For the Bite of It

by Viki Lyn

  “Cazzo! Give a man some warning, won’t you?”

  “Are you completely insane?” Angelo’s voice held none of its easy banter.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “That back there.” Angelo jerked his thumb behind him. “There are no white picket fences for the likes of you and me.”

  Vince uttered a harsh laugh. “You think I don’t know that? While it may have escaped your notice, I am older than you.”

  “And still so foolish,” shot back Angelo. “You always fall hard and fast, don’t you?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “If the J finds out about your John, you know his life will be in danger.”

  Of course he knew. What the hell did Angelo think all this angst was about?

  “Who’s going to tell them? You?”

  “For shame. I would never betray you. But I’m not the only eyes and ears they have out here.”

  It was hopeless. He’d known this from the start. Then why was he falling apart at the thought of never touching John again? And that was no excuse for insulting a friend who had stood by him at the worst of times.

  “I’m sorry. I know you would never harm me, or ones I loved.”

  With the simple statement Vince knew he had hit the crux of the matter. Somehow, somewhere, when he hadn’t been looking, he had fallen in love.

  The only way to get the J off his trail and not find about John would be to agree to work for them.

  “Angelo, tell the Jurisdictio I want to meet with them.”

  Thirty minutes later, Vince tugged on the thigh-length tunic edged with silver. Light blue for his place as heir. If he ever ascended to the Council, his tunic would be exchanged for one in dark blue velvet.

  The young vamp attending the entrance to the Council Chambers gave Vince a nervous nod and opened the ornate doors. Vince stepped inside, the familiar smell of the slightly musty room and the Holy Basil that grew in numerous pots placed around the periphery, assaulting his senses. Loss, sharp and bitter rose in his throat. He swallowed hard, squared his shoulders and walked up the podium where the ten J members sat.

  “Who comes before the Jurisdictio?” asked another attendant, in the ancient language only used on formal occasions.

  “I, Vincent Esposito. I come at the behest of the esteemed Jurisdictio.” The old language rolled off his tongue as if he had never stopped speaking it.

  “Vincent, we have asked you to come before us on a matter of great importance.”

  Vincent stood back and listened to the old vampire drone on and on about the rebels, the safety of the clan, the duty of the Heir apparent to take on this task. At last, he ran out of words or air. Vincent waited for permission to respond.

  “Speak, Vince,” said the youngest member, earning himself a glare from a couple of the others.

  “I have considered your offer. Respectfully, I cannot do it—.” A gasp interrupted him. Vince paused, then continued. “Unless I am given back my powers.” He looked at the head of the J. “All of them.”

  Questions flew at him, asking why he needed all his powers, and whether he thought he deserved them. He answered in quiet tones, respect for their position tingeing his voice. He had a purpose here. He wanted his powers back so that, if the J ever came after John, Vince could protect him. No way was he going to give them a reason to back off.

  Hours later, or so it seemed, they agreed. He checked off his skills one by one, just to be sure. Teleporting, strength, sensing, the ability to cast glamour and influence thoughts. All of it.

  The purple and gold clad priest, who had intoned the words that cut Vince off from his power, was summoned. He lit the incense contained inside the oval box with a pattern of circular holes. As the priest walked around Vince, swinging the carved chain on which the incense hung, the smoke curled in grey wisps around Vince. It tickled his nose and he bit his lip to stop his sneeze. What if that one action broke the undoing of the spell that bound his power?

  He wanted his powers back so badly he could taste the strength of the desire that had coated the back of throat and his chest and his thoughts for the past year.

  The priest began chanting in the old language of the vampire clan. His sing-song tone became louder and louder, rising to the solid wood rafters that help up the ceiling of the ancient hall that had probably seen many a ceremony like this. The singing rose to a crescendo, held, and died away.

  “It is done,” said the priest and left, taking his smoking incense chamber with him.

  Vince’s pride demanded that he not test his powers in the face of the people who had taken them away from him. Feigning a nonchalance that was as far away as his bakery was from this world, Vince thanked the J, promised to report in at regular intervals and teleported back to his home in Arizona.

