by Lee Colgin
The nasty wound on his neck healed slowly. If he had been an undead vampire like the others, it would be gone already, but his living body needed nights to repair this kind of damage. Oswald had made sure it would linger, biting deep, tearing muscle and flesh. He’d wanted to remind Gianni that his body wasn’t his own. Gianni avoided mirrors. Seeing the marks made his stomach churn.
Surely the sovereign had responsibilities back in Philly. Gianni would wait him out, stay holed up in his room with his library books until the asshole left. Hopefully by then he would feel better, and his neck would be healed.
The alone time made him restless, and he spent a lot of it thinking of the slayer. Buffy had given him a hug, offered comfort. How much was real and how much only deception? The man was hard to read, but something in his eyes drew Gianni to him, despite the danger. Maybe because of it. Buffy’s arms had been stiff around him, his posture rigid, perhaps ready to spring at any moment. Putting himself in the slayer’s arms had been a risk, but he’d needed the comfort more than he feared an attack.
A slayer should be kept at arm’s length, so wanting to run his fingers through his pretty brown hair wasn’t helpful. Conflict had shone in the slayer’s enticing gaze, and Gianni wasn’t sure if he stood on the winning side of the battle. The Scourge had a tight hold over their slayers. Buffy had his own motives, but Gianni couldn’t fathom them. If the Scourge ordered his death, what would the slayer do? Gianni wasn’t confident of the answer.
A knock sounded at his door.
Oswald.
Gianni had no friends in Bristol Springs to come calling. The sovereign had left him alone all week, but not out of kindness. Oswald had counted on Gianni seeking him out for blood.
Damn. This wouldn’t be pretty.
Thankfully, he was dressed down in lounging sweats and a t-shirt—the sort of clothes Oswald had never let him wear. He added a scarf over the bite wound for good measure. He wouldn’t allow the sadist to get pleasure from ogling the damage.
How could he get rid of him? Quickly, Gianni cluttered up his neat room, scattering books and throwing clothes around.
Though hunkering down and hiding was tempting, not answering the door wasn’t an option. Oswald was an older vampire, powerful; he could smell Gianni from outside. If the door wasn’t opened, he’d kick it in.
Gianni was reaching for the door when the knock came again, harder this time, as if even a knock could be angry. He opened it and stood in the frame, casually blocking Oswald’s entry.
“Did I wake you?” Oswald looked down on Gianni through half-opened lids, like he was already bored.
Let the Oswald show begin.
“Lazy to be sleeping at this hour.” Oswald tutted—a clicking sound in the back of his throat Gianni had learned to despise, the sort you’d make to lead a horse.
Oswald had come alone, which didn’t bode well for the outcome.
No witnesses.
He wore a suit in shades of orange, mostly rust and copper, and carried a walking stick for reasons Gianni would rather not fathom.
“I was reading. What do you want?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“The room isn’t up to your standards. You won’t appreciate the mess.” Gianni hoped that would be enough of a deterrent. It wasn’t.
Oswald shouldered past him, knocking him off balance as he strode into the apartment. “When did you become a slob?”
Gianni left the door hanging open and followed. He didn’t bother to answer the question because Oswald only asked it to hear the sound of his own voice. He never cared about Gianni’s reply.
Oswald took a seat on the bed, crossed his legs, set the cane on them, and stared a hard line at Gianni. “I came to help you pack.”
“I’m not leaving.” Gianni stood near the door, hands on hips, wary.
“Nonsense. You’ve wasted enough of my time. I need to get back to Philly.” He smoothed his hands down his thighs and glanced around. “Where’s your suitcase?”
“I’m staying here.” To his own ears, Gianni sounded confident. If only he could feel it too.
Oswald stood. “On second thought, leave it all here.” He peered at the clutter distastefully. “I’ll buy you new things when we get home.”
Gianni shook his head. “I’m not going with you.”
