Carnal Passions Presents
Blood Lovers
By
Jophrael L. Avario
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Carnal Passions
A Division of Champagne Books
www.carnalpassions.com
Copyright 2011 by Jophrael L. Avario
ISBN 978-1-926996-17-2
April 2011
Cover Art by Jenn Smith
Produced in Canada
Carnal Passions
#35069-4604 37 ST SW
Calgary, AB T3E 7C7
Canada
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Carnalpassions.com (or the retailer of your choice) and purchase your owncopy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Smashwords Edition
Dedication
For Inge. These boys are all yours.
And for the Coven, who constantly prove that it's better to be true to yourself than to be what other people want you to be.
PART 1:
DELIGHT
Sharp pain spiked up his arm.
The darkness of the city below travelled up to him, the storm still howling around him, the wind whipping his clothes, rain soaking his skin. The young man's dripping black hair blew in his face, obscuring his view of his torn forearm.
Blood dripped down from his elbow, lost in the rain as it splattered on the pavement a dozen storeys below. He watched the blood against his pale skin in the flash of lightning that streaked through the sky. Water poured down his face, drenching his black clothes, making them stick to his skin. The black-haired man raised the blade again, sticking the corner of it into his pale flesh.
He pulled it slowly down his arm, closing his eyes and moaning in pain-laced pleasure as the feeling tore up his arm, making the skin between his shoulder blades clammy as the muscles cramped. He shivered as he pulled the blade from his skin. He looked at the clear line joining the others working their ways down his arm and leaking black blood in the darkness.
"You're worthless, Tamir," his memory called, forcing tears from his eyes as he licked at the blood, willing the rain to make him bleed out, to make his life end. His head started to spin as he rocked on the stone railing. "You'll never be anything, faggot. You should just go jump off a building and put us all out of our misery."
"You're a pathetic excuse for a human, fairy." The memory of his mother's words crawled into his mind as another slit appeared in his arm, deeper than the others. "I should have had that abortion, like my mother wanted me to. You've been nothing but a worthless thorn in my side since you were born!"
Pain reached his brain again, and he realised that he'd cut even deeper than before; he could feel the blade scraping against the bone, his arm almost numb now. His hand was dead, the feeling completely gone.
"What are you doing?" a voice kinder than the others, asked, creeping into his mind as the thunder grew quieter, the wind silently plucking at his clothes, sending chills up his back. "You silly man. Come with me. I'll take care of you." A hand rested on the stone railing beside him.
"No," he murmured, holding the blade in his suddenly-weak left hand, ready to slice into his right arm again. "No, let me die, please... let me die..." He twisted away from the person, trying to avoid him, but he no longer had the strength.
Darkness crowded in on him, and he fell from the railing. With nothing but twelve stories of open air between him and the ground, the blood and rain streaked over his body as the blade sliced deep into his thigh. He fell, tumbling past the windows of the building...
There was a flapping sound, and something dragged his body back, back to the safety of the building. Tamir collapsed, lying, dying, on the floor. The older man, blond-haired and serious, licked at the blood on the dying man's arm, moaning as the crimson liquid touched his tongue. A gel-like substance from his lips soothed the cuts and stopped the bleeding, clotting it and acting like an instant scab.
But blood still pooled with the rain on the dry floor. After a second, the older man noticed the gash in the young man's thigh, the red liquid oozing slowly onto the stone floor.
"You silly sod," the man murmured, then hesitated. Slowly, watching the young man's unconscious face, he licked the blood from the gash, the taste seducing him almost instantly.
Forgetting about the blood the young man had already lost, the man licked at the wound, drawing still more blood from Tamir's dying body. After a few minutes, he pressed his lips to the gash. What had been an open sore was now sealed shut with more of the gel-like substance, holding what remained of the young man's blood in his body.
"Beautiful," the older man murmured, running a hand over the pale skin of the unconscious young man's stomach, showing above his jeans. "Delicious."
Tamir's stomach twitched, and the young man's head rolled towards his rescuer, though he did not wake. The man sighed, then started as the thunder sounded off alongside a flash of lightning. He licked his lips, allowing himself one more taste of the young man, and leaned back.
"So young," he murmured, pressing his fingertips to his lips gently. "So delicious. So alone, so unwanted." He smiled. "I will look after you, cica." He ran his long fingers through the young man's black hair, frowning at the tangles. His fingers graced the young man's cheek, making Tamir roll away from him slightly. The tall man stared at his bared neck, visibly holding himself back.
"You will be good," he murmured, lifting the young man up into his arms as though he weighed nothing. "I need a young man like you to keep me... straight..."
The man turned. Within a couple of seconds, all that remained of him was the flapping of his dark cloak. Lightning flashed, and he was gone from the towering building, the young man along with him.
~ * ~
Tamir awoke slowly, feeling the pain in his arm first. The skin felt swollen, sore, as though he'd stuck his hand in a blender and someone had pieced the skin back together with a million stitches. There was something on his thigh, touching him as one would a sick child at their bedside.
