A little bit of laughter escaped Kiyoshi after weeks of not making that cheerful sound. “Oh, Ryu-san.” The depth of love Ryuhei bore for him only made the blood smell sweeter still. Leaning close, he lapped at the small cut.
The sharp tips of his fangs grazed over his lover’s flesh. Giving a little gasp of surprise, Ryuhei shivered. “They’re so…hot,” he breathed, leaning his head back and leaving his throat completely exposed. “The warmth that should be in your fingers is in your…your…” The last syllable melted into a sultry moan.
Kiyoshi pressed down on the side of Ryuhei’s neck in an open-mouthed kiss. Sharper than any man-made needle, the fangs punctured the bare skin effortlessly. Kiyoshi pulled back. Thick, fat droplets of blood oozed out of both puncture wounds, the sweet scent enough to fill his head with a heady intoxication.
“My fangs,” Kiyoshi whispered in response to the other’s half-finished sentence. “All the heat from my body is there.” Surrendering to the need of his flesh, Kiyoshi dropped the blanket and pushed his lover against the wall, his hands tangling in the silk of Ryu’s jacket.
His lips gravitated to the bleeding. Pausing after every swallow to murmur his gratitude or kiss the bite, Kiyoshi suckled the blood. After weeks of being empty, his stomach growled lightly at such rich and sudden nourishment.
But the blood flow slowed all too quickly. Once again he pulled away, frightened he’d drained too much at once or that Ryuhei would faint. He pressed close and found what was causing the change.
“All of my blood is there.” With his back still against the wall, Ryuhei shifted. The full length of his engorged cock pushed out from the part in his yukata and rubbed against Kiyoshi’s hip. “Kiyo-kun,” he moaned. “The more you drink, the harder I get.”
“You know it’s the same for me,” Kiyoshi said quietly before leaning in to lick the wound on Ryuhei’s neck. He forced himself away, letting one hand drift down to stroke Ryuhei’s cock. The actor moaned and pressed back against the wall. Kiyoshi dropped gracefully to his knees and took the hard length into his mouth while his fingers teased and lightly tugged the heavy sac between Ryu’s legs.
Ryuhei’s breathing quickened as Kiyoshi set into a quick rhythm, mouth and tongue caressing, fingers exploring, tickling the cleft of Ryuhei’s rear, pressing into his tight opening to stroke the sensitive places within.
“Oh Gods, Kiyo-kun.”
Ryuhei dug his fingers into Kiyoshi’s scalp as he climaxed in a series of shudders, his hot fluid coursing down Kiyoshi’s throat, every bit as tempting as his blood had been. Kiyoshi gulped it down, pulling back to slowly lick the remnants away as Ryuhei continued to shiver and murmur his delight.
“At least do that in your own room,” Hoshi growled from the top of the stairs. “Spare us, please.”
Kiyoshi pulled back and turned away, his hand over his mouth, his body too aroused to retract his fangs quick enough to be unnoticeable.
“Hoshi, you bitch,” Ryu shouted, folding the front of his kimono over himself. “That wasn’t the least bit necessary and you know it. What do you want?”
“That gaijin reporter is here again. He wants to speak with you, he says it’s urgent.”
Ryuhei made a disgusted sound, then laid his hand gently atop Kiyoshi’s shoulder. “I’ll get rid of him at once, Kiyo-kun. Why don’t you wait for me in our room?”
“I’m going to stay here for a minute. I don’t want Gavin to see me.”
“All right. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Kiyoshi nodded but did not turn around, though he very much wanted to turn Ryuhei’s feather-light kiss on the cheek into something more.
Kiyoshi sank to his knees on the wood plank floor as soon as he felt both Ryu and Hoshi’s presence withdraw. He rested his forehead against a wooden crate and sighed. This was so difficult and that Gavin wasn’t making things any easier.
“Kiyoshi-sama, are they gone?”
Kiyoshi glanced up to see Gobei peeking down at him. “Yes. What’s wrong?”
“He’s coming.”
Kiyoshi’s breath caught in his throat. Asking “who” was unnecessary. With Ryuhei far away at the front of the theater, Kiyoshi could sense the other’s approach now. The air seemed to crackle with unseen energy, as when a storm rolls down from the mountains of Kyuushuu.
The Poisoned Dragon…so close.
“Him and his lover both.” Gobei’s face twisted into a sour expression.
