Slay My Love

by Lee Colgin

  He had no right to be jealous. This was his fault. When he saw those fangs, he overreacted. What the Scourge thought about vampires didn’t matter; he knew Gianni better than that.

  Long after he’d watched Gianni walk away, hand in hand with another vampire, Franklin left his spot on the street. He was headed back toward the Foundry when Hutch caught up to him. The last thing he needed was to speak to another slayer. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

  “What’s up? How’s it going with your freaky boyfriend?”

  Franklin only glared.

  Hutch laughed. “Sorry, bro. You could have done worse. At least he’s hot. For a dude.”

  Franklin still had nothing to say. Too bad he couldn’t slay a fellow hunter.

  “Oh, come on, lighten up. I’m just kidding. Seriously, how’s it going?”

  “It’s not. He’s out with a bunch of other vampires tonight.”

  “Bummer.” Hutch bumped their shoulders, like they were friends. It was weird and made Franklin suspicious.

  “You can hunt with me if you want,” Hutch said. “I thought I’d scope out the ghetto, look for some easy pickings.”

  “Thanks, but no. Got a mission of my own tonight.”

  “Whatever, dude. Keep me in mind for the live capture team, okay? I want in.”

  “Okay.” Yeah, right. He’d warn Gianni before it came to that. If he thought he could still go through with it, he was kidding himself.

  Hutch rushed off, and Franklin returned to the quiet of his rooms in the Foundry, opened the giant tome of vampire history he’d been studying, and got to work. Knowledge was power, and if he couldn’t hand Gianni over to the Scourge, maybe he could learn enough from him to make a worthwhile addition to the history books.

  There wasn’t much written on living vampires—a few legends, most considered myths by the Scourge’s top scholars. He’d read them all cover to cover. A line of vampires descended through the ages, not undead, but not human. Mortal until some ordinary vampire changed them. Then it was believed they became just like the others. Little else was known of the species. They were fertile, obviously, or there wouldn’t be descendants. Undead vampires were sterile and family lines drawn from sire to fledging, not father to son.

  Franklin had studied this before, but never with an actual live sample in mind. Gianni brought the old text to life. The vampire was in the forefront of his mind as he read each passage. Finally, he stumbled onto something with potential.

  In every case, the living vampire is fiercely protected by his undead cohorts. Thus, no specimen has been acquired for closer study. It is theorized the living vampire is akin to royalty, in which case they very well may be the ruling class of vampire society. There is yet no evidence to support this claim.

  A secondary hypothesis exists, though we may never have the means to test it. It could be that the living vampire finds himself so heavily guarded due to the powerful nature of his blood. It is known that the blood of a common undead vampire has tremendous medicinal value. Small infusions are capable of healing minor wounds, large infusions heal even the most catastrophic damage, and total transfusion smites mortality itself to the point of undeath.

  If the blood of the undead can work such miracles, what possibilities exist of the blood of the living?

  Franklin stopped reading. He didn’t know why Gianni was never protected by other vampires, but the text had been written a thousand years ago. Things may have changed. Even so, surely this was why the Scourge desperately wanted a living test subject. Why they wanted Gianni.

  What if Franklin could get the information another way? What if he simply asked? Would Gianni tell him? Probably not now, not with Gianni angry with him, but if he apologized… If he could win the vampire over and get this much information out of him, he could warn Gianni away and tell the Scourge what he’d learned.

  He’d save the vampire and the mission, probably avoid a demotion. Especially if he could get a sample of blood. Gianni would never agree, but Franklin wouldn’t ask permission. It was the only way. Franklin added a small glass vial next to the knife in the pocket of his cargo pants. Gianni would be angry, but he wouldn’t try to kill him.

  Probably.

  11

  Bristol Springs

  Gianni

  At the springs. G

  Gianni left the three-word note under a rock on their park bench and headed for the water. In theory, he knew Bristol Springs was named for actual springs, but going there hadn’t occurred to him. Hayleigh encouraged him to visit. She said the area was beautiful and the springs themselves were warm pools of crystal clear water. She wasn’t wrong; the springs were enchanting.

