the file room, but Teddy was lurking and the disapproving looks from the ghost had him leaving to go and check on the girl. For a while he hovered at the door. Sam had tried talking to her. Bob had attempted cajoling her. Smudge had even spent an inordinate amount of time winding in and out of her legs every time she stood up.
Still nothing.
Maybe he should give it a try. He did have one advantage over Bob in that his friend was a pure vampire. And over Sam, who was a human. Maybe she would react differently if she knew more about Mikhail? That he wasn’t pure vampire. Maybe she was a mixed species and had learned not to share that fact with others. A lot of paranormals shunned mixed race beings because they weren’t all one or the other.
It was worth a try at least. What did he have to lose?
He dragged a chair from the side of the room, then straddled it backwards before resting his chin on his hands. Where to start?
"So, I’m Mikhail," he began. She stared right at him and even stopped twirling her hair to listen. "I found out that I wasn’t who I thought I was. It was hard to come to terms with finding out my entire life had been a lie. People didn’t accept me. Even friends I’d known for a long time became enemies." Great. If anything, the confused expression on the little girl showed exactly how little of what he was saying made sense. "Let me start again."
She shuffled a little on the bed but still said nothing.
"I was about your age…well, ten anyway—hell, if you are even ten that is—when I found out my dad wasn’t my dad. Turns out I wasn’t the full-blooded siren, or prince, I was expected to be. In fact, I’m half vampire. Before I was ten you couldn’t have told I was different from other children my age." Mikhail shook his head. He recalled the teasing and bullying when he couldn’t master breathing underwater for long periods of time without using magic, and how he’d learned to pretend everything was okay. As the middle son to the siren king, Mikhail hadn’t been allowed to fail. Did this child in front of him have the same problems?
Mikhail sighed. "As I grew up, my vampire nature became dominant and my siren side became quieter and in the background. I know what it’s like to be different and to have to keep secrets."
Was that enough to communicate what he wanted? Would she see that he understood if she was a half-breed or unusual species type?
She uncurled and sat up.
"Eliza," she said softly. "My name is Eliza."
"Hey, Eliza," Mikhail said. He kept his voice low and friendly. "Can you tell me how to get hold of someone who might be missing you? Parents? Family?"
Becoming mute again, she shook her head, then clambered down off the bed. She walked past Mikhail and into the hallway before going into the bathroom. Well, at least he’d got her name. That was a start. She shut the door behind her and Mikhail contemplated what he was going to ask her next. Maybe a location, or a surname, or anything that meant she could get home.
The Case of the Sinful Santa #4
Nick Klauson pushed open the door to the tavern and climbed onto a seat in the back corner where it was dark and he could be alone. He needed somewhere to lick his wounds and this place was as good as any. The barman—woman? Nick could never tell with satyrs—waited expectantly and Nick didn’t keep him or her standing there long. He didn’t have to think about what he was going to order.
“Whisky. A bottle. One glass,” he said firmly. He waited for a reaction and was vaguely disappointed when there was none. The whisky was old, the crystal tumbler bright and there in front of him was the means to forget who he was for a few hours at least.
“Do you want any food?” the satyr asked. Her features coalesced into a feminine shape and she batted her eyelashes at Nick. If she only knew how freaked out Nick was to see a paranormal being able to change sex at the whim of the person they were with.
“Do I look like I want food?” Nick snapped. “If I’d wanted food I would have ordered it.” He stopped as he realised the residual anger from his last showdown with the family was spilling over into spite and irritation. “Sorry,” he mumbled before swallowing another mouthful of burning alcohol. He wiped his mouth. “Bad day.” Bad year. Bad life.
The satyr leaned over the bar, giving Nick an eyeful of newly fashioned creamy breasts in a low-cut top. “You look stressed,” she began with a low purr. “I can help you with that if you have the time.” Evidently the satyr was reading Nick all wrong. The alcohol was burning in his system and he clung to the buzz as long as he could. Unfortunately his family had this damn gene that meant they didn’t stay drunk for long. Sometimes he hated that…sometimes he wanted to drown in the haze of contentment and just stay there for an hour or two.
