With a Kiss

by Kim Dare

  He cleared his throat but, coward though it made him, said nothing.

  “Take a cake, love.” A plate filled with generously sized fairy cakes was proffered toward him. “You could do with feeding up.”

  Liam did as he was told.

  “You enjoyed your breakfast?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Liam said, hurriedly covering his mouth in an effort not to spit cake crumbs everywhere. “Marcus, at breakfast this morning, and at dinner last night, he um…”

  “Don’t you worry about him. He’s a typical vampire when it comes to his meals—he only ever picks at human food.”

  “Oh.” Liam wasn’t sure what else to say. “This cake is delicious,” he hazarded.

  “You’re better off without the bastard, you know.”

  “Martha!”

  Liam looked across to the doorway leading back into the main kitchen. Mr. Jenson stood just outside the little sitting room, glaring into the homey space, his frown so deep his thick gray eyebrows almost met in the middle.

  “Well, he is better off without him,” Mrs. Jenson said, once more busying herself with the tea things. “In my day there were names for a man who hit those he was supposed to care for—and they weren’t polite ones. If I had my way your ex would be—”

  “It’s none of our business, Martha,” Mr. Jenson said, as he came in and sat down in the armchair opposite them.

  Keeping all his attention on the large section of cake still on his plate, Liam silently wished that a hole would open up in the well scrubbed floor and swallow him whole. It didn’t.

  There was nothing he could do but attempt some sort of distraction. “You both worked for Marcus before his…his accident?”

  “Ever since the day he was born,” Mrs. Jenson said. “Vampires don’t tend to raise their own children as a rule. Although how anyone could leave such a sweet little bundle as the young Master Marcus was, is beyond me. You know, I don’t think he’s set eyes on them more than half a dozen times in his whole life.”

  She added milk and sugar to Liam’s mug without bothering to ask if he wanted any. He could only suppose that was part of her plan to feed him up.

  “Are your parents still around, love?”

  “Martha…”

  Apparently, Marcus’ housekeeper outranked his butler—in the servants’ quarters, if nowhere else. Mrs. Jenson handed her husband a cup of tea, cheerfully ignoring the note of warning in his voice.

  “We’re just having a cozy chat, aren’t we, love?” she said to Liam, reaching out and gently squeezing his knee.

  Liam managed a small smile, but it quickly faded. “We’ve sort of lost touch,” he whispered, quickly lifting his cup and taking a sip of the warm, sweet brew.

  “When you came out?” she asked, holding his gaze as if it were the type of thing little old ladies were quite entitled to ask a gay man the first time they met.

  Liam shook his head, and dropped his gaze in the face of an opponent who could apparently control her ability to blink for entire eternities at a single stretch. “They didn’t really get on with Ralph,” he mumbled.

  And when he’d been forced to choose between them, fear of Ralph’s temper had made the decision for him. Liam mentally cursed himself, but he straightened his spine as best he could, there was no going back now.

  A disapproving sound emerged from the back of the housekeeper’s throat. Liam had the distinct impression that, had Ralph been there, he might well have been sent to bed without his supper.

  By the time Liam was finally sent back up the stairs to the main house, having been ordered to either relax in the morning room or explore the rest of the house, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that he’d escaped without having told a sweet little old lady his entire life story in minute and embarrassing detail.

  His footsteps sounded loud as he walked along the halls. It was one thing to be told that nowhere was off limits to him. It was quite another to hear the old house creak under the force of the rising wind outside and not believe that someone was going to throw open one of the multitude of doors as he strolled past, and demand to know who the hell he thought he was, poking around where he had no right.

  An uneasy shiver ran down his spine an hour or two after he left the Jensons, as he wandered silently down one of the maze of corridors on the upper floor, making his way toward the back of Marcus’ house.

  Liam took a deep breath in an effort to control his nerves. His ribs reminded him why that was such a stupid thing to do now that the effect of Marcus’ bite was wearing off again. The bruises may have faded and the worst of the pain eased, but the all too familiar twinges were still there. Lifting one hand to his chest, Liam let the heat from his palm soak through his T-shirt and into his skin.

  Marcus’ body heat was much better at soothing aches and pains than Liam’s own was. It had been like sleeping next to his own personal hot water bottle. A living, breathing bed warmer that had held him close and went out of its way to encourage snuggling.

  Liam shook his head at himself. Much better to think of Marcus as a man he’d come dangerously close to humiliating himself in front of while he’d humped him in his sleep. Liam’s hands shook at the memory. His cock stiffened slightly.

  Marcus didn’t know about that, Liam reminded himself for what had to be at least the hundredth time that morning. And Marcus was never going to know about it. All Liam had to do was pretend it had never happened, and everything would be fine.

  Reaching out to a random door handle on his left, Liam pushed aside the heavy mahogany and peeked inside. Just like every other room in the house, it was elegant and expensively furnished—probably by someone who’d lived and died several generations ago. The Jensons had obviously been hard at work the entire time Marcus had been in the hospital, keeping every single inch of the place spic-and-span in their employer’s absence.

