Blood Claim

by Laura Baumbach, Angela Fiddler, Jet Mykles

Cory pulled back, but only for a second. It wouldn't hurt as much as the hand in the long run, but the initial sting would be so much worse. Or better, if that was what Cory wanted. Cory reached behind him, bracing himself against the wall as well. “That didn't answer the question,” Luke said.

  "Yes, the paddle,” Cory said, and his voice caught. “Please."

  Luke ran his nails along both inner thighs. Cory's cock was hot against his belly, now achingly hard, even though neither of them had touched it yet. “Can you keep yourself open like this for me?"

  Cory fought, twisting in ways Luke didn't think the body was meant to, but he nodded. “I will. Just ... hurry."

  "What if I want you to wait?” Luke asked, but stood up.

  Cory bucked again, pleading in ways he couldn't let himself say, but then he settled. “Then I'll wait,” he said, voice low.

  "Good boy,” Luke said and went back to his bedroom. They hadn't had a lot of toys in their relationship; they hadn't really needed it. Sex was the one part of them that hadn't needed work. But Luke had managed to collect a single leather paddle, smooth on one side, suede on the other; a set of nipple clamps they'd tried once and hadn't used again; and a finger vibrator that he thought he'd given to Cory when they'd broken up. He gathered up the former and the latter, and took a moment at the door to the storeroom to watch Cory shift his weight back and forth. But he never once sat down. His eyes were closed, but his lips were still parted. And he was beautiful.

  He must have heard Luke approach, even as Luke tried to walk silently, because he relaxed, even managing a smile. “Did you miss me?” Luke asked.

  Cory didn't answer. Luke brought the paddle down hard, just above his knee. The skin immediately turned pink, and Cory reared back, pushing toward Luke, not away from. His breath, though he didn't truly need to take one, came in a ragged gasp, and he rode out the pain with a series of bucks. “You can say it,” Luke said.

  "Holy fuck,” Cory said, the words harsh against his dry throat. He gasped another lungful of air, but held it because he could. Luke reversed the paddle, scratching his way up to Cory's testicles tight against his body, and when he scraped across the base of his balls, Cory shuddered again. “Another?” Luke slapped Cory's ass, only getting a few inches of swing, and it was light enough that it didn't count. “Cory?” he asked, when Cory didn't answer, but it took another, slightly harder slap on the other ass cheek to bring Cory back to him.

  "Yes,” Cory hissed, the word barely escaping his clenched teeth. “Please."

  "Here?” Luke inquired, pressing the smooth end a breath away from the crux of Cory's thigh. The muscles here were so tight against the surface it brought the femoral up against the skin. Cory thrust his hips, silently begging, but whether it was for the spot or against it, Luke didn't understand. He brought the paddle lower, moving it at an angle. “Here, then,” he whispered. Cory opened and closed his mouth, but Luke brought it down on his other leg, hard, and just a quarter inch away from the first blow. Luke's entire body went rigid. “Let it out,” Luke said. “It's not good to keep things contained."

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cory managed. He was sweating now, his black hair plastered down and his face reddening, but he was every bit as beautiful as he'd ever been.

  "Is that an invitation?” Luke waited, but Cory didn't answer. “Have you had enough? All you have to do is sit down again.” He undid his own slacks, took out his hard cock, and pressed it against the reddened patch of skin he'd made. “Can you feel how hard I am for you? How much I'd like to pull you down to the carpet and fuck you? Don't prolong this for my sake. Just sit down, Cory."

  "No,” Cory snarled. “Just do it. Higher."

  "Higher?” Luke asked. “Are you sure?"

  Luke didn't think it was possible, but Cory spread his legs farther. Luke smiled, though Cory couldn't see him, and he brought the paddle down, harder yet, on the exact same spot as the first time. Cory howled, his entire body jerking, but he remained up. “Are you going to tell me what to do next time?” Luke kept his voice mild.

  "No,” Cory gasped. “Sorry. I'm so sorry. Please.” He was fucking the air, but couldn't have gotten any relief from either his cock or the pain from his thighs. “Whatever you want. Please."

  "Are you sure? Do you want to settle anything else out through a committee?"

  Cory whined, but kept his legs wide open for Luke. “Whatever you want,” he said in a low whisper. “I'm yours."