“Wrong…uhm…” He waved a hand at her breasts.
She chuckled and in the weirdest, unsexiest, most obscene way ever, she morphed into a male. Nick nearly choked on his whisky. The male bartender was so the absolute opposite of what Nick wanted in a guy. She…or he—or whatever the satyr was—had chosen a small blond twink of a thing. What he was faced with couldn’t have been more wrong. Nick loved his men big and dark-haired and strong enough to drag him to bed.
“Better?” the satyr said in a soft voice.
Nope. All wrong.
“I’m not interested,” Nick said quickly. “That isn’t what I came in for.”
The satyr reached out a hand and touched his cheek, startling him back on the stool. “Shame. You’re soooo pretty.”
Nick pulled away from the satyr’s reach. “Uh. Yeah. Just the whisky, thanks.”
“Are you really sure? I can be anything you want me to be.”
“Can you be a way out?” Nick snapped then regretted it. The satyr eyed him with confusion then opened his mouth to answer. “Never mind,” Nick interjected. “The whisky is fine.”
The satyr moved away and morphed as he walked, back into the buxom blonde. Nick could feel the disappointment emanating from her. He hated that. Not only was Nick the only skinny one in the family, but he had a broken form of the family trait of empathy. Not a useful skill when the only emotions he was capable of reading were misery and disappointment. He couldn’t even get empathy right. And as for ho ho freaking ho…
“Is this seat taken?” a voice rumbled to his left. Irritation flooded Nick. This was a big bar with a lot of spaces to hide, why would someone want to share his?
“Yes,” he snapped.
The owner of the voice chuckled and the sound cut through Nick’s melancholy. That was one low, sexy noise. He looked sideways and got an eyeful of man. Big man. Huge. Maybe six-four to his five-ten. Wide, solid, with dark hair, and even in the dim lighting at this end Nick could see the man’s eyes glint with amusement. Nick squirmed in his seat. Why had he said yes? The man, or whatever he turned out to be in this mixed human/para bar, was clearly interested enough to choose to sit next to Nick. Add to that Nick had a whole afternoon to kill.
“No,” he said.
“No what?” the big man said.
“When I said yes, I meant no. No one is sitting there.”
The man looked down pointedly at the fact he was already perched on the stool anyway. “Then I’ll stay,” he concluded.
The satyr behind the bar moved over to serve the new guy. Nick blinked furiously. The alcohol had clearly got to him because he could swear the satyr was morphing from male to female and was at times stuck as a bearded sixty-year-old man with the biggest chest he’d ever seen. He shook his head and concentrated on his whisky. He was obviously losing it big time.
“Zeph Constantine,” the big man introduced himself and held out a hand to shake.
“Nick Klauson.”
They shook hands and Nick winced at Zeph’s grip. Firm, maybe a little too firm. The shaking went on for some time. Neither man released his hold. Finally Nick realised he was still holding Zeph’s hand and embarrassment flushed his face. Thank the heavens they were in the gloom so Zeph didn’t see the tell-tale signs of Nick’s classic awkwardness around hot men.
“What brings you to the city?” Zeph asked as he sipped on what looked like water but could well have been vodka for all Nick knew.
“Toy convention,” Nick answered immediately. Then his mind went blank. What else could he add to that one? That was his cover story and he hadn’t spent any time embellishing it to be able to give details.
“Interesting. And?” Zeph prompted.
“I’m a statistician,” Nick lied on the run. “I look at trends in toy sales to support company marketing.” So it wasn’t actually lying, but he had fudged a little there. His actual job was to visit toy fairs and determine trends, but he was also there to investigate areas with any pockets of residual despair—the parts of the city and the surrounding countryside where there was a lack of joy. Not that he would tell sexy here anything about what he really did. His job description was a little screwy, but that was what he did and he did it well.
The Blood Boss by Davidson King
Chapter One
Jayce
“Good night, Jayce.” Sibell, the old lady who owned the bookstore where I worked, squeezed my shoulder when she passed.