  Rather anti-climactic that it only took minutes to undo the binding, to replace the missing pieces of his soul.

  Chapter Thirteen

  John drank his Middleton Reserve and ordered a second whisky. He had slipped into a non-descript bar that called his name, its garish neon sign flashing a pink flamingo. He should stop drinking or he’d be calling a taxi.

  Licking the runaway drops of liquor from the side of his glass, he let his mind wander down the path of regret. Vincent had left him bittersweet memories. At the bakery, he’d lashed out at the man without evidence, only with a gut feeling. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? He wanted a reason to turn away from Vincent, so he could ignore the confused feelings he had for this man. If he stayed angry then he had to admit how much he cared for Vincent.

  The stark hurt in Vincent’s eyes had registered but he didn’t acknowledge it until now. Now he felt like a real shit. And at the party, he’d been no better. He had refused to talk about what happened between them.

  Oh, but the sex. Man oh man.

  Maybe he should go to Vincent’s house and apologize.

  No.

  That was exactly the wrong action to take. Not if he wanted to forget the man.

  A woman fed the jukebox and Elvis Presley blared from the speakers. The crooner’s deep voice asked if it was a sin to love. It was always about some sappy romance gone wrong.

  John clenched his glass as he listened to the lyrics. Could two men fall in love? Was it possible to have a relationship with someone of the same sex? He wanted more than a good fuck but he had no idea how to be with a man.

  He didn’t know how to be with a woman either.

  It came down to his family. He couldn’t imagine explaining to his brother-in-law he liked dick. And his niece and nephews, he didn’t even want to go there.

  Ever.

  If he didn’t want to hide in the shadows then he needed a girlfriend, and that wouldn’t be fair, to a woman or to him. So he was fucked no matter which path he chose.

  When did he become so hopeless, not being open and honest with people? He’d let a man make love to him. Or that’s what Vincent called it. They hadn’t fucked but they’d been about as intimate as two men could get.

  The stark truth was Vincent intrigued him with his sharp mind, his wry sense of humor, and god…his accent sent John over the edge. In bed, Vincent had been gentle at times, his sensual touch making him beg for more. And he never begged.

  Vincent had been all about making sure John had been aroused and ready to be touched.

  Kind.

  Yes, Vincent had been kind.

  Yet the nagging distrust persisted. Vincent had lied to him. Was it something insidious, or so deep it’d shock him? Something he wouldn’t want to know?

  John drank the rest of his scotch, tempted to order another shot.

  He thought of Vincent’s intense gaze, almost hypnotic. Those cool silver-blue eyes mesmerized and yet they were haunted. Something very dark and dangerous lurked in them.

  A shiver crawled over his skin.

  Vincent’s wry manner didn’t fool John. There were shadows in his eyes. The same shadows John had seen in his grandfather�
��s expression, after losing his wife to cancer.

  The bartender wiped the counter and asked if he wanted another whiskey. He shook his head and paid his tab. If he didn’t leave, he’d drink until he couldn’t stand, and there was someplace he needed to be.

  And that someplace turned out to be Vincent’s driveway.

  * * * *

  Vince appeared in his back garden beside the carob tree. He raised a hand and held onto a low-hanging gnarled branch, the velvet of wet grass scratching his bare feet. His fingers traced the circle of chips in the wood made by the Gila woodpecker that usually visited.

  He had done it.

  He had just teleported from his kitchen to the yard. He threw back his head and laughed. Closing his eyes, he focused on his study. He felt his consciousness shift, splinter in two, heralding the transport. His body dissolved—sort of like ice cream might dissolve over a cone on a summer day. He lost his hold on his mind. Everything went blank and dark.

  Seconds later his feet touched the cool, hard, tiled floor in his study. Opening his eyes, he waited for his vision to clear. The books on the slanted shelf before him took shape, the spines on the ancient texts with their copper and gold tone lettering becoming visible. He closed his eyes and focused on his bedroom where his piano took up a whole corner. Teleporting into the room and appearing beside the sliding glass doors, he watched the polished Bösendorfer come into view with its music sheets. Not moving a step, he lifted a hand and using his power, turned the page on the upright songbook. Page after page, he used telekinesis to flip the paper.