Voice rising, Oswald stalked toward him. “Stop being ridiculous. You’ll do as I say.”
Gianni took a step back, closer to the open door.
“I’ve been lenient with you, and my patience is reaching its limit.” Oswald only stopped when they were toe to toe.
“This isn’t the 1800s. You don’t own me.” Gianni had his back to the wall. “I don’t want to go with you, and you can’t force me.”
Quick as a viper, Oswald pinned Gianni to the wall by his throat. “Can’t I?” He began to lift the smaller man off his feet.
Gianni raised both hands to Oswald’s but couldn’t budge them. Or breathe. The hallway stood empty, and he couldn’t call out anyway. Struggling only made it worse. Realizing he wouldn’t be able to think his way out of this, panic set in. Gianni pleaded for mercy with his eyes.
“Admit it, little one, you miss me,” Oswald snarled, flinging spit into Gianni’s face. “No one can give you the kind of pounding you need as well as I can. You must be starved for it by now.” Oswald kissed him hard.
Despite the violence, fear made Gianni open his mouth for Oswald’s tongue. He’d fake it, moan and whimper the way Oswald liked it, but sound was impossible without air. Lightheaded, he began to pass out.
Before blackness took hold, Oswald dropped him to his feet and released his neck.
Gianni drew in deep, gasping breaths and fought to stay upright. The urge to double over was strong, but he’d rather fall on his face than let Oswald catch him. He leaned against the wall for support.
“Come home, and I’ll forgive you. There won’t be any trouble.” Oswald ran a finger down his cheek.
Gianni wanted to vomit. He couldn’t say no, not with his throat burning, but he shook his head slowly, staring at the floor. If Oswald wanted to take him, he’d have to throw Gianni over his shoulder, kicking and screaming the length of the Farthing. Others would see.
Oswald could pretend the laws didn’t apply to him, but they did.
Gianni caught his breath as he waited for whatever came next. Words rarely failed him, but he could think of nothing to say to defuse the situation or make Oswald leave any faster. The stubborn sovereign wouldn’t go until he decided this wasn’t worth his time.
Just be boring.
Oswald let out an exasperated sigh. “You never did know what was best for you. I worry for you here, on your own.” Oswald petted Gianni’s head and cupped his cheek. “What will happen to you without my guidance?”
A number of snippy replies rushed to the tip on Gianni’s tongue. Be boring. He stared dully at Oswald’s ridiculous tie. Orange paisley. Hideous.
“No one likes you here. They think you’re a gold-digger and revile you for doing what they could not. You won me over, little bird, and now you’re mine.” Oswald kissed him again, sweet and feather-soft this time.
Gianni made no protest, but he did not return the kiss. Cool lips parted his warmth. Oswald’s tongue traced his fangs, and a bright coppery drop of blood set Gianni’s taste buds aflame. He sucked the wounded tongue into his mouth to chase the flavor, but the cut had already healed.
“Leave with me and revel in their jealousy as you cling to my arm.” He whispered the words against the flushed skin of Gianni’s cheek. “I promise to look smitten.”
This softening was unexpected. It wouldn’t work, but perhaps Gianni could use it to his advantage. He reached for Oswald’s chest, palming the muscles beneath his hands.
“Thank you, Ozzy, but I can’t.” Gianni slid his hands to Oswald’s shoulders. “I need to be alone for a while to figure myself out. Even if everyone hates me. I can’t expect you to take care of me fore
ver.” He gazed up through his lashes. “It’s time I learned to do it myself.”
Oswald pressed his lips into a thin line.
This could go either way. Gianni’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Oswald stepped out of his reach. “When you tire of this experiment, youngling, you know where to find me. I shall not turn you away, but neither can I promise to be so welcoming next time.”
“Thank you.” Relief threatened to set in, but Gianni forced it back. “Have a safe trip home.”
“Try not to do anything stupid while I’m too far away to save you.”
Gianni nodded.
Oswald left.