“Stay safe, Sibell, I’ll see you Monday morning.”
She smiled softly, her dark eyes twinkling as if they held a million secrets. Nodding quickly, she shut the front door.
I had worked here from the time I was eighteen and loved it. Now that I was twenty-three, Sibell was able to hand over a great many important tasks to me, such as counting the drawers, locking up, and ordering inventory. She’d told me the day she promoted me that she was grateful to finally have someone she trusted to watch over the store when she couldn’t. I took the responsibility seriously and was equally as grateful.
After I flipped the sign on the door to closed and locked the cash drawers in the safe, I did a sweep of the rows to be sure they were all tidy and nothing was out of place before leaving and locking the door.
“Late night?” the baker across the way, Burt, shouted as he shut down his own place.
“Fridays always are. Have a good night, Burt.”
He waved and got into his truck. I didn’t drive; the desire to learn how never intrigued me. If it rained I took the bus, but on clear days like today, I used my legs to get me home. I always traveled along the sidewalk that paralleled the ocean. In the morning, the sunrise would be my cup of coffee, and in the evening, when the moon made the sea glitter, it was a nightcap of delicious Chardonnay.
I was raised in foster care, though I didn’t have horrible and traumatizing memories like many in the system do. I was one of the lucky ones. My foster parents loved me from the second they found me on their doorstep at only a few days old, and I’d always felt like I was their son. At the age of five, I went from a foster kid to an adopted one, and Michael and Anne Harlow became my legal parents, and Black Veil City my home.
While not perfect and constantly humming with magic in the air, I wouldn’t live anywhere else. I heard the chimes from the church bells, indicating it was nine in the evening, and I hurried my steps. See, I loved this city, but when the sun was fully tucked away, it was safer to be home.
As I passed the police station, one of the officers stopped me.
“You shouldn’t be walking around at night, son. Do you need a ride?”
“No thanks, I’m just around this corner.”
“Okay, be safe.” I could feel the officer’s eyes on me until I turned down my street; everyone was vigilant at night.
I wasn’t born when it happened, but as the story goes, the world was falling apart, and humanity was responsible for it. In school, I was taught that due to humans killing the planet and each other, a balance no one knew existed had been upset.
The textbooks referred to it as The Final War because there hadn’t been one since. Mom would tell the story so dramatically, it was almost humorous. The first time I’d heard it, I was ten:
“From the Earth’s core the demons climbed, and from the stars the angels fell. The sea came alive, and the waves brought magical creatures ashore. The trees trembled with life as winged magicians swept through the forest. Humanity was not destroyed in this war; it was set to order.”
That was how she always started the story. Vampires, fairies, angels—all of them had come to Earth’s aid and saved it. When the dust settled, a new hierarchy was created and humans were not at the top. I was okay with that because, first of all, I’d known no differently, and also I’d learned that the oceans became cleaner, the air was safer, and there was zero pollution. But the fact that humans weren’t number one meant something else was, and here in Black Veil City, that was vampires. Namely, The Blood Boss.
I had never met him—hell, he didn’t show his face anywhere that I’d ever seen, and I knew very little about him. But he controlled all vampires, and while the streets weren’t running red with blood at night, it was the time they tended to roam, and crime was rare but it did happen.
I could see the porch light shining at the house and was just about to climb the steps when I realized there was a sleek black Cadillac in the driveway that didn’t belong to anyone I knew. Who could be here at this hour?
Something crashed inside and I rushed through the door, worried Mom, Dad, or the foster kids inside were in trouble.
“Jayce!” Mom shouted from the couch. Her hands were on her lap, and tears streaked down her cheeks. Dad was on the ground, his nose bleeding. But what had me frozen in place were the two hulking vampires in the living room. One stood beside Mom, and the other hovered over Dad.
“What’s going on here?” There were laws in place that vampires couldn’t enter someone’s home and dominate them for anything unless they had proper documentation from The Blood Boss.