  His chest swelled with emotion. Unable to hold it in, he turned to the best way he knew to express himself. Pulling out the stool with a foot, he seated himself at his beloved instrument. Prokokiev’s piano concerto number one came to mind, and he ran his fingers over the black and white keys. The sounds of the Allegro brioso in D flat filled the room as his heart overflowed.

  * * * *

  Staring at the adobe-style tan house with ten-foot walls around it, only the entrance and a big bay window were visible from where he sat. What the hell was Vincent trying to keep out? The bakery had to be making a profit for Vincent to afford this house.

  A man of action, he got out of the car and followed the lighted path. Once at the door, he peered through the side window. A tall figure sauntered past once, then back again in the opposite direction. He refused to skulk on the porch when he could be inside having the most amazing sex he’d had. Ever.

  John leaned on the doorbell. The sound of a deep gong echoed.

  The door opened and Vincent stood there. John clenched his hands into fists. Not just any Vincent. A to-die-for-Vincent in loose, khaki linen pants tied at the waist in a careless knot. And no shirt, his olive skin glowing in the light of the lamp inside a scrolled metal holder. Dark waves of his hair skimmed his shoulders. He looked like a model in a European ad. He looked…lickable.

  Vincent smiled, but the familiar glint of mischief was missing in his grin. John missed it. Man, he’d been a jerk. John scuffed a dusty trail with his boot. “Hi. I thought we might talk…”

  Vincent’s dark brows rose almost to his hairline. “About?”

  “Uh…you know.”

  “No I don’t, but come in while you prevaricate.” Vincent opened the door wide and swept a bow, waving John in with his hand.

  The gesture should have looked ridiculous—who the hell bowed anymore—but Vincent made it look sexy. Even the fancy words he used should have sounded snobbish. Instead, his speech added spice to the total sexy package. Was there anything about the guy that wasn’t hell-on-wheels-sexy?

  John followed Vincent into the air-conditioned foyer of the house. Walls in two shades of taupe served as the backdrop for a series of stark black and white photographs. The scenes were all of snow-covered mountains, a thick forest of towering pines, and a two-story log cabin. A favorite rendezvous spot? Maybe the cabin in the Italian Alps he went on about during their one dinner together.

  Vincent led the way past the framed pictures into a large L-shaped, airy sitting area, flanked by a kitchen at one end and a dining room at another.

  “Drink?” Vincent asked walking over to a compact teak bar invitingly laid out with an open bottle of wine. “I found this ‘83 Tignanello the other day.” He gestured in the graceful way he had. “Ever had it?”

  John whistled his appreciation. “Too rich for my blood. But yes, a glass of red would be great.”

  *

  Vince forced his body to relax by leaning against the leather couch. He dipped his eyes to the rich ruby liquid in his hand, watching John from the corner of his gaze. John looked nervous, sitting on the edge of his seat, twirling his wine glass.

  Why was he here? Vince could try to dip into his thoughts but respect for John held him back. He had tried all evening to banish the cop from his mind. Not that he had succeeded for even one damn minute. On second thought, who cared? John was in his house, sharing the rare vintage Vince had purchased for such an evening in mind.

  All he had to do was reach out, remove the glass from John’s hand, run his fingers through his dark blonde hair. True to form, his balls got tight, his fingers itched to inch under John’s t-shirt, kiss the mouth he knew would be eager. His breath rushed out as he squirmed to get comfortable.

  Vince touched John’s shoulder. “So what did you want to talk about?”

  John shrugged but he leaned closer. “I need to apologize. For earlier. I acted like an ass.”

  Vince’s traitorous heart skipped a beat, then several more. His fingers traced over the broad shoulder. “No apology needed, amante.”

  Vince stood and placed his glass on the coffee table. As irresistible as his John was, the wine had set him back at least two hundred dollars. He held out his palm to John. After a moment’s hesitation, John handed over his glass and pushed to his feet.

