Ryuhei cradled Kiyoshi’s limp form in his arms. The front of the coat moved ever so slightly with each labored breath of air Kiyoshi managed to take in. “He feels so light—those things are hurting him.”
“Idiot.” Gobei clutched at the sides of his face and shook his head in dismay. “Would you rather have him tear at your throat?” he snapped, but without the usual amount of surliness.
The ghoul was just as strained by the goings-on though he tried to mask it. “Go, more tong men are coming with weapons that would kill both you and even the sleeping Kiyoshi-sama. Go.”
As Gobei retreated into the shadows, Ryuhei made his way through the darkened theater with Kiyoshi. He stopped to hide behind a tall wardrobe when the sounds of voices and footsteps drew near.
“We’ll take his head back to the elders.”
The grating voice was easy to recognize, though from Ryuhei’s hiding spot he never saw the man’s face. It was the same thug who’d accosted them in this very building for money all those weeks ago. Chao was his name, and once more he was accompanied by a number of other hatchet men.
“And the body?” one of the others asked.
“Fuck it as much as you like for all I care.” Chao snorted, though his voice had a bitter edge. Everyone laughed and soon they all passed by, heading in the direction of the balconies.
What…who…had been behind that curtain? Ryuhei chose not to dwell on it any longer. He slipped out through the back exit and cut around the alley to find the carriage waiting in front just as Gobei had said. Inside were the haphazardly packed cases he’d managed to slap together before the show, though it was the flesh-eater who must have remembered to pack them into the carriage when he summoned the driver.
Ryuhei whispered a quiet thank you to the strange but loyal demon and eased Kiyoshi into the cab. As he climbed inside, he called for the driver to begin moving as quickly as possible for the train depot. Throughout the entire ride, Ryuhei carried Kiyoshi’s unconscious form on his lap, gently running his hands through the sleeping man’s hair but not daring to remove the sliver of cold iron pinning the sutra to his lover’s brow.
* * *
Ignoring the curious stares and whispers of all he passed, Ryuhei carried Kiyoshi to the train, their tickets held in his fingers. “Ishibe-san injured himself at our theater performance,” he muttered to the conductor who escorted them to their private compartment. Ryuhei laid Kiyoshi on one of the long seats, then took the seat opposite, watching with dread as the vampire began to stir.
Though his mouth was near dry, Ryuhei swallowed hard as a feral growl accompanied Kiyoshi’s rousing. He was caught off guard by the slew of Japanese obscenities spewing from Kiyo-kun’s lips. The kyuuketsuki pulled the iron nails free and flung them forward where they embedded themselves in the wall mere inches above Ryuhei’s head.
“How dare you do that to me?”
Ryuhei pressed back against the seat, the wool wrapping on the cushion scratching at the back of his neck. “Gobei did it.”
Kiyoshi hissed viciously, a wicked sound that made Ryuhei’s heart leap into his throat. “That interfering little fuck,” the kyuuketsuki spat as he tried to sit up, only to collapse back with another furious growl. Flecks of crimson light flashed in Kiyoshi’s unblinking eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathed the stuffy air in the compartment.
Fingers trembling, Ryuhei reached overhead to take the nails. The blood on the tips was still wet. “But I would’ve done it myself if I’d known how,” he said quietly, his pulse wild with a mixture of fear and concern. “Something’s wrong with you, Kiyo-kun.”
Kiyoshi sucked in his breath as if rebuilding the strength sapped by the prayer charms. In an instant he was across the compartment, half on top of Ryuhei, pressing him back into the seat until the cushioning refused to give any more.
“So you think you could subdue me?” Kiyoshi laughed and plucked the nails from Ryuhei’s hand. “You haven’t the balls.” With that he took one of the nails and trailed the sharp tip along the edge of Ryuhei’s jaw, going back and forth, pressing in a little harder each time, his smirk growing wider as Ryuhei squirmed and clenched his jaw against the pain.
Kiyoshi laughed again and leaned in to suck at the blood. He shuddered and pulled back, his eyes wide, the angry redness gone, replaced with fear. “Ryuhei…” He looked at the nails, dropped them and stroked his finger lightly over the wound he’d made. “I—I—” He fell back, missing the opposite seat and collapsing to the floor. He buried his head in his hands. “Oh Gods…”
Releasing the breath he’d been holding in one shuddering gasp, Ryuhei slid off the seat. He knelt on the compartment floor, one hand on the roughly woven carpet, the other pressed against the still bleeding cut on his chin.