  Luke hesitated, but didn't respond to what Cory had just said. He'd said a lot more to his master in similar situations, and talk during sex was never admissible in arguments later on. He brought the paddle down, lazily, about three quarters of the way up Cory's thighs. No pain, not this time, just a low sting. “Like that?"

  A pool of precum had gathered on Cory's belly. “Yes,” Cory hissed, bracing himself for the next blow, but instead Luke left the paddle casually, deliberately up against Cory's testicles and dipped his fingers into the precum. “You're getting off on this,” he said. It wasn't a question; the evidence pretty much spoke for itself. He brought his fingers up to Cory's mouth. “Open."

  Cory parted his lips, sticking his tongue out, but Luke brought his fingers inside instead. “Suck."

  And Cory sucked. Luke kept his hand still, so Cory moved his head up and down, performing mock fellatio on the long fingers until there wasn't a trace left of the precum. Luke withdrew, and Cory made a disappointed sound in the back of his throat.

  "You can sit down,” Luke told him. “We can skip all this."

  Cory shook his head and locked his thighs.

  Luke ran his fingers along the inside of Cory's legs. “I forgot how stubborn you are."

  "I didn't,” Cory said. Luke slapped him for it, but gently, barely making a sound. Cory shuddered and then audibly shut his mouth.

  The next one stung. Cory jerked, but he was ready for it. He thrust his hips up, slowly. Luke let him find a rhythm, and he matched it. Sometimes he barely slapped the skin, and sometimes he brought it down so hard that Cory had to stop to ride out the sensation. The insides of his thighs were red with blood close to the surface, and the sounds coming from Cory were needy, pathetic things.

  "Do you want a count to ten?” Luke asked softly. It would be ten very hard blows, evenly spaced apart, but then it would be over, and he wouldn't have asked Cory to give in. He took Cory's cock in his hand, feeling how close he was to coming—so close, Luke could feel the spasms under his fingers.

  "Yes,” Cory said. He let the word catch, then slide out of him. “Please."

  "Do you want to count?” he asked.

  Cory didn't answer, but he shook his head, and that was enough. His entire body was tired, and he could barely keep his body open. Perhaps Luke had overdone it, considering that it was the first time in a while. Ten blows, each one methodical almost to the point of being mechanical, and each one jerked Cory up. His breath came in ragged gasps to help dispel the pain. When Luke reached ten, he dropped the paddle like a live wire, grabbed onto Cory's hips, and supported his weight. He took Cory's cock down his throat, already feeling him starting to come. Cory grabbed the back of his head, pushing him farther down, and when there was no more down to go, began fucking his mouth. If Luke needed to breathe, he probably would have choked, but he didn't, and Cory used the last of his energy to thrust himself down Luke's throat while he came.

  He collapsed in a boneless heap on the couch, broken and sweating. There was room for them both in the oversized couch. Cory was too far gone, but Luke was still hard. It only took a second to collect Cory's spilled precum. Cory kept his legs close together, and Luke slid inside him. He needed hardly anything, watching Cory give himself over to riding the pain. He closed his eyes, kissing his way down Cory's neck, and when he came, gently compared to the rest of the evening, Cory let him stay inside.

  They slept for over an hour, while the moon set above them. The cold wind shifted. Luke felt it go. He untangled himself from Cory, who woke during the oper
ation but just turned on his hip and closed his eyes again. As much as Luke wanted to tug Cory along behind him and just go back to bed, he hadn't locked down the house for the day. The back door was open, leaving just the screen door closed. Luke hesitated, sure that he had closed it behind them. He opened the screen door, staring out to the garden, but didn't see anything different from when he'd gone out with Cory to the pond. It was late for humans. The bars would have already closed, and it was a very quiet neighborhood. But something was different. Something was wrong.