With the door closed and locked, Gianni allowed himself a few deep breaths. A glimmer of relief waited to envelope him with its sweetness, but he wouldn’t relax until the sovereign and his entourage had left the Farthing completely. Gianni picked up his things and set the room back in order. He needed control over something, if only a tidy apartment.
Oswald left Bristol Springs as promised. Gianni went to bed that morning on a high of relief, feeling safer and more secure than he had all week.
That evening he woke up lonely and restless. Again, his thought turned to the slayer. Gianni longed to be near him. Their verbal sparring kept him on his toes, and he missed the stomach flutters Buffy’s presence stirred in him.
Gianni left the Farthing to seek him out. Better to tease Buffy in person than to pine after him alone in his room. What started as merely an interesting game had somehow become…significant. A wiser man would quit while he was ahead, but that wasn’t in Gianni’s nature.
Wandering the familiar streets of Bristol Springs, sensing the slayer’s presence didn’t take long. Rounding the corner from 6th onto Main Street, by the jeweler he wished was open at night, Gianni glanced up and grinned.
“Stop lurking. I know you’re there,” he called.
Buffy jumped down from the shadows.
Franklin
From his perch atop a fire escape, he spotted Gianni moments before the vampire called to him, luring him down to the street. Gianni appeared more himself tonight, his posture perfect, his clothes immaculate and showy. Back in blacks, he wore a fitted charcoal sweater hanging low over dark leggings. Something in the fabric glittered under the street light. Jewelry decorated his wrists and fingers, and his hair lay carefully arranged off his forehead, styled, but not over the top. His bright face remained makeup-free, smiling as Franklin drew near.
This was the second time Franklin had gone a full week before spotting the vampire, but just when Franklin was sure Gianni had left town and he’d be reassigned, the vampire turned up as if nothing was amiss. During his absence, Franklin had meted out what little information he’d gleaned from Gianni—that the Sovereign of Philadelphia was in town, that Gianni didn’t heal like other vampires. It bought him some time with Chief Darrow, but he’d need more soon, or they might stage the live capture early. He’d only been given a month, and time was running out. If he didn’t act soon, Franklin could miss his chance to lead the team.
Or his chance to warn Gianni.
He pushed the thought aside as ludicrous.
“Good evening.” Gianni stepped in, too close for comfort, as usual.
Franklin nodded and had to root his feet to the ground not to step back. Last time he’d seen Gianni, he’d held the vampire in his arms, but a week had gone by with no word, and now being this close felt risky again. The sovereign could have brainwashed him in that time.
“Hello, Gianni. How are you?”
“Much better now, thank you. You?” Gianni was peering up at him through long lashes.
Franklin avoided meeting his gaze, which left him staring at his lips instead. That wasn’t any better.
“Fine, thank you.”
“Formal tonight.” Gianni indicated they should walk together. “Shall we?”
Gianni could lead him into a trap. The vampire made him reckless. He let the thought pass.
“Sure.” They set off at a leisurely pace into town.
It was quiet, the night sounds dampened by a mist that hung in the air and threatened rain. Franklin liked this weather. It usually meant a slow night.
“Oswald’s gone back to Philly,” Gianni said.
“Good riddance.”
“You can say that again.”
Franklin glanced over at his throat, checking on the bitemark. He tried to be discreet, but Gianni noticed and tilted his neck for inspection. “All better.”
“Mostly better,” Franklin amended. New pink skin covered the wound, looking tender like a human’s. Strange.
“Mostly better,” Gianni conceded.
“Why were you with him, if he was such a jerk?”
“He wasn’t always a jerk, Buffy. That’s how they get ya. It’s all roses and blowjobs at first, and wham.” Gianni clapped once. “The controlling bastard makes an appearance. By then, you’re hooked. Then again, maybe you don’t know. Maybe all of your relationships have been nice.”
“Relationships?” He scoffed. “No time for them.”
“You don’t date?”