“Who are you?” The one who was beside Mom narrowed his eyes.
“I’m Jayce Harlow, and I live here. Who are you?”
“Jayce, don’t…” A sharp look from the vampire above my dad shut him up.
“I’m Emil, this is Petru, and we’re here under orders from The Blood Boss.” Emil was the one guarding my mother, and he slipped a piece of paper from the pocket of his expensive suit.
He walked over to me, and I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze. He had to be over six five or something. His blond hair was styled in a short cut, his eyes an eerie shade of blue—a cross between white and baby blue. I’d noticed all vampires had odd-colored eyes; it was one way of identifying them.
“Take a gander.” He held the paper out to me, and I took it, reading every word carefully, hoping I’d find a reason to tell them they had no right to be here. But there was none and…
“You borrowed money from The Blood Boss, Dad?”
Petru stepped back when my father tried to stand, but he stayed close.
“I had to, Jayce, I had no other choice.”
I read the line that scared me the most. “Failure to pay the agreed-upon amount will result in your punishment being ruled on in front of The Blood Boss and a fair judgment dealt.” I looked up, and tendrils of fear licked at my skin. “Dad, this is serious! It says you borrowed over fifty-thousand dollars.”
“I know and—”
“Do you even have it?” I knew he didn’t; money was tight even with what we were given from the government to care for the foster kids. I’d told my parents not to take any more kids in, that we couldn’t afford it, but they hated turning away a child in need.
“No.” His voice was a whisper, and he flinched when Petru grunted.
“Emil, is it?” The vampire nodded. “Can I ask what punishment my father will get?”
He shrugged. “I’m not The Blood Boss; you’d have to ask him, but the reason there is order in Black Veil is because no one gets to slide by without repercussions for their actions.”
“But from your experience, what would you say he’d get for it?”
Emil spared a glance at Petru before answering. “The reason Michael Harlow borrowed money had to do with the fact that the bank was about to foreclose on his house. It’s a noble reason. My guess is he’d likely make him work it off.”
The bank was going to foreclose on the house? Why didn’t anyone tell me?
“He already works two jobs. If you take him away, the bank will surely take the house. Isn’t there another way?”
Emil shook his head. “Anne Harlow could take his place as payment.”
My mom was a schoolteacher during the week, and on the weekends she worked at the community center to help children who were struggling in school. She couldn’t be away either.
“If you take Mom or Dad, they will be even deeper in debt with the bank, the foster kids will have to leave, and I don’t have a lot of hope for them in the system, and they’d lose their other jobs. Please, is there any other way?”
Emil looked over at my mom, then at my dad. When he met Petru’s gaze, it was as if they were having some sort of telepathic conversation, and maybe they were; I didn’t know a lot about vampires’ abilities.
“Are you their son?” Emil turned toward me again.
“No!” My dad made to run over to me, but Petru stopped him easily.
“I am, why?”
“It’s not typical, and I’ve never seen it done, but you could go in your father’s place.”
“Jayce, please.” My mom was sobbing, and I heard the pitter-patter of footsteps above me. No doubt the kids were listening and frightened. Michael and Anne were amazing foster parents. If it weren’t for them, I’d likely be in a shit situation, and if they left here now it would be a disaster.
I, on the other hand, only worked at the bookstore and while Sibell needed my help, she wasn’t completely lost without me. Mom and Dad would take a little hit financially, seeing as my paycheck went to help out around here. It was the sole reason I stilled lived at home. However, without me here it would also be one less mouth to feed, so things might balance themselves out.
“I’ll do it.”
My mom cried harder, and my dad tried to break free of Petru’s grasp. They loved me and didn’t want to see me handed to The Blood Boss, especially for something I had no control over.
Emil held a small square device in his hand. “I need your finger.”
Reflexively I clenched my fists. “It will be hard to work off my father’s debt if I’m down one finger.”
Emil and Petru chuckled. “You can keep your fingers, just slide one in here.” The square device opened and there was a tiny needle sticking up inside. “I need a drop of your blood.”