  He felt it first. Silent, but like a freight train in all things besides noise. The ground shook beneath his feet; the air trembled. For a second it was impossible to move, but he shook off the physiological response and stepped back into the house. That wasn't the protection he needed. The shadows across the porch from the neighbor's poplars swirled at his feet. He saw teeth and fangs. He felt frozen to the spot, both from the freezing wind that enveloped him and from the sudden fear that this was it. Teeth closed in, over this throat, about to tear out his throat, and the touch of the lolling tongue burning too hot as it touched his skin. He tried to turn his head, to warn Cory to get out even if it was with his last breath, and then the porch light turned on. Warm, yellow light spilled out from the single hundred-watt bulb. The shadow yelped as though in pain and then retreated back to the fence, to where the porch light couldn't reach. It didn't disappear completely, but manipulated a fence post here, a shadow from a tree branch there, an electrical pole inches from the end of the light. The teeth and claws and black eyes waited.

  "What is that thing?” Luke managed, feeling as though he'd sucked off a sharkskin dildo.

  "It's a wolf,” Cory said, staring out the open doorway. The beast snarled, lunging at the light, but where it struck the line of yellow, his flesh hissed and turned to an oily smoke, only to reform later under the fence. “More or less."

  His voice was far away, and colder than Luke had ever heard before, even when their relationship was in its death throes. “I'm more interested in the more than the less,” Luke said and rubbed his throat. He knew he should have felt teeth marks in his skin, but it was unbroken. Ice cold to the touch, but intact.

  "Lathe is here,” Cory said. “He's found me. You should get in the shower before the chill spreads."

  "I don't—” Luke began, but Cory looked at him with cold eyes.

  "It can't reach us with the ring of light, and Lathe won't look for us tonight; it's too late. Go have a shower."

  Luke moved his jaw. Sure enough, he felt the chill start to spread up and down his throat from the bite. “Better make it a bath,” Cory decided and turned away, back to the wolf. He'd changed back to his own shirt, and the turtleneck formed to his upper body.

  "That's an east-facing window,” Luke said before his vocal cords froze over completely. “Just be careful."

  "I will,” Cory said. Luke touched his cheek, but then left him to go upstairs. He ran the water as hot as he could manage. The chill had entered his bloodstream, making every move feel awkward and clumsy. He didn't understand anything, but knew if he had stayed and argued the point a second longer, he probably couldn't have gotten into the tub in time. It was a Japanese soaker tub, and even half way full, he knew it wasn't going to be hot enough. He snapped off what little cold water there was. When the tub was full, it still wasn't enough. His body chilled the water, so he just let the hot water run and let the overflow valve do its work.

  A while later—how long, Luke didn't know—the bathroom door opened. “It's gone,” Cory said from the door. The fog in the room was so thick, Luke couldn't see him, but he felt the cold air from the opened door. “How are you?"

  "I'll live,” Luke said, sitting up. “In a manner of speaking. Are you going to tell me what that thing was?"

  "I told you."

  "A wolf. Yes, I heard. But a wolf isn't made of shadow and doesn't just bite with frost."

  "It's Lathe's ... Pet's the wrong word. Servant? Familiar? It doesn't really matter what you call it. It belongs to Lathe, and that means Lathe will know by tomorrow where I am."

  "Lathe,” Luke repeated. He didn't have to look down to Cory's clenched, scarred fist. Luke knew what he was talking about. “Did you really think all it would take is to be turned to put you on equal footing with him?"

  "It was a start,” Cory said. “It at least put us—"

  "On the same playing field? Was that what you were going to say? Believe me, Cory, anyone that could pull that thing up from cold and frost is not going to be equal to anything you can manage in a century. In two centuries, to be perfectly honest. You have no idea how powerful that thing is."

  "My name is Corbin,” Cory said, voice cold even as he cradled his hand to his chest. “And you have no idea what I'm capable of."

  He turned. Luke knew he was going for the front door, probably before Cory knew. He was up and out of the tub, running dripping behind him, but Cory had too much of a head start. He kept his human shape only long enough to manage the door. The moment the heavy wooden front door was open, he was up in the sky. It would have been be a beautiful thing to watch, if Luke hadn't been so horrified. One moment he was wholly a man; the next, he was a beautiful black bird, beating its wings as though trying to find purchase in the wind itself. The feeling of the freight train was back. Luke threw on the light, and by the time Cory was out of the protective circle, he was too high for the beast to do anything more than snap at where he'd once been. Against all Luke's self-preservation, he stepped out into the ring of light, just to call back to Cory, but Cory was already gone. The beast growled, a low, furious thing, and Luke stepped back inside, locking the door but leaving every light in the house on before retiring to the basement.

