Blood Revealed

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “I wondered how long it would take you to work down the chain to me,” Sandy said, his gravelly voice loud over the phone. Dominic could probably hear what he was saying. The man didn’t believe in volume control. “This is sooner than I expected.”

  Patrick realized he was sitting on the sofa. He couldn’t recall sitting down. He gripped the phone. “You’re my second call,” he said flatly. “The first wouldn’t answer. I know you will tell me to my face.”

  “Aye,” Ackerman said heavily. “You’re poison, boy. You didn’t think you could dump that shit on us and not have everyone rear back and faint?”

  “You’re one of the unbelievers,” Patrick categorized, almost automatically. “Does that mean everyone thinks I’ve lost my marbles?”

  “Of course they do,” Ackerman replied smartly. “We only peddle fairy tales here. We don’t believe them.”

  “No one has to believe anything,” Patrick said. “All they have to do is let me sell box office tickets for them.”

  “You think the public is gonna swallow that crap any more than I did?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Patrick shot back. “They’ll come and see the movie because they do believe, or because they don’t believe. Either way, curiosity will get bums in seats.”

  “And who do you think in this town will be mad enough to risk casting you, just to find out?”

  Patrick swallowed, even though saliva wasn’t something he had to worry about any more. “I’m not crazy.” It was a desperate last plea for clemency.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Ackerman said judiciously. “Either way, it wouldn’t matter to most people. There’s been more than one actor who worked on a movie who was crazier than a shithouse rat. You, though, went out and told people how fucked-up you are. That doesn’t buy forgiveness around here.”

  Dominic was watching him now. If he was able to hear Ackerman as clearly as Patrick suspected he might, then what Ackerman was saying was enough to pull his attention away from the piano.

  Dominic’s gaze reminded Patrick of why he had phoned in the first place and that it hadn’t been to find work. “If you think I’m so crazy, then I have nothing to lose by speaking the truth,” he said flatly. “There’s a war coming, Sandy. It’s a war you’ll end up fighting for yourself. No marines to march overseas and sort it out for you. You’ll be the soldier. You. This is coming to your doorstep. The Others…they’ll hunt you and your loved ones down.”

  Ackerman drew in a deep breath, like he was controlling his reaction.

  “You gave me a break when no one else would,” Patrick told him. “I haven’t forgotten that. That’s why I’m letting myself sound as crazy as you think I am. Take precautions, Sandy. Don’t let your grandkids out alone, especially at night. I don’t know when the Others will show up, but they will. Don’t let yourself be the first among the victims.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Pat,” Sandy said roughly. “Do you know how fucking nuts you sound?”

  “I know,” Patrick said evenly. “Although now I’ve got nothing to lose, so I’m doing you the only favor I have left to do. I’m warning you personally. When the first of the Others arrives, you’ll know I’m not crazy. Remember what I’m saying now and be smart.”

  He disconnected and let the phone drop to the sofa cushion and hung his head. His heart was thundering in his chest and there was a tightness across it that he might have said was the forewarning of a heart attack, except that that was simply not possible for him anymore. His breathing was ragged, like he’d run a hundred yard sprint.

  The tight, coiled tension in his gut and the urge to move finally alerted him.

  He clenched his hand on his knee and looked up at Dominic. His vision had altered. Dominic was picked out in the morning light in variations of gray. Patrick could almost feel the man’s pulse.

  It was calling him.

  “Get out of here,” Patrick ground out.

  Dominic pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, in an almost reflex movement. “What’s wrong?” he said sharply.

  “Nothing. Everything.” Patrick gripped his knee, digging his fingers in. He opened his mouth and drew in air in a frantic gasp.

  He could smell the human. It was a spicy, rich scent, touched with the coppery heat from the blood coursing through his arteries, a crimson chant that beckoned with more vigor than a glass of scotch ever had.

  Now the man was standing next to him. “It’s blood fever,” he said into the phone and listened. Patrick didn’t recall him dialing, or speaking. Time was fracturing around him.