  Vince placed a hand in John’s open one, their fingers touched, curled, clasped. Under the lighting, John’s hair gleamed. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and the open need on his face called to Vince. They came together in a rush, bodies slamming together, mouths seeking blindly.

  John’s lips locked onto Vince’s. The light, breezy taste of John filled Vince’s mouth. Like coming home. Like a winter fire on a cold alpine evening. Like everything warm and comfortable that Vince treasured.

  John tunneled his hands into Vince’s hair, holding his head still for a kiss.

  Whoa.

  Surprised, Vince paused. He loved John taking the lead, but he would have to be careful not to rush given how badly he wanted John. It hadn’t even been a whole day since John had milked Vince’s cock with his mouth and already he was starved. With every ounce of his will, Vince latched onto John’s shoulders, clamping down his lust. He needn’t have bothered. John held nothing back.

  John grasped Vince’s aching cock. Through the thin linen, every one of John’s fingers scorched him like a fire-brand.

  “Looks like you’re ready for me.” John’s hot breath tickled Vince’s ear. John slid his other hand around Vince’s butt, thrusting their hips together.

  “Always, amante, always,” murmured Vince, intrigued, excited at this new side of his lover. “I’ve been meaning to ask what that meant,” murmured John as he dipped his head and tongued Vince’s nipple.

  Vince’s breath hitched, his heart rate sped up. “Aah. Yes.”

  John’s teeth nipped the already sensitive bud on his chest. “It means yes?” He paused and blew a gentle breath across Vince’s nubs.

  Vince tangled his hands in John’s short hair and chuckled. “It means lover.”

  “I like it.” John’s hands wandered over Vince’s torso, dangerously close to the tie of his pants.

  “Me too.” Vince couldn’t help the thrust of his hips. His head dipped to nuzzle John’s neck.

  Warm, with the musky smell of John’s scent, it drove Vince half-crazy with cock-lust. And bloodlust. He forced his head back trying not to think about sinki
ng his fangs into John’s flesh. Trying not to think of how sweet his lover’s blood would taste. Nectar emphasized in the throes of their own lust for each other.

  Focusing on John’s actions made the thirst for blood recede somewhat. It wasn’t all that difficult, after all to resist as long as he focused on John’s actions. John untied Vince’s loose pants, and they fell with a soft slither. He pulled Vince down on top of him, as he lay half-sprawled on the couch, widening his thighs to accommodate Vince’s rock-hard erection between his legs.

  With a hand on Vince’s nape, John pulled his head close for another kiss, the heat from it sent a thrill all the way down to his toes. Vince’s hands were braced on the couch’s back, holding himself in place, but he jerked in surprise as John palmed his butt, using a finger to rub along the crease between his cheeks. Vince’s body sagged, their cocks touched, bounced, rubbed. Grinding against each other, they caught the rhythm of their previous dance. Hard, fast, furious.

  Cock against cock. Wait, when had John stripped? He’d been commando under those now open jeans.

  This was madness, pure madness. They had left so much unspoken. But Vince didn’t care. He didn’t even know if he could last until John came, he was close to shooting off.

  Vince edged a knee onto the couch, to brace his hips against John, his chest conveniently within reach of John’s mouth. The same, gorgeous, clever mouth kissed one of Vincent’s nipples and tongued the nub, circling, hard, and tight.

  “Amante, don’t…slow down,” Vince hissed, his balls tightening. Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more aroused, John cupped his ass, slid his finger in Vince’s channel. Vince tightened his cheeks, loving his new bold lover.

  John grabbed Vince’s hip with his free hand, and meshed their cocks. Slick heat and sticky precum scented the air. John’s moving finger, thrusting in rhythm with his rock-hard erection was like adding another log on a fire already out of control. Vince nuzzled his head into John’s chest, the springy hair tickling his nose. He tasted the salty skin and let his tongue wander the contours of John’s pecs. John’s taste and smell set him off, everything in him contracting for the big release. John’s scorching hot dick buried beneath Vince’s constricted, sweaty balls and electricity jolted through Vince’s body. With a long groan, he came, his body jerking against John.