Blood pumped through Kiyoshi’s veins in such a rush he felt light-headed, disoriented. Slowly, he gathered himself up and clutched at the blanket wrapped around his body. Yes…the young one was with the Dragon, his essence sharp and radiating so much power and frustration.
“Eh! Where are you going?”
Kiyoshi made a gesture that the ghoul should be quiet. “They’re hunting,” he breathed. Oh, yes…the scent of their blood was laced with adrenalin, giving it a bitter edge like dry wine. Kiyoshi allowed that scent to call him forward.
“Kiyoshi-sama, wait.” Gobei darted around him to block the side door leading into the alley. “The mortals have a play tonight, yes? Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
Following the lure of danger, the scent of predators, the sound of angry voices, Kiyoshi started towards the rear door.
“Kiyoshi, don’t.” Gobei tugged on the blanket. “Don’t go.”
Kiyoshi swatted him away like an annoying gnat. “I know what I’m doing.”
The vampire peered into the alley, almost pitch black with the darkness of the night. The shadowy forms of five men moved as if in a dance. A brutal, savage choreography of violence both beautiful and frightening all at once. The scent of blood was heavy and thick in the alley, with flashes of steel knife blades catching in whatever sliver of moonlight pierced the black.
Three of the men fought for their lives. The other two reveled in taking it from them. The graceful and all-too-familiar killers moved as one, cutting down the others without pause, and the sight stirred Kiyoshi’s soul in a way that repulsed and excited him. He licked his lips, his gaze never leaving the assassins. Oh, they were magnificent up close.
He inhaled slowly, closed his eyes and savored their scent, his cock jutting up between his legs with varied degrees of hunger. So full of power they were. So full of passion that heated their blood and pumped it through their veins in a heady rush that reached out to him. He shivered at the thought of touching at least one of them, tasting him. His mouth watered, his canines extending like the claws of a cat.
The assassins prodded their victims with the toes of their boots. The last one groaned but it was obvious he hadn’t long to live. The Dragon pulled his protégé to him and licked a spatter of blood from his cheek. He looked at the fallen victims and laughed. “I doubt the show on the stage will be this entertaining,” he said as he led the way to the main street.
Slipping into the alley after the men left, Kiyoshi quickly drank what he could of the last man the Dragon’s disciple had stabbed, rendering him quickly into Death’s hands.
Kiyoshi’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of Gobei trying to distract the perturbed Ryuhei inside the theater. “Kiyoshi, you’d better get in here. We need to dress for the performance.”
Kiyoshi dragged himself away, wiped his mouth and went about his normal tasks of getting ready to perform with the kabuki troupe.
Only tonight was different. Tonight was wonderful. Tonight he would feel those two watching him.
Tonight, the Poisoned Dragon and his protégé would be here in the theater.
Chapter Nineteen
“Akira and Hoshi will leave tomorrow as planned but you and I must leave San Francisco tonight. That Gavin is going to cause you a world of trouble. The man is positively possessed by finding this Chinatown Demon of his.” Ryuhei paused. “You are listening to me aren’t you, Kiyo-kun?”
Ryuhei’s words barely registered within Kiyoshi’s mind as they put on their makeup for the performance. The blood flavored by the Dr
agon and his lover rushed through Kiyoshi’s veins, roaring like a turbulent ocean in his ears.
“Of course I am, Ryu-san. You and I leave tonight.”
“Yes. The sooner we’re away from Gavin and that assassin the better.”
Nodding, Kiyoshi accepted Ryuhei’s kiss with a passion that never truly reached his heart.
They pulled apart, Ryuhei’s painted face still set in a worried frown. “Kiyo-kun…” he started, his fingers tightening on Kiyoshi’s shoulders.
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time.” Kiyoshi again nodded mechanically, slipping out of the other’s hold with ease. He shrugged off his yukata and pulled on his costume for the first act, looking back towards the doorway and hoping for a glimpse of the stage and the audience where the Dragon surely awaited destiny. “We’ll leave…tonight…” Kiyoshi whispered.
“Thank the Gods.” Ryuhei exhaled in relief. He glanced down to tie an embroidered indigo sash around his waist. “The less time we waste here, the better. And a train ride is always nice, yes?”