  The man looked at Patrick sharply, a deep frown between his brows. “If I must,” he said slowly. Then he put the phone away, his gaze not shifting from Patrick. “They’re coming, but it won’t be quick enough. You’re going to have to feed from me.”

  Patrick gasped. “No.” He didn’t know why that wouldn’t be a good idea, except that it was somehow tied up with sex or lust or…his thoughts wouldn’t hold together. The reluctance to feed from the dark haired man faded. What was his name?

  He was taking off his jacket.

  “I don’t know how to control it,” Patrick warned him, with the last of his coherence.

  “I do,” the man replied calmly.

  Patrick fell on him.

  * * * * *

  Pure ambrosia! The heat of the liquid lined his throat with golden joy. He could feel it infusing his body with energy. Radiance. He was glowing with it. He could sup upon this forever.

  He had never been more aware of every inch of his body. It throbbed with health. It was powerful. Sleek. An animal at its prime, ready to work hard.

  He bent his head to feed again, reveling in the glory of it all.

  * * * * *

  Dominic groaned as blatant, powerful arousal bloated him with aching need. He had been warned about this. Sebastian had told him that he wouldn’t understand until he had experienced it. Now he understood.

  He barely noticed the minor pain from his torn blood vessels as they leaked his life blood. He was more aware of the vampire’s mouth on his neck and the sounds of lust he was making as he fed.

  As soon as he heard the first thought that was clear and coherent, Dominic leaned back and shoved the heel of his hand against the man’s forehead and pushed steadily and hard, pulling his mouth away from his neck.

  When there was enough room, he swung his arm in a full, hard circle. His hand cracked against the vampire’s cheek. He didn’t hear it. Instead, he felt the power of the slap in the way his hand went almost instantly numb.

  Sauvage staggered backward. His eyes were back to human normal. There was intelligence and understanding in his expression…and horror. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips, blotting the last of the blood there.

  “You have to heal me,” Dominic said shortly. Already, the aphrodisiac was leaving him and the raw pain of the tear in his flesh was increasing.

  The horror turned into mortification. Dominic thought Sauvage would have blushed if he’d been human. “I’m sorry,” he said, moving back toward him. “Sorry,” he repeated again, awkwardly.

  “It’s fine,” Dominic told him. “Just fix this for me. It’s hurting.” He turned his shoulder to give Sauvage access to his neck.

  He remembered Sebastian and Winter’s warnings and watched as Sauvage leaned in toward his throat. Sometimes, the blood fever wouldn’t let go easily. A vampire could sink back into the mindless driving haze, to feed endlessly until their victim was quite drained.

  Sauvage’s embarrassment was enough to keep his consciousness here in the real world and he worked his mouth over the wound, using his vampire essence to heal it. His big hands were gentle, using minimal strength to turn Dominic to the angle he needed to work on the wound.

  The pain receded, until it was gone.

  Dominic moved his shoulder experimentally. It felt perfectly normal.

  Patrick Sauvage had moved away from him, over to the window, where he was staring out at the hot September da
y, silhouetted by the bright sunlight beaming through the big window. There was a tightness about the man’s shoulders.

  “Thank you,” Dominic told him. He deliberately didn’t dip into his mind. Instead, he waited for the words to bubble up as surface thoughts as Patrick Sauvage spoke them, so he could hear them almost as normally as a human did. “Garrett will be here very soon. Their house is only a few kilometers away.”

  The tension didn’t lessen. Instead, it seemed to tighten into a hard fist. “Did it hurt very much?” Sauvage asked. He didn’t look at him.

  “Not once you dealt with it.”

  “I mean…during….” The awkwardness in the man’s words and thoughts was thick.

  “No, not then, either.”

  It was a reminder of the swollen ache he had felt. The need to slake his appetite, to pin down someone and just ram himself home, over and over, until he came…it had sat in his mind like a siren song, beckoning him, making him throb. Every inch of him had pulsed.

  Even just remembering the powerful arousal was goading him all over again. His cock stirred and gave out a single throb. Dominic cleared his throat.

