Blood Claim

by Laura Baumbach, Angela Fiddler, Jet Mykles

  Cory wiped off his mouth. There was no blood; Brutus didn't have any in him. But it wasn't done entirely for the dramatic gesture. There was something on his lips, even if it wasn't blood, and it smelled of Brutus. Lathe could only watch as Cory licked his fingers clean. “Sweet,” he decided. “That's what I'm going to call it."

  "You belong to me,” Lathe said, voice harsh. “I demand that you—"

  Cory backhanded him with his free hand; he wasn't quite finished taking in Brutus's essence with the other. Lathe fell back, head striking one of the numerous support poles holding up the main floor, and he had to shake his head to clear the ringing from it.

  "Would you like to rephrase that? I believe I'm going to call this feeling I have here as taking offense to your tone."

  "I freed you,” Lathe said, changing tactics, though it stuck in his throat to do so. This Cory was stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. The power radiated from his skin in the same sickening blue light, and his eyes shone with it. He had an erection, and occasionally his hand would drop down and stroke it a couple times, but his eyes never left Lathe. Lathe stopped talking before he accidentally added a you owe me part to the sentence.

  "You did,” Cory said. He sat up so that he was kneeling in the nest, but there was no submission in the position. He just couldn't be arsed to stand yet. Lathe swallowed, and the first sliver of fear slid down his spine. “But I came here because I wanted something from you."

  Lathe didn't ask what. If Cory didn't have the energy or the strength to kill him where he stood, Lathe would have found the look of strain on Cory's face to be almost comical. But there was absolutely nothing funny about it now. “Oh, yes. I remember. I believe this body is hungry."

  "I'll fetch you something,” Lathe said and moved to stand.

  "No,” Cory said simply. “It wants to feed from you."

  "But I'm—” Lathe began, and then silenced. He was still full from the man Brutus had herded toward him. There was so much blood in a human if you took it all at once; it was a much more efficient use of his time rather than the sippy-cup method that most of the modern vampires had taken. He was bursting with blood; he felt that now, and it would be amazingly stupid if he did anything rash. “I'm here for you."

  "Of course you are,” Cory said, lips twisting. “Your kind always is. Manipulate my penis while I drink."

  "It's called jerking off,” Lathe said.

  "I don't care what it's called. I just want it done right.” Cory moved to him, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him, ankles on the ground, back to the wall. “This body remembers where to bite,” he continued. “It's like your skin sings to be punctured. Put your hand on my penis."

  It had been centuries since Lathe had been submissive to another vampire. He told himself he didn't recall how it was done, but up against the wall his body remembered. Submissive was not what or who he was, but under someone much stronger his body couldn't help but respond as such. He licked his palm, which obviously confused Cory slightly, and then he wrapped his fingers around Cory's cock.

  "Much better,” Cory announced. He tried an experimental thrust, but obviously didn't care for it. “You do it."

  Lathe did. Cory's cock was leaking enough precum that he was able to gather it up and use it. Even with it, though, it was drier than Lathe personally liked it. But it wasn't his call. He kept his hand loose, despite enjoying the way Cory's cock felt. When Cory bit him, teeth deep into his neck, that at least was familiar.

  "Do it,” Lathe whispered. There was something primal in the blood taking and giving, something better than the taste of blood. Lathe closed his eyes, letting Cory just take him. His other hand moved up, taking Cory in both hands, and together they rode it out. Cory drank more and more, pulling enough to narrow Lathe's vision to black bands.

  "Consider it done,” Cory said, breaking free. “You're nowhere near as good as he was."

  Lathe collapsed to his knees, no longer able to stand, and Cory left him like that. Cory tripped up the stairs, two at a time, and it was all Lathe could do to crawl on his hands and knees up and out. He found an old man sleeping it off in the valley. The drunk tasted like the sewer. Lathe didn't let the human wake up again.

  * * * *

  Luke remembered sitting down on the couch, but after that was a blur. Someone knocked at the door, and when Luke ignored it, the noise became a pounding.

  "Bloody hell,” Luke snarled, getting to his feet. He almost tore the heavy wooden door off its hinges.