“I’ve had flings, one-night stands, but never relationships. Women tend to want more than I can give them.”
“Women.”
“Right.”
“No men?”
“I’m not exactly gay.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I don’t date much, but when I do, I see women.”
“But you aren’t exactly straight, either?”
Franklin didn’t have an answer. He’d been attracted to other men before Gianni, but dating women was easier. He didn’t talk about this. Blood rushed to his cheeks. He’d paused too long, and the silence got weird. “Not exactly.”
“I can work with that.”
Oh my god. Something about that statement made Gianni’s whimsical flirting feel more serious. When he wasn’t actively denying it, Franklin realized they’d been heading in that direction from the beginning.
“Let’s go out,” Gianni said.
“What do you mean, go out? We are out.”
“Well, I am. You’re apparently not. But I meant let’s go out on a date. On purpose. Instead of aimlessly wandering around night after night.” Gianni gestured to their surroundings, the quiet, dimly lit streets of Bristol Springs.
Franklin hesitated. A date? Dressing up, maybe a nice dinner—no. Vampires couldn’t go out to dinner. Dancing then? Or a movie? Could he do that? “Um, okay.”
“So tomorrow night? Dancing?”
Franklin gave a small nod. What was he getting himself into?
“I can’t tell if that meant, yes, I’ll be there, or no thanks, I’d rather alphabetize the contents of my cabinets.”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Gianni smiled. “Oh, and Buffy?”
“Yeah?”
“Wear something nice.”
Holy shit.
6
Dancing
Gianni
The Mint Lounge felt overly warm and the music too quiet for Gianni’s taste. This was a human club. The vampire establishments were nicer, but Gianni couldn’t bring a slayer there. He would be out of place here; imagining him at The Den was absurd.
Gianni had gotten there early, already dancing with a musclebound blond dreamboat when Buffy shuffled in. Good, maybe he could make the slayer jealous. He leaned tighter to the stranger’s chest, waiting to be noticed.
Buffy spotted them and gave a nod in his direction, along with a half-smile. Gianni grinned back, excusing himself from the dance. When the slayer looked like that, jealousy was overrated. Edible. He’d dressed up, as requested. The effect was immediate. Gianni was drawn to him and feeling handsy.
Dress slacks accentuated his lean legs and showed off well-shaped thighs, paired with a casual but striking fitted green top bringing out the color of his eyes. The muscles of his chest and biceps strained the thin fabric. Who knew Buffy was hidi
ng that under his frumpy delivery-driver clothes? The picture he presented was devastating. Some less-than-professional-quality product slicked back his chestnut hair, of which Gianni immediately disapproved, but A for effort. He wanted to ravish him; those fine clothes would look even better scattered across his floor.
“Hello, handsome.” Gianni approached, leaning in to offer his cheek. Buffy got the idea, and dry lips kissed Gianni so lightly he could almost have imagined it. He slid his hands over the slayer’s ribcage, cataloguing each intercostal muscle under his fingertips. “You sure clean up nice.”
“Thank you.” Buffy let himself be petted. He didn’t pet back.
Gianni was showing a lot of skin and knew the slayer would be unsure how to touch him. He’d thought it would be amusing but found himself wishing he’d made things simpler. A nice blouse instead of the racerback top he’d chosen to show off his shoulders. Next time.
“Buy me a drink?” Gianni asked, indicating the bar.
“Um, sure.” Buffy led them through the crowd of dancing couples. This wasn’t exclusively a gay club, but other same-sex pairings moved among the patrons. Gianni thought the mix would make Buffy more comfortable.
The bartender wore flaming orange lipstick to match her neon orange hair.
Buffy turned to Gianni. “What do you want a drink for?”
“What do you mean what for? The usual reasons. Whiskey, please and thank you.”
The slayer asked Orange Lipstick for the drink but only ordered one. Gianni called after her, “Two, please.” She nodded and grabbed a second glass.