  Sauvage still hadn’t looked around. “Was there anything else, Dominic?” he asked.

  Beneath the words was a clear thought. No, not a thought. An emotion. A sensation.

  Wanting.

  Desire.

  A response to Dominic’s need.

  Dominic licked his lips. The man…the vampire…had read his physical reaction and was responding to it.

  Positively.

  Patrick Sauvage reached up to grip the window frame. His fingers gripped the white painted wood. “You should go.” It wasn’t the alarming, get-the-fuck-out-now voice he had used before the blood lust had taken him. It was a warning, just the same. “What you’re feeling…it’s just a trick, a way to keep you sane after a feeding.”

  Dominic nodded, then realized the man wasn’t looking at him and wouldn’t see it. “I’ve been living with vampires for a year. I know what I’m feeling is normal. Your reaction…isn’t.”

  “Which is why you should go.”

  That wasn’t what his under thoughts were saying. Patrick wanted him to stay. He wanted to explore this exploding need, to see where it went.

  Dominic realized his heart was just about bursting out of his chest. He was weak because of the loss of blood and this was making it strain like an overtaxed steam engine. He didn’t consciously make the decision. Yet he found himself sinking onto the buttery soft leather sofa. “I’d better eat something first,” he whispered.

  Finally, Patrick Sauvage turned and actually looked at him. There was disgust in his eyes. “I should have thought of that,” he said softly and Dominic realized the disgust was self-directed. “Come back to the kitchen. I’ll get you a sandwich. And coffee.” He strode for the doorway that led to the back of the house where the big French countrified kitchen was. He didn’t look back. He expected Dominic to follow him as ordered.

  Dominic hauled himself to his feet. Now the weakness was really making itself felt, or he would have told Patrick bloody Sauvage to take his sandwich and shove it. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, some of his steps more wobbly than he liked. Sauvage was already digging through the refrigerator and bread was sitting on the counter.

  Dominic pulled out a chair from around the big circular wooden table and fell into it. He propped himself up with an elbow on the table and watched the tall man make a sandwich that a gourmet lunch shop would have been proud of. Prosciutto, so thin he could see Patrick’s fingers through it. Two different types of cheese, one just as thinly sliced as the meat, the other very white and crumbly, dark green pesto, avocado and olives.

  The bread was crusty and made the hollow sound that spoke of well-risen dough as Patrick cut off thick slices.

  Dominic’s mouth watered long before Patrick put the plate in front of him and he didn’t hesitate to bite into it as Patrick went back behind the counter and made coffee. Espresso, of course. No filters or French press. The smell of sharp, dark coffee flooded the room.

  The sandwich was the best Dominic had ever tasted. Once the worst of his sudden hunger subsided, he slowed down his eating and savored, instead.

  Patrick was back to staring out the window again.

  “No other vampire I know is as embarrassed about having to feed as you seem to be,” Dominic said. “Is that because it’s still new for you?”

  Patrick looked at him sharply, startled. The same stiff awkwardness colored his thoughts. This time, Dominic listened closely. He frowned and swallowed the bite of sandwich. “What has feeding got to do with binge drinking?”

  “You’re reading my private thoughts?” He sounded highly pissed.

  “They’re not so private,” Dominic said, with a shrug. “You talk and I have to listen to hear what you say, yet what you’re thinking drowns out what you’re saying. And you didn’t actually say anything, anyway.”

  “I was going to say that it’s none of your business.”

  “Because you’re a big important film star who has to protect his privacy,” Dominic added. That thought had been at the very top of Patrick’s thoughts, unshaped by words. The indignation had been very clear.

  Patrick’s mouth opened. So did his eyes.

  “Except you’re not that important anymore, are you?” Dominic said. “No one is taking your calls.”

  The hurt seemed to leap out of the man’s chest. Dominic could feel it, as it swamped everything else in his mind. It wasn’t just hurt, either. There was a deep fear there, tied up with last night’s exposure. Patrick Sauvage was feeling threatened, as though his personal universe was imploding.