  It wasn't Cory. Luke didn't expect it to be, and yet still he was disappointed. Lathe stood in front of the glass storm door. Out of habit, Luke flicked on the porch light, but Lathe was alone and ... Luke studied his face. Deflated, Luke supposed, if he had to put a name to it.

  For a moment, they just stared at each other. “Where's the pooch?” Luke asked finally.

  "Dead,” Lathe said. “As dead as anything could be, made of what Brutus was made of."

  "You didn't kill him,” Luke said.

  Lathe shook his head. “Not me."

  "That thing inside Cory did it,” Luke finished.

  A nod. Luke was a little frightened to see actual pain from Lathe. “May I come in?” Lathe asked, after a long pause.

  "Not a chance,” Luke said easily.

  "Then come out and join me."

  "Not a chance of that, either, I'm afraid."

  Lathe exhaled sharply. He obviously wasn't accustomed to being denied. Luke took pleasure in it. “Cory took care of himself, didn't he? Your brilliant plan was ruined, and now you're stuck with the consequences."

  "But not alone. That thing out there, it fed from me tonight to gather its strength, but it's only a matter of time before it gets hungry again. What do you think is going to happen to this city once people start dropping?"

  "Spare me your false concern. I'm sure your heart bleeds as passively as it can for the potential loss of human life."

  "If not for the loss of life, then at least for the loss of incognito. Our kind are not the sort to embrace a paranoid night population."

  Luke's lip curled at the thought. They were long past the angry villagers and pitchfork stage, but angry mobs of whatever sort always armed themselves.

  Not that he was entirely convinced, and Lathe saw it, too. “You have my word. With your assistance I may not have to kill him to get that thing out of him."

  "Bullshit,” Luke snarled. “If you could have killed him, you wouldn't have offered him a snack while you jerked him off."

  Lathe had the good grace to look embarrassed. “You could smell that?” he asked, touching the barely closed marks at his throat.

  Luke nodded.

  "I need your help. You need your little bird back, and when we get it out of him, I promise you our paths won't cross again."

  That, if for no other reason, was enough for Luke. He rubbed his neck. “What are you suggesting?"

  "Join me."

  "Help,” Luke corrected. “The word you are looking for is help."

  "Help. Help me get that thing out of your boy. I will pull out my power from him; you'll get the shell back. It's win-win situation for us both."

  "And then?"

  "Like I said. You'll never see me again."

  Luke nodded, suddenly exhausted, though a good two to three hours remained of the night. “Tomorrow. I'll meet you at the restaurant."

  "That's not good enough."

  "It's going to have to be,” Luke said and began to close the door. Lathe reached out, about to push it open, but his hand was brought up short just inside the interior door frame. He slammed his fists against it, but it still barred him. “Not the way to win friends,” Luke said. He'd seen wild dogs up north, all but wild, taking food from their “masters.” They'd had the same look that Lathe did at that moment. He'd be safe for as long as Lathe needed something from him, but he didn't have to be told the promise of safety afterward was useless. “Tomorrow,” he said.

  Lathe grinned at him, hun
ger and fury so close to the surface that if Luke scratched him, they would escape before the blood would. Lathe bowed his head once and then backed away. He got into his car, and Luke watched him go until the taillights were no longer visible.

  He closed down the upstairs and went back to his storeroom for the night. He slept through sunrise and was well into the morning when he heard something in the main room. He opened his eyes, moving before he was fully awake. It was only Cory, sitting in the overstuffed chair by his computer. He looked tired, with dark circles below his eyes, and he was dressed in all black, including his gloves.

  It was the gloves that tipped him off that Cory wasn't entirely with him. Whatever was inside Cory wouldn't have bothered with the gloves. It couldn't have been whatever Cory was now; the lack of invitation would have stopped it. Cory himself, however, would always be more than welcome. “Can you speak?” Luke asked.

  "I'm not dead,” Cory said.

  Luke felt less relief than the words should have given him. “Then how are you here?"

  "I don't know. It lets me sleep, and when I sleep, I come here."