  * * * *

  Lathe frowned as Brutus slunk into the shadows back to the restaurant with his tail between his legs, metaphorically speaking. So Cory had gotten away. Lathe hadn't thought Cory would leave his lover. Or maybe he knew that Lathe had no interest in the other. From above, he heard the scraping of the suicide victim's shoes. He was suddenly hungry. Brutus waited for him down by the back door, dejected. “Go, find me a meal,” he said, and Brutus leapt to obey. The paths lit around the restaurant were full of stumbling drunks and people trying to sleep in the hollows of trees; Brutus would find one for him that would scream.

  And Brutus didn't disappoint. The young man he herded toward the back door was young enough that the alcohol in his system still dulled the pain inside him, but it hadn't had enough exposure to do serious damage to his internal organs. Brutus herded him down the stairs before disappearing in the first of the sun's rays over the horizon. The human had fallen to the back of the storeroom, and Lathe smiled, licking his lips. It had been weeks since the last time he'd had the time to properly play with his food.

  * * * *

  Cory took to the sky. The sun was coming, and there was no protection against that. But while he flew, it no longer mattered, just for a little bit. He didn't need to be told that something horrible had gone down in his nest; the scorched earth by the gate and the dead yard full of plants was enough. He could smell Lathe everywhere.

  And he was running out of time. He crossed the river again, going back downtown, and ducked into the deepest parking garage. He took on human form again when it was too difficult to fly low among the cars, and then walked the rest of the way down. B4 was the lowest level, and there was only one car there. He jumped up, becoming a bird again, and spent the day roosting up in the rafters.

  It wasn't that Lathe had held him down; Cory had wanted it that way. But Lathe had played him, promising him one thing, while all the while opening him up for something else. He felt the changes inside him, and the fact that Lathe hadn't realized he'd become aware showed just how little regard Lathe had for him. And that made him burn with anger colder than the wind, yet perversely kept him warm through the day.

  * * * *

  The next evening, Luke pulled up in front of the restaurant, leaving his
car's brights on. He got out of the car and leaned on the horn until the front door opened. Lathe stepped out, with the wolf at his feet. “So, you're him,” Lathe said. Brutus padded down the stairs to the grass, growling loud enough to send the sleeping birds in the trees to flight. Luke reached through the open window and clicked on his six-mile flashlight, the brightest flashlight he could find in the entire city. Brutus winked out of existence with a puff of smoke.

  He lifted the beam up and straight into Lathe's eyes. Lathe fell back against the wall, covering his face. “Leave Cory alone,” Luke snapped.

  "Cory belongs to me.” Lathe crossed his arms over his chest.

  "You want something from this place,” Luke said. He kept the spotlight trained on Lathe, and in the bright white of the headlights he knew he was perfectly safe from Brutus. He took the steps up two at a time. “You had better find someone other than Cory, because I swear I will burn this place to the ground around you if you even so much as try to hurt him."

  "I made him,” Lathe said, but didn't uncover his face.

  Luke threw Lathe down the stairs to the hard, cold ground. He lashed out, one blow catching Lathe in the belly and another snapping Lathe's head back. “Don't even start,” Luke snarled.

  Lathe held up his hands, then used his right one to cradle his belly. “You're not a killer, Luke. You're barely a threatener. If you weren't terrified for your precious placeholder's life, you wouldn't be here at all. So spare me your tough guy."

  "My placeholder?” Luke asked.

  "Come on. You might have turned him, but you didn't want him. Not really. Not truly.” Lathe grinned, wiping the blood from his mouth.

  "You bastard,” Luke said softly. Lathe began to bow, but Luke brought up the flashlight faster than he thought possible. It whipped Lathe across the face, and when the metal hit, Luke heard the tinkling of broken teeth. Lathe's mouth exploded in blood. Luke kicked him again, reaching for the stake he had under his jacket, but before he could bring it out, Lathe was back up again, his fist over Luke's hand on the wooden stake, hard enough to break fingers. Lathe didn't waste any energy, but threw Luke back to his car and then pinned him by the throat to the hood. Luke kicked out, catching Lathe on the knee, and although he hit hard enough to hear bone crunch, Lathe didn't let him go.