He jerked away from the cold hand, and pain shot up his arm. Moaning, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The roof was plaster, covered in paintings that looked like they'd been done in the Renaissance.
"It is good to see you awake," a soft voice murmured as a blond-haired man sat beside him, his hand lifting from Tamir's thigh.
Realising he was lying, naked, on top of the covers, Tamir grabbed a handful of the sheet and pulled it over his groin, ignoring the painful feeling pulling in his right arm. He felt like he should be blushing, but he must not have had the blood to do it. His face wasn't even hot.
"You don't have to be modest with me," the soft voice said, and Tamir realised that the other man was the speaker. "There is not much you have that I have never seen before." His voice was lighter, higher, then Tamir expected from such a gruff face.
Tamir looked around, puzzled, at the room. He pulled his weight up onto his unharmed left arm, holding the sheet still with his right so as not to have to move it or put weight on the sore muscles. The
room was just like the man: elegant, refined, and cultured. Pictures hung on the walls, which Tamir remembered from his art class at high school only a couple of years before. Priceless Monets, Picassos, even a Da Vinci.
"Where am I?"
"I don't think that is your most pressing question." The man laid his hand on Tamir's thigh again, smiling at him. "I think the question you most want to know is 'Why did you save me?' Am I right?"
Tamir nodded, too distracted by the man's face to notice the hand on his leg. It was sharp, angular, a direct contrast to the smoothness of his voice. His clothes, now that Tamir looked at them, were a well-cut, smooth black satin suit. Expensive. In fact, everything about the man oozed money.
"There is something I want from you, Tamir," the man murmured, leaning in closer slowly, giving the young man time to pull back. "Something that only you can give me."
Tamir shivered. "What?" he whispered, unintentionally lowering his voice to that of his saviour. There was a look in the man's eye that he couldn't quite decode.
The older man pressed his lips to Tamir's, his eyes open. Tamir's fluttered closed, his injured right hand lifting to settle on the crook of the man's neck to pull him gently closer. He tasted like elderberries, champagne and copper. Tasty.
Tamir started, realising what he was doing. He pulled back, pulling his arm away as though burned. The man smiled slightly, his golden eyes—soft and glinting in the pale light of the bedside lamp—sparkling in amusement.
"I—I—um, I don't do that kind of thing so soon, I mean—"
The man's eyes didn't stop sparkling, and Tamir realised that his face was a little warm; he was only blushing slightly, despite his acute embarrassment.
"As you wish. I shall wait until we know each other better before I ravish you completely." The man's grin made Tamir feel a little better. "Maybe I'll even tell you my name."
He was slightly disappointed when his company turned at the sound of a knock on the door. The man smiled at the young woman who entered, carrying a towel and some clothes.
"Thank you, Amanda."
The woman bobbed a curtsey, her head bowed, and Tamir could tell she was afraid of them. She placed the towel and clothes on a chair, then left the room quickly. The man, obviously the master of the house, turned back to look at Tamir.
"Who are you?" the young man asked, fisting the sheets in front of his groin tightly to cover himself even more. "Where am I?"
"My name is Vidar Gentson," he said with a faint Swedish accent on his name. "I found you slitting your wrists on the top of the Liver Building. Why were you wasting your life like that?"
Tamir blushed, his face a little warmer again. "I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, looking at the sheets.
"You can tell me. I won't judge you, Tamir." The man smiled, running his fingers over the edge of Tamir's jaw. Tamir jumped, pulling away, and the older man shook his head. "You are much too jumpy, Tamir. If you let me, I can help you with that."
"I'm not jumpy, thank you."
Vidar raised an eyebrow. Tamir proved his point when the man stood; he jumped again, to the other man's amusement.
"The bathroom is through the door to your left. These are your clothes." Vidar rested an elegant hand on the material Amanda had delivered, smiling at Tamir. "Take as long as you wish. Dinner will be in the dining hall. Amanda will be waiting for you outside to lead you down to dinner when you are ready."
"Thank—thank you, Vidar," Tamir stuttered, sitting up and placing his feet on the floor.
Vidar smiled at him, then gently rested his head on the doorframe, watching Tamir. Tamir got the uncomfortable feeling that the man was ogling him. "You are very welcome, my young cica. I shall see you at dinner."
Tamir flushed again, realising that the man was giving him a nickname, even though he couldn't understand what a "cica" was. Vidar smiled and shut the door after him, leaving Tamir alone in the room with his thoughts.
Tamir looked at his right hand, amazed at the self-inflicted scratches he could see. There was something on his arm, some kind of solid gel, which prevented the wounds from bleeding or drying out. He touched it gently, amazed at the damage he could see under it. No wonder his arm hurt.