Gods—he’d been so sure he was about to die, and then suddenly the demon became his beloved again.
“Kiyoshi,” he choked out, scrambling forward on hands and knees until he was wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders. “What’s happening to you? You have a fever.” Kiyoshi’s skin nearly burned to the touch and Ryuhei shrank away.
“It’s his blood. The Dragon’s. I drank from him.”
Ryuhei licked his dry lips as he saw that crazed red fire dance within the depths of his precious Kiyoshi’s dark eyes. He was drunk on the assassin’s madness. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Bed. Yes…” Kiyoshi sat up, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. “Have you any idea how good you smell, Ryuhei? It’s what first drew me to you, you know. The scent of you, of your blood, so full of emotion it made me lightheaded like sake used to when I was mortal.”
As he spoke, Kiyoshi leaned close. His breath was hot and damp on Ryuhei’s neck, sending a jolt between Ryuhei’s legs.
“The scent of my blood…” Ryuhei swallowed. The words terrified him even as they stirred up an erotic desire he felt powerless to resist. It had been the same way on stage early this evening.
He stood shakily, absently rubbing a hand across the bulge of his cock before reaching down to help Kiyoshi up. “Sake tastes finer, I’m sure.”
Kiyoshi rose only as far as his knees. He clamped his hands on either side of Ryuhei’s lean hips and looked up, his eyes smoldering in their intensity.
“Oh, no. You’re wrong.” He worked his hand into the side slit of Ryuhei’s hakama, leering when he felt skin through the opening of the kimono and not the customary loincloth.
His thumb brushed over the swollen head of Ryuhei’s cock, collecting the sticky droplet of wetness. He pulled his hand free, brought his thumb to his lips and flicked his tongue across it. “Give me what I want, Ryuhei. Make yourself come for me.”
Lightheaded, his rigid cock thrusting forward with desire, Ryuhei found himself stroking over the front of his hakama. The ties were coming undone in fingers that moved of their own clever accord, acting on the lust that tugged at his groin and danced in Kiyoshi’s glazed eyes.
“Better than sake…” Ryuhei formed the words with the same lazy slowness he used to rub his fingers through the tangles of thick, dark hair and the length of his pulsing sex below. Precum gathered in a heady bead at the tip of his cock. He dragged the flat of his thumbnail to gather it up, noticing only as an afterthought that some of the blood from the cut on his jaw had dried on the nail. “Why does it feel like I’m drunk on rice wine too?” Ryuhei closed his eyes, dizzy. He offered his sticky-coated finger to Kiyoshi.
Kiyoshi moved enough to turn the latch on the compartment door then seized Ryuhei’s wrist. Eagerly he lapped up the blood-tinged semen, groaning as he savored the co-mingled tastes on his tongue. He dropped Ryuhei’s arm and settled back on his heels, his own erection tenting the silk of his kimono.
“Do it.”
The sensual command forced every muscle in Ryuhei’s body to tense, his back arching as he threw back his head in a shuddering gasp. No one he’d ever pleasured had been able to touch him this way, his very being aching with the need to fulfi
ll Kiyoshi’s desire.
Drawing his hand across his throbbing cock, the languid strokes were replaced with forceful, strong jerking motions. Ryuhei moaned as the first wave of arousal rocked his body, his organ pushing against his fingers as the blood rushed to his groin. With his climax approaching quickly, Ryuhei gripped Kiyoshi’s wrist and pried his hand from his hip.
Ryuhei spread his legs open and brought Kiyoshi’s hand to the curve of his backside, guiding it towards the opening sore with desire.
He cried out when Kiyoshi thrust three fingers inside at once, so unlike his usual gentle probing. Yet Ryuhei was powerless to feel anything other than a burning lust at the pounding invasion prodding the sensitive spot within.
Ryuhei’s knees nearly buckled when Kiyoshi used his free hand to grip the base of his cock. Kiyoshi jerked him forward to take the throbbing length deep into his throat as Ryuhei’s seed gushed out.