  Luke came around him. His fingers felt real in Luke's, even though he was just touching the glove. “But I can touch you."

  "You're asleep,” Cory told him.

  "I am?” Luke asked.

  Cory stood. “You are."

  "You love me,” Luke said. “I think you've always loved me."

  "I've always loved you,” Cory said.

  "And that was what you were hiding from me, all this time."

  "I knew Lathe would find me. I didn't think he'd take that long, but he did. And when he found me ... I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk you."

  "You should have told me. I could have—"

  "What? Protected me? You had no idea how strong he was. Is. How strong he still is. If he hadn't tapped the vortex, thinking he could have controlled it, I'd be dead by now. And you? You'd still be alive,” Cory said. He sounded tired, tired enough that the unintentional bite was back in his voice."Do we have to fight over this? Wouldn't you rather...” Luke didn't finish, and Cory didn't answer.

  Cory looked away first. “We don't have fight. Not anymore."

  Luke waited, but that was all that was coming. “I want to kiss you."

  "I want you to kiss me."

  "And I don't want to argue anymore."

  Cory looked up again. He smiled. “Me neither. Except ... maybe..."

  Luke sighed. “What?"

  "Maybe we could do more than just kiss."

  Luke took his hands, pulling him up. If this was a dream, things felt real enough.

  "And isn't that enough?” Cory asked.

  "For now,” Luke said.

  Cory smiled. Luke dropped to his knees and took Cory's hand. “What are you—” Cory began, then shut his mouth. Luke began to tug the glove off with his teeth, but Cory tried to pull his hand back. “Don't."

  "Gotcha,” Luke said. He parted Cory's fingers by rubbing the palm of his hand and took the middle finger, glove and all, down his throat. Cory put two fingers together, sliding them into Luke's mouth, and Luke held his wrist still, being very careful about his teeth.

  "Luke,” Cory whispered, his voice breaking over the single syllable. “I can't ... I mean..."

  "You're not going to say it?” Luke smiled, pulling his head back.

  "I'd rather you suck on my cock. Please. I'll take it out and everything."

  "Will you, now?” Luke asked and leaned back on his heels. “Why don't you go ahead and do that, then?"

  Cory bowed his head for a second in thanks and undid his jeans. He pulled them down to his thighs. “Tell me what to do."

  Luke looked up. He'd be just as happy fucking, but there was a needy look to Cory's face. “Do you really want it that way?"

  "Yes, please."

  "Then ... put your hands behind your neck. You can lock your fingers together, if you think it would be easier."

  Cory chewed on his bottom lip. He hesitated, but then latched his fingers behind him. “Better?” Luke asked.

  "Much."

  "Good. Stay that way."

  Cory nodded. Luke ran his fingers down Cory's hips. His hard cock was tight against his belly. He kissed Cory's hip bone. Cory couldn't stop his hips from trying to thrust, so Luke held him still before he took him into his mouth.

  "Yes,” Cory hissed.

  Luke thought, briefly, of letting go and just letting Cory fuck the back of his throat, but that wasn't what Cory wanted. Instead, he forced Cory's legs even farther apart, his jeans pulled tight around his thighs about the best method of containment, and Cory relaxed completely. No pain; Cory didn't need that. He shivered. Luke had to sit up to get all of Cory's cock down his throat.

  And then, in dream logic that made perfect sense at the time, Cory was in his bed. His wrists were manacled together, the blindfold firmly in place, and his hips were over a pile of pillows that put him at the perfect angle. Luke was admiring the arrangement in one second, and then inside Cory the next, and they found a rhythm that worked, though there was still a glassed-in feeling, like at least a part of Luke was just watching the sex and not completely a participant.

  Cory flexed his hands. “It's enough,” he said. “Please. Let it be enough."

  But it wasn't. The aware part began buzzing in his head like a wasp. He grabbed onto Cory's hip, willing himself to stay, but he couldn't. His body was waking, and the dream broke around him. He was alone, in his bed, hot and hard, and Cory's blindfold was beside him.

  He lay back, panting, though he really didn't need to. It was dark out again; the dream had taken all day. It was time. He got up, considered whacking off, but decided he'd rather keep the energy.