I glanced over at my parents, Mom’s cries were softer, but my father looked as if he were about to come apart.
Slowly, I stuck my finger inside the device, feeling the brush of the needle. Emil gave me no time to react; he shut it and I felt the quick, piercing pain.
“Repeat after me,” Emil said. “I, Jayce Harlow, agree to take punishment for Michael Harlow’s debt to The Blood Boss for the allotted time agreed upon by him.”
I repeated what he said, and he went on.
“This is a blood oath you are making at your own free will and without coercion?”
“Yes.”
“I hereby stand witness to this pact and agree to the substitution of Jayce Harlow in place of Michael Harlow.”
Emil released my finger and I immediately stuck it in my mouth, earning a chuckle from both vampires.
“I bet you’re delicious.” Emil winked but quickly walked to my dad.
“I don’t allow you to take my son!”
“Michael Harlow, you are hereby excused of your obligation to The Blood Boss—”
“No! I refuse.” He tried and failed to break away from Petru as he raged and cried.
“Dad, please. Let me do this. Conner, Lisa, the twins, they need you and Mom here.”
“What if he hurts you?” My mom spoke through her sobs.
“A debt is not punishable by death or physical harm,” Emil answered, his voice laced with boredom. “Petru, I will get Jayce to the car, and then you may release Michael and join us.”
“Can I say good-bye?”
Emil’s expression hardened. “I’ve been as kind as I’m going to be, Jayce. Let’s go.”
Even if I wanted to, I wasn’t going to argue. I followed Emil out of the house, hearing my mother’s loud cries all the way to the car.
Nightside by VL Locey
Chapter One
There are a slew of things about being newly embraced— a romantic term for being dead— that are weird. Well, undead I guess one would say. Mostly dead. Dead but walking. No, that’s more like zombies.
It’s confusing. The whole routine is confounding and some of it’s just downright unsettling.
Sleeping on the soil where you were turned… embraced… whatever, that’s distressing. I missed sleeping in beds. Big beds with thick duvets and fluffy pillows. Rocks and soil tossed into a fancy casket lacked the comfort of a queen-sized foam mattress and satin sheets. The dirt packed down so someone had to fluff it daily, and there were bugs in it. Imagine having a centipede skitter over the nape of your neck after you’ve gone to bed but not being able to leap up to brush the bug off because the damn sun might touch you and turn you to dust. It was a nightmare come to life, even more so than moving to a new apartment or root canal or tax preparation. My husband got an earful when we crawled out of those damn coffins.
Vincente, my new spouse, and the elder vampire who’d embraced me after a near death experience for me as his donor, took it all in stride. He was incredibly unflappable about most things.
“Dumpling, the next time you feel a creepy crawly simply grab it, crack the lid, and flick the little shit out,” he’d said, rising from his own coffin, gloriously naked, his skin pearly white in the moonlight. Long-legged, ebony-haired, eyes blue as sapphires, he was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Of course, beauty is a hunting weapon for a vampire. It lures humans to them, stirring up lust and desire. Add in that vampires can delve into the minds of others and control them, and you can see why few can resist offering up their veins. I know I hadn’t. One look at him and I’d fallen under his spell, giving him what he’d wanted, my body and my blood, and eventually my heart.
“Ugh,” I snapped, grabbed a robe that had been laid out by the major domo, and stormed out of the wine cellar to shower, muttering about cooties and fleas, to which Vincente had sniggered as he followed me through Lupei Manor, telling me that human parasites didn’t find vampire blood appealing. Which, you know, was kind of an upside to being undead but still…
“Imagine no more pesky mosquito bites,” he’d tossed out blithely, only pausing in his litany of marvelous things being a vampire would bring about when the serving girl Eru, a thin Elven halfling, spied his cock dangling down his thigh and screamed as if the gaping bowels of the underworld had opened before her. “My bad, totally. Skitter off, child.” He waved a hand at the fey young woman, and she streaked off, bouncing into walls until she thought to uncover her wide black eyes. “Go shower. I’ll join you shortly.” He slid around me on the grand staircase, took my chin in his hand, and tipped my head up. “All will work out, darling. We’ll sift your home soil so that it’s bug free. Now kiss me. I’ve missed the taste of you on my tongue.”