Ryuhei pitched forward, husky cries working up out of his throat. His hips undulated in a pounding rhythm, thrusting into Kiyoshi’s mouth one moment and then pushing back against the wriggling fingers thrusting deeper into his passage the next. His hands scrambled over the seat, clawing at the itchy cushion coverings as he tried to find a grip on anything he could use as leverage.
Suddenly he was thrown lengthwise along the seat, grunting as his bare and sore bottom slid across the cloth. The back of his head banged into the firm armrest and left him dazed and gasping, the small compartment swirling around him.
“So much better than sake.” Kiyoshi loomed over Ryuhei, capturing his lips with a greedy, demanding kiss. Ryuhei sampled his own salty, bitter essence before Kiyoshi pulled away and grinned.
“But there’s still something even better to have.” His fangs were fully extended and stained with blood. Ryuhei felt a trickle of the hot wetness roll down from the side of his mouth and reached up to find his lower lip bleeding from two faint puncture wounds. Then Kiyoshi was gone.
“Come back,” Ryuhei cried out weakly. The train jerked forward as it started pulling out of the station and Ryuhei tumbled to the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Striking his head a bit below the curtained window, Ryuhei’s world turned to gray, then back to normal again before he could marshal the strength to stand. Somewhat disoriented, he redressed himself, then hurried out to the narrow corridor. He rushed from car to car but could find no sign of Kiyoshi. Ryuhei stumbled back to his own compartment, shaken and sick to his stomach, and prayed he was lost in some insane nightmare.
This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Was it truly possible for that assassin’s blood to make Kiyo-kun act like such a madman, afraid and gentle one moment, cruel and violent the next?
The compartment door slid open on its tarnished track with a hollow screech and the small enclosure filled with a flickering orange light. Ryuhei looked up from his hands clenched tightly on his lap and nodded mutely at the conductor before gathering himself. “Yes?”
“There’s been some trouble in the third-class cars.” The man pierced Ryuhei with a stern look from beneath thick gray brows. “There’s been some violence, though no culprit has been found.”
Ryuhei’s heart sank. “That’s terrible,” he whispered. “What happened?”
“Not sure, seeing as how most in third class are the Chinamen heading inland for the railroad.” The conductor heaved a curt yet weary sigh. “No one can understand what in damnation they’re saying, but other passengers heard a scream.”
“I heard nothing. Everything’s fine here,” Ryuhei said a little too quickly and perhaps too anxiously.
The conductor gave him a long look. “Yes, well, you speak English fine enough. I’d like for you to come help us sort out what’s going on.”
“I’m Japanese. Unfortunately, I couldn’t help you with the Chinese language.” Ryuhei bowed his head in apology, muttering a prayer under his breath that this horrible man would just go.
“What about your companion?” the conductor persisted. To Ryuhei’s dismay, the man scanned the compartment, his frown deepening with apparent suspicion. “Where is he? Didn’t you say he was injured or ill?”
“Very ill.” Ryuhei pressed his lips together until he tasted fresh blood oozing from the puncture wounds. “He’s in the sleeping compartment.” As the conductor sucked in his breath to ask another question, Ryuhei stood and interrupted him. “He can’t be disturbed right now or his condition might worsen. He has a fever, a bad cough. It’s best he’s left alone to rest.”
The conductor’s eyes widened and he stepped back from Ryuhei, fear tightening the lines in his bearded face. “Yes, yes. Keep him from the rest of the passengers, please. I don’t want a damned epidemic to spread with all that’s going on besides.”
“He isn’t contagious,” Ryuhei insisted. “He ate something bad in San Francisco, that’s all.”
With a skeptical look and a few more curt words of warning, the conductor went on his way to visit with other passengers. Ryuhei stood in the open compartment’s doorway and waited until the light from conductor’s oil lamp brightened the far end of the car, then he slipped out in the opposite direction.
He resumed his search for Kiyo-kun, worry overcoming his weariness as he crossed over into the sleeping car. There was dread also; dread that the mysterious culprit of whatever violence had occurred was in fact Kiyoshi.