Kiyoshi leaned against the doorway. He nodded, as if agreeing with Ryu, but didn’t really pay much attention. In fact, he was oblivious to the few stagehands scurrying back and forth across the narrow hallway outside to make final preparations for the show. His gaze was locked on a place beyond the thick, maroon curtains leading to the stage.
Ryuhei’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach where it settled uncomfortably beside the small portion of rice shrimp dumplings he’d managed to down for lunch. “Is something wrong?” He pressed a hand against his queasy belly. The stillness in Kiyoshi’s body, the total focus of concentration, was unsettling. “Is it that reporter?” Ryuhei asked quietly.
The vampire considered the question, his brow furrowed as if fighting to reign in his attention. Ryuhei followed the direction of Kiyoshi’s gaze to the shadowed box on the left of the stage. “Kiyoshi?”
Kiyoshi turned away from the box and scanned the crowd briefly. “Yes,” he said flatly, pointing to the reporter Gavin standing near the back. “He’s here and he looks like he wants something.”
“Fuck!” Ryuhei gave the ties at his waist a tug that was both nervous and angry. “With so many people in this damned city you’d think there would be someone else he could harass. Come away from there and close the door until the show starts.”
Kiyoshi stood frozen to the spot, his silk-draped figure silhouetted in the doorway. Had he even heard Ryuhei speak, or was he just choosing to ignore the words?
Frowning, Ryuhei stepped away from the dressing table and reached for Kiyoshi’s shoulder. “Kiyo-kun?”
Kiyoshi turned and pierced him with a ravenous stare.
Oh Gods. It was the look that man roused in him—that assassin. But surely he wasn’t here. How could he be? No one that evil and insane could be a patron of the arts.
“I’m not afraid of that mortal,” Kiyoshi breathed and a shiver made its way down Ryu’s spine. “Or of any mortal, for that matter.”
Ryuhei swallowed and lifted a hand to his throat, unable to meet the ferocity in Kiyoshi’s eyes. A complete stranger’s eyes couldn’t have been any less familiar than those that belonged to his dear one. “Just be careful, Kiyo-kun,” he relented.
A shadow flickered across the floor and when Ryuhei looked up, the doorway was empty. He let out the breath he hadn’t even realized until now he’d been holding, while within his chest, his heart hammered away. He leaned on the doorframe for support and saw Kiyoshi up ahead, waiting just off stage.
“Well, I’m afraid,” Ryuhei whispered.
“Of not being able to steal enough of the stage for your bloated ego?” Hoshi said as he stormed out of his dressing room, sneering when Ryuhei gave a start. “Just make sure you don’t fuck up tonight’s show seeing as how it’s the last one.”
“Hoshi,” Akira cautioned from the dressing-room doorway.
“Put your bitch back on his leash, Akira.” Ryuhei pushed past the other actors and made his way to the edge of the stage, waiting as the translator set up the play in both Chinese and English for the assembled patrons.
He turned to Kiyoshi, who appeared more beautiful than any natural woman. The hungry, angry look from before had turned wistful and it was obvious that Kiyo-kun was still distracted. So much so that it took a prod from Akira to get Kiyoshi to go out and begin the play.
Before Ryuhei’s eyes and the entire audience, Kiyoshi stumbled through the poem that opened the first act. He recited what verses he recalled with an airy sense of detachment, his gestures graceful but half-hearted. And always his head kept turning to scan the men and women seated at the foot of the stage and those in the shadowy balconies above.
Hoshi snorted and folded his arms across the front of his white monk’s costume. “I knew one of them at least would fuck up.”
Bristling, Ryuhei whipped around to defend his lover. Hoshi was the talentless hack in this troupe—an upstart who delivered his dialogue without the slightest trace of maturity or passion. The only reason they all tolerated him was for the money the troupe needed to survive. Tonight, none of that seemed to matter to Ryuhei anymore.
Before he could snap at Hoshi, Ryuhei was pulled back to the edge of the stage curtain by Akira. “What’s Kiyo-kun doing?” Akira hissed in Ryuhei’s ear. “He’s never been so amateurish.” He opened his eyes wide. “Did you get him drunk?”
“Of course not,” Ryuhei snapped, pulling away. “He’s out of sorts, that’s all. He isn’t feeling well. We should cancel the performance.”
“Like hell we will,” Hoshi interrupted. He barged onto the stage and picked up the next part of Kiyoshi’s recitation.