  Liam looked up at the huge chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Each drop of crystal sparkled and gleamed. Below it stood a beautifully polished grand piano. Crossing the room, Liam couldn’t help but give in to temptation and lift the lid. His fingertips caressed the ivory keys—and the instrument really did look old enough to be furnished with actual ivory.

  The notes sang out, light, delicate and perfectly pitched. It had been kept tuned, as if the Jensons had expected their employer to walk in and sit down at the piano at any time.

  Liam’s fingers made their way a little further along the row of keys as he pulled out the piano stool with his other hand and sat down on the plush gold seat. Old piano lessons quickly came flooding back to the forefront of his mind.

  He smiled slightly to himself as half remembered tunes and lessons slowly re-established themselves inside his head. Closing his eyes, it was almost possible for Liam to believe he was nine years old, back in his piano teacher’s house, and his biggest care in the world was that week’s lesson.

  The knuckles along his left hand were still ever so faintly discolored where he’d tried to fend off one of Ralph’s kicks, but even the trace of pain that had lingered despite Marcus’ feedings, faded away when he lost himself in the music. Liam only opened his eyes again when he reached the end of the piece. Staring down at the keys, it was hard to see anything except the echo of the injury to his knuckles.

  His hands looked out of place on such a beautiful instrument. And he was out of place in that room, in that house. Liam slowly closed the lid of the piano. Rising, he put the stool back neatly in its place and retreated from the room.

  Closing the door behind him, Liam shook his head at himself. He was not going to feel sorry for himself. He wasn’t going to be the kind of person who was lucky enough to end up in this house rather than on the street, yet still found something to complain about.

  Crossing the hall, Liam approached another door at random, eager to take his mind off melancholy thoughts. There was no distraction to be found in a room shrouded with complete darkness, but that didn’t matter because Liam was going t
o heal and get back on his feet, and once he’d done that…

  Liam’s fingertips, working without any conscious direction from his brain, found the switch on the wall just inside to the door. Light flooded the room. Every thought in Liam’s head slowly slipped away. The only parts of his body that retained the ability to move were his eyes. They scanned the room very slowly, taking in every detail visible from that particular vantage point.

  The important thing, Liam told himself, was not to panic.

  * * * *

  “No, I don’t know what his current address is,” Marcus snapped. “If I knew that, I would hardly need to engage the services a private investigator, would I?”

  The man on the other end of the phone began to stutter out his apologies. Marcus barely let him get a few words in before he cut him off.

  “Theo Wallace. He’s a vampire. Five foot ten, slight build, thirty years old. Last time I saw him he had blond hair and blue eyes—he was pretty. Check out the clubs that are popular on the vampires’ feeding scene, then those around the edges of it. Look in the places no respectable vampire would stoop to feed, too. Do I need to do your job for you?”

  The private investigator began to mumble something.

  Marcus wasn’t interested in hearing it. “Call me as soon as you know anything. If you can find him, you can name your price.”

  “If I can’t find him?” the guy asked.

  “Then we can have a little competition and see if my investigative skills are better than yours,” Marcus said. He made a point of letting his tone become far more polite than it had been at any other point during the call. “What do you think, Mr. Grant—will a vampire who’s been starved of blood for three years be able to find you?”

  All Marcus heard from the other end of the phone was a little gulp. He smiled slightly as he hung up and leaned back in his chair.

  As he tilted back his head, he noticed Jenson’s expression. “As and when I need your approval, I’ll let you know.”

  “Very good, sir,” Jenson said, obviously not the slightest bit unnerved.

  Marcus stretched his arms out and back behind his head. His body still felt strange, almost as if it didn’t entirely belong to him. He needed to reclaim it, to feel his muscles move and know that he controlled every one of them. He needed to get the adrenaline pumping through his body again.

  Killing Theo Wallace would be the perfect way to do that. All he’d have to do was wrap his hands around the little bastard’s throat and lift him from the floor. But maybe he’d just let him get a little toe hold on the ground beneath him every now and again, tease the guy with a little bit of hope before snatching it away.

  He needed to know that Theo wasn’t behind every pillar and post he passed. Maybe then he’d be able to step outside the house without feeling that the world was a far larger and more frightening place than he ever remembered it being before his last encounter with the other vampire. He needed to…

  Dropping his gaze, Marcus carefully ran a fingertip across the slight scar on his index finger. Maybe even more than that, he needed to feed from someone who wasn’t crammed full of pain and fear.

  “Perhaps now would be a good time for you to seek out Mr. Bates’ company, sir,” Jenson said, mildly.

  Marcus jerked up his head. The butler stood directly in front of his desk.

  “I’m not using him as a blood whore,” Marcus snapped, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince anymore. He slammed both his hands down on the desk as he launched himself to his feet. “I wouldn’t have fed from him at all if he hadn’t been in so much pain!”

  “I am aware of that, sir. However, it is difficult for any observer not to realize that Mr. Bates does seem to have a somewhat calming effect on you.”

  Marcus found his lips twitching in spite of everything. “Are you suggesting that I go and find the boy so he can cheer me up and talk me out of my temper tantrum?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting any such thing, sir.” Jenson’s face remained completely expressionless.