At least a dozen strips of red flesh littered his arm under the gel covering, with at least two showing bone. He felt queasy as he looked at them, realising, for the first time, how close to death he had been on that railing, full of self-hate about his sexuality and self-pity about his situation. If Vidar hadn't come along...
Tamir tore his eyes from the wounds, and spotted the cut on his leg. He touched the gel covering it gently, not remembering this one. Had he started on his leg, attempting to bleed out faster? Or had Vidar startled him and made him cut the skin there?
Tamir stood up, holding the sheet in front of his groin, though there was no one in the room. He let it go when he got to the chair and tucked the towel around his waist, depositing the sheet back on the mattress. He grabbed the clothes Amanda had provided and looked at the shirt on top, made of a rich black fabric. She had also provided a pair of thick black pants, made of the same stuff as Vidar's flashy suit.
"This guy has got to be seriously rich," he murmured to himself, running his hand over the material and almost purring with how soft and smooth it felt.
A floorboard out in the hall creaked, and Tamir jumped. He grabbed the rest of the clothing and hot-footed it to the bathroom, closing the door and peering out of the small gap he'd left open. There were no sounds and no one entered his bedroom. Still, Tamir stood, frozen at the door, watching the well-furnished room.
When he was finally convinced that no one was going to burst in on him, Tamir lowered the lid of the toilet and put the clothes on it. He turned the hot water on full and waited for it to reach a decent temperature before turning on the cold.
He climbed in under the spray and wet his hair, flicking it around as the warm drops splashed over his body, heating up the chilling cold of the rain of what felt like weeks before. He wondered, a little late, what would happen if the gel became wet, but figured after a small bit of worry, that if his host or one of the employees had placed the stuff on him once, they could do it again.
Tamir washed his hair, using the soaps he found on the shelf in the large shower. He swore as the soap stung the cuts, then sighed. He was going to have to live with the pain. He caused it, he could live with it.
Tamir paused. The soap stung his arm again, and he realised his cock hardened with the pain. Tamir frowned. Based on the rate at which he'd been blushing, he didn't have enough blood to achieve a full erection. There was no way he was going to wank in someone else's shower only a half-hour after waking up!
Attempting to convince his half-inflated cock to settle down, Tamir stepped from the shower and wrapped his towel around his waist, looking for another for his hair. Frowning when he realised that there wasn't another one, he chewed on the inside of his lip, wondering what to do. Would Amanda bring him another towel? Blood entered his mouth and he frowned, mad at himself. The last thing he needed was to lose more blood.
"Amanda?"
Amanda knocked on the bathroom door. "Do you need something?"
"Yeah, I—um—could I get another towel? I—um, I washed my hair, and—"
"Say no more, hun." Tamir could hear the amusement in her voice. "Give me a sec, and I'll go grab one for you."
"Thanks." He waited off to the side where he was sure that she couldn't see him. He looked down self-consciously, but there was no telltale bulge in the front of his towel. Thank God. He looked at the mirror, trying not to look at the reflection of his arm. It hurt to do that.
"Here you go," Amanda said, knocking on the door again. "You open the door. I don’t want to walk in on you by accident."
Slightly relieved, Tamir opened the door a few inches and took the towel, trusting Amanda to close the door behind her, and turned around to wrap his hair up. He dropped the towel from around his hips and pulled his underwear on
. He glanced up to see Amanda staring at him, and he jumped, grabbing the towel and covering himself again, all the while trying not to yelp.
"I'm so sorry!" she said, blushing and shutting the door. "I didn't mean to—"
"I—it's okay." Tamir relaxed, though he was still on edge, and quickly pulled his clothes on. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay. Please don't mention it to Master Gentson," she gulped, her voice full of fear. "I'll be outside if you need anything else."
Before Tamir could comment, the young woman was gone. He shrugged and pulled the rest of his clothes on, delighting in the feel of the expensive fabric on his skin. He went to pull the shirt on, but realised that the dampness on his arm wasn't water. The gel that had covered the wounds on his arm had washed away, leaving the cuts bleeding in spots.
Still shirtless, Tamir wandered out into the bedroom. Without thinking about it, he licked at the blood, ignoring the taste, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Amanda?"
The door cracked open, but no face appeared. "What do you need?"
"The gel that's on my arm. Could you get some more?"
Amanda was silent for a few seconds. "Sure. I—I'll be back in a second."
Tamir nodded, though she couldn't see the movement. He sat for a minute, licking absently at the blood on his arm, then started as someone knocked on the door.
"Yes?"
"Amanda told me that you're bleeding again?" Vidar's voice called through the door, and the man stuck his head inside the room.
"Y—Yeah," Tamir gulped, smiling slightly at the man. "The gel kind of washed off in the shower."
"And the slice on your thigh? Is that bleeding as well?" Vidar asked, crouching in front of where Tamir sat. He took hold of Tamir's arm, making the younger young man shiver. "What's with the towel?"
Blood Lovers Page 1