  He’d slipped between granite boulders and through fragrant evergreens on the well-worn quarter-mile path to the water. Once there, the view opened up to a panorama of swimming holes: some large enough for groups; others built into the rock itself, private cedar tubs for only one or two people. Gianni dipped his fingers into the pond to discover it was indeed warm as bath water, and he had the whole place to himself. He immediately began taking off his clothes.

  Of course, he hoped Buffy would come. In the back of his mind, he knew he should probably stay dressed. They had a serious conversation ahead of them if they were going to remain friends, or whatever they were, but the water’s allure was too tempting. He had to get in. Buffy would deal—if he bothered to show up.

  Gianni stripped down to nothing and eased himself into the healing warmth of one of the larger pools. Oh gods, it was luxurious, the temperature in perfect contrast to the crisp night air. Gianni pushed away from the shore and ducked his head under, wetting his hair. He swam to the center of the pool and floated on his back, eyes closed, listening.

  Sound had an eerie quality to it underwater, a soothing kind of sensory deprivation calming his nerves and easing the tension in his shoulders. No wonder people flocked to this place. No wonder a town had sprung up around this majesty. He was only sorry visiting took him this long.

  The tingling sensation alerting him to the slayer’s presence apparently worked fine through water. Gianni kept his eyes closed and pretended not to notice. Some part of him wondered how long Buffy would look before he said anything.

  That answer was a really long fucking time.

  Gianni got tired of waiting. He opened his eyes and caught Buffy staring. The man looked away immediately. His cheeks turned pink, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, backing away.

  “Uh, sorry.”

  Gianni swam over to the manmade rail in the deep side of the pool so his body would be mostly hidden by the water. “I’m not bothered. You’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Come over.”

  “You’re not mad at me?” He approached, posture wary.

  “Mad at you for what? Watching me swim naked or terrorizing my friend?”

  “The second one. You wanted me to see you naked.” Still projecting caution, Buffy stood over him by the pool’s ledge.

  “I’m a little mad, but it was partially my fault. Sit down.”

  Buffy sat, folding his long limbs awkwardly on the large slab of granite.

  Gianni propped his elbows up on the wooden pool rail between them.

  “Is she really your friend? The blood donor?”

  Gianni nodded. “Her name is Tabea. We’re friendly. I’ve only known her a week. I’d like to be her friend. Are you going to apologize?”

  “I’m working my way up to it. Are you planning on forgiving me?”

  “Depends on the apology, I guess. Better make it good.” Gianni let his body float up in the water, kicking his feet behind him. Buffy’s eyes were drawn to the motion—and his ass.

  “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

  “Better than that.”

  “I’m sorry I overreacted and scared your friend.”

  “Now say it without staring at my ass.”

  Buffy returned his gaze to Gianni’s face. “Sorry.”

  “I forgive you. Don’t do it agai
n.”

  “Scare your friend or stare at your ass?”

  “Don’t scare my friend. If you want to see my ass, you only have to ask.”

  Buffy nodded, mouth closed, and kept his eyes on Gianni’s face. The blush crept back onto his cheeks.

  “I didn’t know if you still wanted to see me. After you saw…what you saw,” Gianni gave voice to his doubts.

  “I did. I do.” Buffy dipped his fingers into the pool.

  “I’m glad. You seemed pretty angry.” Gianni watched the slayer’s hand swirling the water next to him. It was easier than catching his gaze.

  “I was.” He stilled. “At the time. Later, I realized it wasn’t your fault. You’ve never hidden the fact that you’re a vampire. It was just hard to be confronted with the reality of it. Seeing you…feed.”

  “I did tell you to leave. Before.”

  “You did.” Buffy tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I should’ve listened.”

  “I waited for you in the park, but you never came.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

  Gianni glanced up. The slayer looked sincere. “I saw you at the club.”

  “I know. You were with a bunch of vampires. You were drunk.”