Most of the compartments were full of sleeping passengers at this hour. Their soft snores and drowsy noises were a steady drone in the backdrop along with the steady chugging of the train. Ryuhei checked each bunk, peeking in through the curtained edges to see who slept inside. The ones reserved for himself and Kiyo-kun were empty, which was no less than he expected. Burying his face in his hands, Ryuhei leaned back against the tall window at the end of the row of sleepers, sinking into a feeling of helplessness.
Something knocked against the glass with a dull thud. A few moments later, it knocked again. Ryuhei turned about and squinted to try and make out what could possibly be rapping against the side of a moving train. As he stared, a black object smacked into the glass again and vanished into the darkness too fast for Ryuhei to make out. He pushed up the pane and stuck his head out just enough to look up at the top of the train.
The rushing wind sucked away his cry.
The small body of an older man dangled from a chain that had been fastened to the roof of the car, swaying in the movement of the train. His feet knocked into the top of the window again and Ryuhei knew the man was dead.
“Oh Gods.” Ryuhei jumped back inside and fell against the window, his stomach heaving, his fear like a cold katana slicing through his heart. Kiyo-kun was responsible. He had to be.
“What’s going on?”
Ryuhei looked at the conductor. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was point to the opened window and back away.
He ran back to the main compartment, locked himself inside and fell onto one of the seats.
“What a weak little creature you are,” a voice laughed in the darkness from the seat across the way.
Ryuhei pushed away from the seat, away from that cold yet painfully familiar voice. Leaning forward now so that his face was gilded in the frosty moonlight from the compartment window, Kiyoshi licked his lips and grinned at his lover.
“Why, you’re shaking.” The kyuuketsuki chuckled softly.
“What have you done?” Ryuhei whimpered.
“I told you—I wanted something that tastes better than sake.”
“Kiyoshi, you have gone mad.” Ryuhei clutched the front of his haori to keep his hands from trembling so noticeably. “This is my fault. That man’s blood has poisoned you. I never should’ve insisted we go to San Francisco. We should have stayed in Japan—the way you wanted.” Fuck that kabuki troupe and his ego for not letting him walk away with Kiyoshi before things went so wrong.
“Oh, but I’m glad we came to America. Very glad.” Kiyoshi moved quickly, pinning Ryuhei to the seat as he’d done e
arlier. “Don’t fear me, Ryuhei. Have I ever hurt you?”
Ryuhei licked his dry lips, his lower lip still sore from Kiyo-kun’s earlier bite. “But you’ve never been like this. I never knew you were…different before.”
“I’m different, but I’m still a man,” Kiyoshi said before leaning in to lick the side of Ryuhei’s neck, his hips thrusting forward, his rock-hard erection touching Ryuhei’s thigh. “A man who wants you more than ever.”
Ryuhei moaned against the famished lips that pressed into his own. As spent and weakened as he was, his body was aroused once more by the need he could taste in Kiyoshi, along with the faint hint of blood. Ryuhei’s cock stiffened against the inside of his lover’s thigh and he nearly lost himself in the sexual urges coursing through him.
“No…” With more than a little effort, he broke off the kiss and tried to pull himself up the seat and out from underneath Kiyoshi. “You might be a man, but not the one I love.”
With a mere tug he was back beneath the vampire and staring up into eyes so familiar yet full of a fire he could not understand.
“Look at me, Ryuhei. I am Kiyoshi. I’m the Kiyoshi you never wanted to acknowledge. The Kiyoshi I tried to suppress for too long.”
A chilling fog crept into his brain and Ryuhei could only stare and feel.
Oh Gods, how he felt Kiyoshi’s desire burning through the layers of silk separating them. He squirmed and Kiyoshi continued to stare down at him, one hand working between them to stroke Ryuhei’s hard length. “There’s no use resisting. You know you don’t want to.”
“Gods,” Ryuhei cried out breathlessly. His hands were gliding up and over Kiyoshi’s hips, guiding the other closer to him. Only a few thin layers of material separated their hard, pulsing flesh. The heat pouring from Kiyoshi’s body was almost unbearable and at the same time irresistible. “But it’s not right,” he panted between more of those fevered kisses. “Kiyoshi would never kill like that.”
The memory of the dead man hanging from the roof of the car now seemed blurry and irrelevant as he yanked open the ties of Kiyoshi’s hakama. His hand slipped within to take hold of the firm cock, the organ hot and pink underneath his fingers.
Soul of the Night Page 17