I did, of course, because I adored him and wanted to make this work. I had to make it work. This was my life… or to be more precise, my afterlife, for eternity. We had to make a go of it. We were married forever. Were there vampire divorces? I knew so little about my new lifestyle. All I knew for sure was that this man was my husband, and I loved him more than anything.
“You know I must really love you if I’m sleeping with centipedes,” I sighed over his lips, suddenly eager to get him to our room for some enjoyable nighttime activities. He smiled at me, thin fangs sliding out. Just seeing his canines elongate made mine punch through my gums, the pain sharp for a moment, but oddly erotic at the same time.
“Ah, look at you growing all hard and toothy for me.” He lowered his head to nibble along my neck, and I clung to him as I had before, when I’d been human and he would feed from me. There we were, two newlyweds on the cusp of rutting on the grand staircase of our host’s home, when the pack returned from a run. All manner of nibbling and newlywed hijinks ceased the moment the foyer and stairs were filled with werewolves. “Did you all run through the damn lake?” Vincente huffed, shoving at the massive wolves that were bounding around us, tongues lolling and tails wagging.
They were being asses. Lycans and vampires disliked each other. The wildly wagging tails were due to the disgust they were stirring up in Vincente, not because they adored him so much.
“You do smell like wet dog,” I had to concede, reaching out to pet one of them on the head— a head the size of a small car engine. Mikel, the alpha, the largest of the pack, lapped at my hand then shoved his brindle head into my open palm.
“Don’t coddle them, Akio, they’ll never go away,” Vincente snapped, irked beyond comprehension by the Lycans. Wolves were one of the few things that pushed his buttons rather quickly. “Oh fuck this. Smelly, slobbering fools are speckling me with dog spit. I’m going to our room to wash off the spittle.”
And he transformed into an ebony cloud and swept up the stairs, wafting under the noses of the Lupei alphas of times past. Imagine what they would have thought seeing vampires in this old wreck of a stone keep? Add that most of the inhabitants were LGBTQ and proud of that fact and I’d bet the old males of the line were howling in their graves. Served them right, the sexist, homophobic mongrels.
“Okay, nice wolves. Good wolves,” I laughed, enjoying the frivolity of the pack greatly. Sure, I may have been a new vampire, but times were changing now that the uprising a few months ago had taken place. “I have to go wash the dirt out of my hair.”
They bounded off, claws scrabbling across the tile floor of the entryway as Rugby, the major domo, rushed around closing the doors and mopping up dirty paw prints. He paused to smile up at me. I waved at the elderly Elven halfling then jogged to our “bedroom” which was actually a huge room with wardrobes but no bed.
I shut the door on the barking madness and walked over thick Berber carpeting that swallowed my toes. The room was darkly decorated, masculine to the nth, as the whole craggy keep was— dictates of old days from the old lands, I was sure. Four huge dressers stood open, three were Vincente’s and one was mine. The man was a fashion maven. I preferred sweaters and jeans, maybe a nice tweed beret when I was writing.
“Are you going to stand out there sniffing the wind or are you going to join me?” my husband called from the bathroom. Smiling, I shucked off my robe and draped it over a velveteen loveseat from some bygone era. Lupei Manor was packed full of antiques, most of them spindly little things that could in no way hold the hulking men who lived here, in fur or out. “I have a spot right in the middle of my back that needs a scrub.”
A soft rap on the door pulled me from the needs of my spouse. “Someone’s at the door,” I yelled to Vincente. He cursed. “Patience, Mr. Elysian.”
“Send whoever it is off, Mr. Lee. My dirty spot is a dire need…”
“So melodramatic,” I chuckled, pulled my robe on, and hurried to the heavy door, pulling it open to see my friend, Templeton Reed, grinning at me. He was dressed formally for dinner, which was a normal happening here. Lunch had been downgraded to tasteful casual, but dinner was still suit and tie, the tuxedos thankfully being banished with the old laws that had called for gay men to be stoned and thrown into nearby Lake Erie.