  “I was. You looked sad.”

  Buffy cast his eyes downward. Gianni took pity on him. Time to lighten the mood.

  “Help me up.” Gianni stretched out a hand.

  “You’re naked.”

  Gianni winked. “You’re welcome. Help me up.”

  Buffy stood and offered his hand to pull him from the pool, but as soon as Gianni took hold, he yanked, throwing the slayer off balance and tipping him into the water. Buffy splashed and flailed, righting himself as he came up sputtering. Gianni lost himself in a fit of giggles.

  “Now I bet you wish you were naked too.” He continued to laugh. Buffy looked even more adorable soaking wet, his hair in his eyes, treading water fully clothed. His shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders above the surface, and the fabric in the water floated loosely over his frame. Gianni was captivated. For a second he thought Buffy might be angry with him, but then a smile spread across his face, and he joined in the laughter.

  “You little shit.” Buffy swiped the hair out of his eyes.

  Gianni pushed him to the side of the pool and pinned him there with his body, arms around his shoulders. They stopped laughing. He was close enough to breathe Buffy’s air. The slayer was warm against him, wet clothes tangled between them. Buffy was staring at his mouth.

  “What’s your name?”

  The slayer’s gaze traveled from his lips to his eyes. He hesitated for so long, Gianni thought he would be denied once more. Then, finally, and in a rush, he whispered, “Richard,” before crushing their lips together.

  Richard.

  His name was Richard.

  Butterflies chased each other deep in Gianni’s stomach as he leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth for Richard’s tongue. Everything was warm and wet. Gianni closed his eyes to concentrate on the feel of him. The taste. Sweet and rich like cream over fruit. Richard kissed as if he was starving, and Gianni wanted to feed him.

  Richard wrapped his arms around Gianni’s waist, pulling him in tight. Gianni massaged his scalp, feeling him everywhere: against his chest, in his mouth, under his hands. Richard made a sound against Gianni’s lips, a whimper really, and it went straight to his dick. Returning it hungrily, he poured himself into the kiss.

  When they broke apart, it was to look into each other’s eyes anew. Richard had stunning emerald green eyes, and he so rarely let eye contact linger for more than a heartbeat. Gianni had to kiss him again. Once, twice, and another for good measure, all while coming back over and over to those eyes.

  He’d grown hard and pressed himself against Richard’s hip. The slayer was in the same state. Undoing his pants, getting a hand on his erection, and working him until he came would be so easy. What sound would he make against Gianni’s mouth then? But he held himself back. Their first time should be in a bed. Dry. Not a quick handjob in the hot springs. Though ravishing him in this warm pool was tempting.

  “You’re good at this.” Gianni dragged himself from Richard’s mouth long enough to speak.

  “So are you.” Richard’s emerald gaze was intense.

  Gianni delighted in it.

  “Yeah, well, I know I’m good at it. You’re more of a surprise.” Gianni kissed him again, but Richard pulled back, smiling.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re so uptight. I never pegged you for a good kisser.”

  “Mm, not uptight,” Richard mumbled against Gianni’s lips.

  “Stop talking. Stick to what you’re good at.”

  Gianni felt Richard’s grip on him tighten, and the slayer pushed from the wall, reversing their positions and pinning Gianni to the ledge. Oh, and that was nice. Their cocks lined up perfectly. He flexed his hips into Richard’s, tipped his head back, and moaned. They rocked together.

  “Jesus.” Gianni stopped to catch his breath. “You feel good.”

  “Yeah, you do too.”

  “Richard,” Gianni tested the name on his lips. “Kiss me again.”

  Gianni couldn’t get enough. Richard’s mouth was made for him. He sucked on his tongue and fought the urge to bite down. How could he convince the slayer to let him have a taste? His blood would be divine, but this wasn’t the time to find out. He broke from the kiss and made himself take a deep breath. If he wanted to wait for a bed, he had to calm down.