  “Hey, the whole world is doing cartwheels right now. It’s not just you,” Dominic replied.

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “That…is very disconcerting,” he said slowly.

  “What is?”

  “I didn’t even know that was what I was thinking, until you answered me, as if I had said it aloud.”

  “I told you. Your thoughts are very clear. Louder than what you say.”

  “Other people don’t…think as loudly?” The corner of his mouth quirked up, like he felt as silly saying it as it sounded.

  “No.”

  Oh. The single word, the surprise, was clear as a shout.

  “Perhaps it’s because you fed from me. They say feeding creates a connection for a while.” Then Dominic remembered how he had been able to tap into Patrick’s thoughts more easily than anyone else at last night’s press conference. There had been no temporary bond then.

  “Maybe.” Patrick wasn’t any more sold on that possibility than Dominic was. He dumped one of the dinky little European coffee cups and saucers in front of Dominic, the black sludgy espresso slopping a bit. It smelled divine, this close up.

  The man’s surface emotion hadn’t subsided. Patrick was still trying to hold onto an old life that had shattered three days ago when he had told the world what he really was. He was only now starting to realize exactly what he had done to himself.

  “If it helps,” Dominic said, picking up the little cup, “you’re not the only one who is getting kicked in the ass this morning. The President of the United States fired two cabinet members and three other Congressmen have resigned. There’s a French diplomat packing up his bags and the head of Mossad was nearly lynched last night in Israel…and the mob was made up of Palestinians and Jews.”

  Patrick frowned. “All of them are Libertatus?”

  “That’s where all the power-holders gravitated. League members…what’s left of them…they stayed on the fringes of human society. Best place for them, too.” The coffee was delicious, just like the sandwich. Dominic gave a gusty sigh and put the cup down. “Not that any of those old divisions really matter anymore.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Patrick said dryly. He wiped crumbs off the counter with a sweep of his hand and tossed them into the sink.

  “And yet you’re still feelin
g coy about feeding,” Dominic said.

  Patrick glared. “You’re doing it again.”

  “Stop thinking so loud, then. Why is feeding like drinking for you?”

  Patrick took a deep breath. Then another.

  Dominic nodded. “You feel out of control with both.”

  “Jesus Christ on a pony….” Patrick muttered.

  Dominic grinned. “Maybe you should think of this as a confessor and penitent relationship. Except you got to eat before you confessed. Now I’m bound by it and can’t tell a single other soul what you’ve told me.”

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not Catholic.”

  “I am. I was.” Dominic shrugged. “It’s a brave new world now, anyway. You might feel more relaxed about it if you dealt with the world as your real self. You’ve been acting a long time. Even after the cameras stopped rolling. Perhaps it’s time to stop.”

  Astonishment warred with acute discomfort. And this time, Dominic could see it in Patrick’s eyes. He was not bothering to hide his reactions anymore. “Are you done punishing me for feeding from you, yet?”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Dominic frowned, trying to sort out his own feelings. “Maybe. A little. Except I can hear that you’re all mixed up about a lot of shit that every other vampire doesn’t give a damn about because you were human a nanosecond ago, relatively speaking.”

  “I don’t need counseling. I’ve got enough of them already.”

  “Yeah, Roman can be a pedantic son of a bitch, can’t he?”

  Patrick’s grin came from nowhere, as if it caught even him by surprise. “Wasn’t he an office clerk, in old Constantinople?”

  “It shows, doesn’t it?” Dominic pushed the plate away, then pulled it back and cleaned up some of the crumbs, picking them up with a damp fingertip. “Garrett can be OCD about finance, too. They make a good pair.”

  The thought/feeling/emotion came out of nowhere. Dominic wasn’t even aware he was still listening in on Patrick’s thoughts, so it came as a surprise to him. The image/memory of the piano. Glistening black varnish. The coolness of the ivory keys under Patrick’s (his) fingers. The sweet purity of the notes as they hung on the air in the empty room. He wasn’t a master at the music, yet the piano made up the difference, making any fumbling music he created sound purer and better….