  He dressed stiffly and drove to the restaurant. Lathe waited for him, arms crossed over his chest. Luke reluctantly shut off his lights and got out of the car, expecting to feel Brutus's ice-cold teeth sinking into his ankle. It never came. Brutus was really gone.

  Lathe looked more himself. He'd fed after Cory. His color was back, but his core strength, the ability he had to push his thoughts into Luke, was muzzled. As Luke walked up he felt Lathe trying, but the attempts were leaden and easily avoidable. “What happened to you?” he asked.

  "I don't know,” Lathe said.

  "How do we find him?” Luke asked.

  "Feel."

  "Feel what?” Luke snapped, not liking being toyed with.

  "Just feel, Luke. You have to trust me."

  Luke snorted, but bowed his head for a second. Then he felt it. Cory, or whatever it was inside Cory, was pulling energy from the rivers and the people. It was a yellow light, shining across the bridge from the downtown area. “So that's one concern. What do we do when we find him?"

  "Hold him down, drive the vortex from him."

  Lathe kicked the door behind him open. The chains coiled up on the inside were wrong; even where he stood he could feel the burning from them. “What are they?"

  "Iron,” Lathe said.

  "That's not just iron.” It wasn't. Luke could feel the pain in it. He didn't want it anywhere near him. “What is it?"

  "It's melted-down iron. Iron from a dozen different abandoned places of worship. Temples, churches, mosques. It took me years to gather them.” Lathe smiled. It was an ugly thing. “They'll keep anything chained down."

  "How do we get it down to begin with?” Luke asked.

  "Well, that's up to you."

  "Me?"

  "It has a hard-on for you, Luke, my boy. And let's just hope it has a bit of your little bird's proclivities necessary for it to submit to you."

  "And then?” Luke asked.

  Lathe took out a hypodermic needle, wicked sharp and murky.

  "What is that?"

  "A tranquilizer. Enough to knock out a horse. When the little bird is on his knees, stick him, and he'll wake up in chains. After that, you leave it to me."

  "You're barking mad, aren't you?” Luke asked. Lathe ignored him compl
etely.

  "Your gloves are inside. Help me carry it to your car."

  Luke stepped over the chains just inside the door. The old man on the staircase stared at him hollowly. He was fraying along the edges, dispersing right in front of Luke. The woman crying in the bathroom was reduced to soft sobs, and there was nothing from the attic. Their power source had been taken, and they were losing their grip. “I'm sorry,” he told them, then slipped on the common pair of gardening gloves. Even through the suede, he felt the chains burn. The dead were angry, even with their loss, and Luke was glad he hadn't spent more than a couple moments in the house.

  "I'll drive,” Luke said, once the chain was in the trunk of the car. Lathe held his hands up. “Wouldn't have it any other way."

  Luke nodded. He found Cory's gloves by the driver's door. He scooped them up, got in, and waited for Lathe to get in behind him before slamming his door shut and driving away. This close, and in the enclosed space, Luke could smell the insanity that tinged Lathe's skin. “Why are you doing this?” Luke asked, staring at the road.

  "Doing what?"

  "Trying to channel something that shouldn't be channeled. What did you hope at best would happen?"

  "You have no idea what that thing is, do you?” Lathe asked. Even in the dead of night, there was still traffic, and Luke pulled up to a red light. “You think there's nothing to this life but eating and fornicating."

  "There's more?” Luke asked.

  "Oh, for all that is unholy, you poor, pathetic fool. You've never tasted real power, have you?” He put his hand out, touching Luke's knee. Luke pushed it off like it stung him.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "Your ghosts, you don't think that's unusual? What about your Cory's feathered act? You have your talents, and the lines, what little there is here in Calgary, fuel them. It's the reason there is no one else here other than you. No one else could use what little power had escaped the vortex, and the fact that you'd made such a powerful vampire is quite remarkable."

  "Leave us alone. We were good here."

  "You were sitting on a geyser of power, stopped up by a single entity. It is our right to use that power, not that thing. You've never known the power, but you will."