“I told Rugby that I’d inform you that several realtors called while you and Vincente were… were… napping,” Templeton said as a black bear shuffled down the hall behind him. I waved at the bear, she lifted a paw and grunted then plodded down to the dining room. Seemed like our resident bear shifter had just awoken from her last long bout of hibernation. Templeton turned his head, groaned, and then looked back at me. “Oh dear, I don’t think Mrs. Dunrite is ready for a bear out of hibernation. She’s surely not got enough food. Running this house is a fulltime job that I’m still not grasping well.”
He pushed his glasses up. I leaned on the door, happy to chat with Templeton. I was going to miss him the most when we moved out, but it was time. Vampires and Lycans do not make good housemates. And there was no privacy here with five wolves, a bear, and the servants always popping up when least expected.
“If this old place had Internet you could do it all online. Get one of those managerial software programs, you know? And enter when Margaret goes down for a long sleep and when she’s due to wake up.”
“Internet? We’re lucky we have a phone line and electricity. I do love Mikel but he’s doggedly stubborn about some things.”
“‘ Doggedly’. I see what you did there.”
Templeton giggled impishly, pushed his glasses up on his cute nose, and bowed. “I do try to keep the conversation fresh,” he replied with a wink.
A shout rang out from the lower levels of the mansion. The cook, Mrs. Dunrite by the sounds, and an unhappy bear. “Oh shit, the bear’s in the kitchen. If there’s anything left, dinner will be ready at seven sharp.”
Off he ran. I sniffed the air, amazed that I could now pick up the subtle scent of skunk my best friend had left behind. Before I’d been fully embraced, I’d only smelled that musk when Templeton was in fur and had doused someone. Now I smelled it whenever he was near, as well as the core animals of all the shifters I came into contact with. Bears, wolves, big cats, weasels, foxes, the list was endless. As a human I’d never known that a magical community really existed until that fateful night Vincente and I had met outside the pub in Boston.
“Well, I’ve managed to bathe by myself,” Vincente announced behind me. I closed the door and turned, giving him a little pout. “No, no, don’t bother trying to look sad about it. I suppose Templeton is more important than your own husband. Oh, the sheer heartbreak of it all!” He threw a hand over his pale forehead, all that soft black hair plastered to his skull.
“Such a drama queen,” I sniggered, walking to him to kiss his cool cheek then heading into the cavernous bathroom.
“Mm, yes, well, it’s a gift. So, tell me,” he said as he rummaged in the wardrobe for something suitable for dinner, “what did the darling little polecat want?”
I stepped into the clawfoot tub that Vincente had just left, the scalding hot water making me shudder in delight. I was always cold now, my body no longer keeping me warm as it had when I’d been alive. Another downside to the transformation, but one that I’d known about. Vincente had always been cool to the touch.
“You know what he wanted. Your hearing is as good as the wolves,” I sighed as I lowered myself into the sandalwood-scented water. Sleeping on soil was damp and dank, the moisture seeped into a person’s bones.
“Not quite but close. So, realtors. Shall we try to set up some property viewings at night, or shall we send the halfling to scope them out?” He appeared beside me in sleek gray trousers and a white shirt that was unbuttoned, his pale hairless chest still damp from his bath. “I personally have enough on my plate with restructuring the Nosferarti into an intelligence gathering operation that will serve the new president willingly.”
“I know, but I hate to hand off finding our new house to Rugby. He has enough to contend with here, and this whole servants thing still bothers me.” I slid down into the bath until the tiny bubbles brushed my chin. I could soak in baths for hours now. Before my change, I’d never taken a bath. I’d been a shower man. Now I could linger for days. Give me some wine, some candles, my laptop and I’d be a happy vamp. Until I got hungry.