To Ryuhei’s horror, Kiyo-kun let him and drifted off to the fringes of the stage, scanning the crowd again and again. And all the while Carl Gavin stood there, taking notes in the dim light and staring at Kiyoshi the way a predator stared at a bit of unknowing prey.
“Oh Gods.” Ryuhei covered his mouth with the back of his hand. Did Kiyo-kun even realize…or care? Akira gave Ryuhei a look that was part exasperated, part concerned, and then went on stage to try and draw Kiyoshi back into the performance.
“He’s distracted.”
For the second time that night, Ryuhei was startled out of his thoughts by someone speaking almost in his ear. Jumping down from the scaffolding overhead, Gobei landed soundlessly on the floor beside Ryuhei. The ghoul gestured to the stage where Kiyoshi was once again turned to face one of the balconies, completely ignoring Hoshi’s monologue.
“His mind is somewhere not there.” Gobei shook his head and made frustrated grumbling noises.
“It’s that reporter,” Ryuhei cursed under his breath.
“No, no, you,” the flesh-eater growled, but his sharp tone only proved his concern for Kiyoshi. “It’s the Dragon.”
Ryuhei’s limbs went numb. “That terrible man wouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.”
“He is.” Gobei wrung his hands together and gnashed his teeth with a sharp clicking sound. “I saw him from up there,” the ghoul added, nodding up to the scaffolding.
On stage, Akira gave up trying to coax Kiyoshi into some of the play’s flirtatious dialogue. He gave Ryuhei a pleading look as if to say, “Fix this.”
Ryuhei made his entrance and plunged in, twisting the familiar words to smooth over the gaps, touching Kiyo-kun’s hand to garner his attention and coaxing him into picking up his part. Kiyoshi wanted to please Ryu-san, he truly did, and he tried as best he could, but the blood of the Poisoned Dragon’s lover was overflowing with turmoil. When the young man had made eye contact with him at one point, Kiyoshi effortlessly plucked a few of his thoughts.
He meant to kill his mentor tonight. Here in the theater, no less. The young man was determined, even driven, and though confident of his own deadly skills, he wondered if his heart could be held at bay long enough to do the deed.
Ryuhei stepped in front, blocking Kiyoshi’s view of the balcony. “Can’t I keep your heart fo
r one more night, Kiyo-kun?” he whispered so neither the audience nor Akira and Hoshi could hear. He caressed Kiyoshi’s cheek, a small frown tugging at his lips. “Please.”
Waves of emotion washed over Kiyoshi, inflaming his already overactive senses. The depth of Ryuhei Nakamura’s love and concern coupled with the turbulent passions emanating from the Dragon’s disciple above. He gasped and leaned into his lover’s caress as his body responded to the rising lust within.
“Backstage…take me…” Kiyoshi breathed.
“We don’t have time for this, Kiyo-kun.”
“Of course we have time. Please don’t deny me. Loving you calms me. I need this, Ryu. I do…”
Kiyoshi stared into Ryuhei’s eyes, all the while pushing with the power of his mind, willing Ryuhei to do his bidding. Kiyoshi pulled away, delivered his lines to Akira, then turned back to Ryu.
Ryuhei breathed heavily, his back half-turned to the audience, his arousal obvious. A shadow deepened the front of his costume where his cock pushed up against the cloth. “Gods,” he gasped softly as he crossed the distance to stand before Kiyoshi again. Desire flickered in his eyes, and Kiyoshi knew the man’s soul was almost completely enraptured by the silent call.
“Whatever you want is yours.” Ryuhei sighed, reaching out for Kiyoshi’s waist with trembling fingers. He would take Kiyoshi away now—fuck the performance, the play—everything. Only Kiyoshi’s need mattered. All of this was apparent from the heated, passionate look in Ryu’s eyes.
But in the wings off to the end of the stage, something moved among the shadows and jarred Ryuhei out of the thrall. Dazed and blinking as if just waking from a strange dream, he squinted into the darkness. Kiyoshi whipped around.
The reporter.
Carl Gavin waited offstage, that tacky bowler hat and cheap suit unmistakable even in the poor lighting in the wings. The man wore a grim but determined expression as he watched Kiyoshi closely, a dark bundle of the Gods-know-what in his hands. Ryuhei clutched Kiyoshi tighter and pulled his lover away back to center stage.
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