  Marcus looked down at the desktop for a few moments. “He’s going to pay,” he said, making sure each and every syllable hit the air, clear and unmistakable. “Wallace is going to hang.”

  Jenson said nothing. He was a smart man. There was nothing he could say that would convince Marcus to set aside three years of plotting and dreaming about his revenge, he didn’t waste his time trying. By the time he got his strength back, Marcus was going to have every detail of Theo’s current location, and be ready to set everything in motion. He was going to be ready for the little bastard this time.

  However, in the meantime…

  Pushing his chair back, Marcus stepped out from behind the desk. “Did you buy the magazines?” he asked the butler.

  “Certainly, sir. I placed them in the morning room, as you directed.”

  Marcus nodded. That solved the problem of where to find Liam very nicely. If there was one thing the boy really couldn’t resist it was a sensationalized story about some Z list celebrity who was falling in or out of love with some other talentless cretin and—

  “However, I believe Mr. Bates is completing a short tour of the house,” Jenson said, just as Marcus reached the door.

  “What?”

  “His doctor suggested that once he feels capable, he should take some gentle exercise. Since you made it quite clear that he wasn’t to leave the house unless you were free to accompany him, I suggested he take you up on your invitation to explore the building further.”

  Marcus’ hand clenched tightly around the door handle. There were dozens of rooms on each floor of the house. There was no reason for Marcus to believe he could successfully predict which one Liam would be in. But, in that moment, Marcus harbored no doubts regarding the boy’s location.

  He strode out of his study without another word, letting the door swing idly closed in his wake. Taking the stairs two at a time, he quickly turned several corners and strode along the hall toward the back of the house.

  Just as he expected, there was only one door open along that corridor, and it was the one that led into the only room he’d been quietly determined to introduce Liam to in person.

  It was an introduction that should have occurred several weeks in the future, and it would have been conducted so very carefully and… And it was pointless to regret that now.

  Slowing his steps, treading lightly to ensure no floorboards creaked and betrayed his presence; Marcus crept closer to the open doorway. The light was on. Liam was clearly illuminated—standing in the middle of his stark black and white surroundings, his attention completely ensnared by a large object on the far side of the room.

  Marcus realized then that there had been no reason to creep. Liam was so mesmerized; he wouldn’t have heard even the heaviest stomping step.

  “It’s a St. Andrew’s cross,” Marcus said, as softly as he knew how.

  Liam spun around. His face was paler than Marcus had ever seen it—making the leather that filled the room appear all the darker and more sinister in comparison.

  Stepping forward, Marcus forced himself to come to a halt in the doorway, leaving several feet of empty space between them.

  “I’m sorry, I…”

  Marcus shook his head. “I told you that you had free rein in the house. I meant it. If I’d wanted to keep the room a secret from you, I’d have locked it and made sure you didn’t have access to the key.”

  Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, Marcus looked around his playroom. A substantial film of dust lay over every item. The Jensons had obviously respected his preference that they didn’t enter the room—even to clean it—the entire time he’d been away.

  The last people in there had been Marcus and…if he’d remembered rightly, it had been a rather bratty little Italian submissive. He didn’t bother to try to recall the boy’s name; he doubted he had even inquired what it was to begin with. The boy had been pretty enough, and his masochism had made him a reasonably interest
ing human to feed from, but he couldn’t compare with the man standing before him now.

  Turning his gaze back to Liam, Marcus smiled slightly, desperately trying to appear relaxed and at ease when he felt anything but. Liam didn’t smile back. Marcus’ expression slowly turned more somber too.

  He’d brought more than enough men and women back to that room to learn that an instinctive talent for submission wasn’t the same as a taste for leather or the games that a dominant might like to play. The sheer weight of disappointment that raced through him surprised Marcus, but he made damn sure than no trace of it appeared in his expression. That particular precaution turned out to be entirely unnecessary.

  Liam’s gaze dropped to somewhere around Marcus’ feet and stayed there. The boy folded his arms across his chest in a move all about self defense. A second passed, and he shuffled his feet on the dusty floor, as if getting ready to run.

  “Liam,” Marcus said, stepping forward.

  The boy jerked away from him, rapidly retreating until his back hit into the St. Andrew’s cross. He spun around, as if the dark wooden beams might wrap around him and trap him there if he stayed within their reach.

  His shoulder connected heavily with a rack of paddles, sending them tumbling to the floor. Liam twisted around again. Marcus caught sight of the panic in his prey’s eyes as fight and flight collided inside him.

  Marcus’ own instincts took over. Two strides had him within arm’s reach of the boy. Wrapping Liam in a strong embrace, Marcus pulled him close, thinking of nothing but keeping Liam still and preventing him from hurting himself in his panic.

  Frantic hands pushed against his chest, scrabbling at his shirt as Liam desperately tried to free himself from Marcus’ hold. Even the strength inspired by human panic was no match for a vampire, even one as malnourished as Marcus.

  Planting his feet firmly on the floor in the center of the room, Marcus became a statue, just waiting the smaller man out. Finally, the hands that had been trying to push Marcus away relaxed against his shirt. Liam’s head dropped forward to rest against his shoulder.