“They’re not exactly slaves, Akio, they’re paid and paid well. Just as any servants we hire will be.” He dropped to one knee beside the tub. I glanced at him, getting lost in those hypnotic azure eyes. “So then are you willing to handle choosing our home? There are several mansions along the lake sitting empty now that many of the old families have returned to the motherlands.”
Old families. Such a nice way of saying bigoted old bastards and bitches who would’ve sooner moldered away over in Europe than face a new government here in America.
“You’re looking very much like John Paul Jones or Paul Revere, buttercup,” Vincente said, tapping my nose with a manicured finger.
“I’m rather sure Jones or Revere weren’t Japanese-American,” I countered then blew at a clump of bubbles by my chin. “I was feeling rather revolutionary warrish, to be honest. Your community has made such drastic changes.”
“Our community, Akio. You’re no longer an outsider, you’re part of this mystical world we inhabit.” He ran a finger along my lower lip then my upper, lifting my lip a bit to watch in expectation for a fang to appear. When it did, he held out his wrist and I lapped at it. I could suck from him, and I did when we were making love, and he me, simply for the erotic thrill it gave us, but there was no substance in his veins. His blood, like mine now, was devoid of nutritional value. It lacked vitamins and calcium, and was unpalatable due to that lack of vitamins, D in particular. I’d tried eating things rich in vitamin D since I’d been embraced, but solid food came right back up, aside from raw beef liver which tasted vile and had to be served warm so that it mimicked being fresh from the kill so… no. Just no. Which left getting blood from humans, an issue that gave me more trouble than warm cow liver.
“Right yes, our community.” I sighed, feeling sluggish. We’d need to feed tonight. It had been days. “Anyway, since I’m home working on my book, let me go meet with the realtors while you go to work. Do you trust me to find us a house fitting of the new head of the Nosferarti?”
He subconsciously reached up to touch his brow where a band of illumination had once sat. Now he and all the other vampires pressed into slavery by the old Elder Counsel were free of those magical bonds, thank God. They were ghastly things, silvery bands fastened to the head of a vampire accused of some trumped-up charge. The band held a magical gem that, if busted, would release the power of the sun. Any vampire wearing one would be instantly incinerated. It was a horrid form of slavery and terrorism rolled into one. I still didn’t know why Vincente had been banded, but he would tell me someday, when he was free of the dark memories of his enslavement. We had forever. I could wait.
“Yes, of course. I trust you with my heart, so why would I not trust you with buying a stuffy old house?”
He leaned in to steal a kiss. I slid a hand up out of the water, carding my fingers into his shoulder-length hair, licking at his mouth to entice him to delve deeper. A roaring explosion took place at that moment. The door to the bathroom was pushed open by a black bear with a whole ham in her mouth. We both blinked at the she-bear as she sat beside Vincente and began ripping off mouthfuls of sweet, smoked pork. I could hear Mrs. Dunrite and Templeton shouting as they raced up the stairs. It took forty minutes, several tins of cookies, and a long stick, to prod the hungry bear from our bathroom. When it was all said and done, I rose from the now cold tub and stepped into the thick robe Vincente held open for me. He wrapped me in terry cloth and then hugged me to him.
“I’ll call the realtor and leave a message,” I whispered against the divot in his neck.
Someone cleared their throat. Vincente and I groaned in unison.
“Hey sorry about Barbara, she’s going to be a little grumpy and hungry for a few days,” Havel said, peeking around the doorway with a sheepish smile. The beta of the pack was dating the she-bear Margaret. Havel was Mikel’s cousin who had come east from the Puget pack. He’d been driven out by an intolerant sire who had wanted his mind swiped by vampires for being a cross-dresser. Havel and Mikel were strikingly good-looking brutes, tall and wide-shouldered, with thick reddish-black hair and amber eyes. “But on the upside, Mrs. Dunrite has some steak as a backup for the missing ham. So, see you at dinner!”
“Is knocking an unknown talent for younger wolves?” Vincente asked wearily. “Yes please, call the realtor as soon as you can. Living among this circus of canines is making me seriously consider investing in a gross of shock collars.”