  Now he had a problem. Richard’s clothes were soaked, and it was far too chilly for him to stay in them outside of the pool.

  Gianni sighed. “It’s cold out tonight.”

  “It is.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have gotten your clothes all wet, but it was worth it. I’m not going to apologize.” Gianni reached into one of Richard’s pockets. A pocket knife, a cylinder…no keys.

  Richard stiffened. “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  “Good.” He reached into another and found what he was after. Keys. “Then you’ll tell me where you’ve parked your car.”

  “Oh.” Richard relaxed.

  Gianni watched as reality dawned across Richard’s face in the form of a shadow of disappointment. They weren’t going to continue their frottage in the hot springs. Gianni would fetch his car so he wouldn’t have to walk across the city soaking wet.

  “You know the public lot across from the courthouse? It’s there.”

  “I’ll go get it.” Gianni gave him a quick peck and climbed out of the water.

  “I guess I’ll just be here.”

  “Doing what, exactly?” Gianni smirked.

  “Let’s not talk about it.”

  “Hey, Richard?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Feel free to stare at my ass.” Gianni turned his back to Richard and got dressed.

  Slowly.

  Franklin

  On the one hand, he was an absolute piece of shit for giving Gianni a fake name, and he felt like a dick. On the other hand, he’d wrangled enough courage to kiss the vampire, and it was the best kiss of his life. The high still lingered, a pleasant buzz as he floated through the Foundry’s halls. The combination left him spinning.

  Gianni had fetched his car and driven it back to the springs. Somewhere along the way, he’d picked up towels and a pair of sweatpants so Franklin wouldn’t have to get his seat wet. For all the sass coming from his mouth, Gianni’s was a sweet and loving soul.

  The more he thought about it, the more he wished he’d told Gianni his real name. He’d blown it, and there was no way to explain without making Gianni angry. Possibly furious. The risk wasn’t worth it. He’d have to live with Richard, and with any luck, the vampire would never know.

  Although he didn’t want that either. Franklin was beginning to imagine a future with Gianni: cuddling on the couch; conversations until the wee hours of the morning; maybe a dog t
o keep them company… Such a thing wasn’t possible. Franklin could only save him from the Scourge. He couldn’t have him for himself. But he was torn. He wanted as much time with Gianni as possible before spilling his guts and dealing with the aftermath. The vampire’s anger seemed inevitable—might as well delay it.

  Franklin had to stop at his room for fresh clothes before he made his way to Darrow’s office. The closer he got to Gianni, the more awkward these meetings had become.

  “Lieutenant,” Darrow greeted.

  “Chief,” Franklin began. He told Darrow about the note waiting for him at the park and of seeing Gianni at the hot springs. He left out the swimming, the kissing, and the complete lack of clothes on the part of the vampire. Darrow only wanted to know they were back on track. He didn’t need the particulars.

  “So giving him a name worked wonders, did it?” Darrow radiated I told you so as he leaned casually back in his chair, a grin on his face.

  “Yes, that was a good call,” Franklin admitted. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “You’re welcome. Keep up the good work.”

  Darrow dismissed him, and Franklin went back to his quarters. He discarded the barely worn clothes and picked up the sweatpants Gianni had bought him. He climbed into the thick, soft cotton and untucked his sheets. Before waking to check on Spike, he’d get a few hours of sleep. Franklin wanted to know if their dog had settled in all right or maybe had been adopted already.

  Sleep didn’t come easily. Not with those divine kisses playing on repeat in his mind. Gianni had been eager in his arms, his weight against Franklin’s chest light as they floated in the water. Smooth, supple skin beneath his fingertips, flesh warm in his palms, and Gianni’s lips hot against his own. It wasn’t different because Gianni was a man or because he was a vampire. It was different because he was Gianni—a forbidden flighty creature, both soft and sharp and somehow interested in Franklin.

  He was ashamed of himself for all the lying. Gianni would see it as a betrayal, but was it? Franklin was going to keep him safe; he wouldn’t turn him over to the Scourge. He was trying to help.