Wolf in League

by A. F. Henley

  Matthew stilled so quickly it was as though someone had turned off a switch.

  "Darn." There was an obvious smirk in Arius's tone and Matthew was grateful he didn't have to look at Arius's face and see it. "Now, if I let go, are you going to be a good boy and keep your voice down?"

  Arius waited for Matthew to nod and Matthew did so, even though the movement made great clouds of red mist rise behind his eyeballs.

  "All right, then," Arius squeezed again—so tight that Matthew thought his lower face was going to be ripped clean off. At least, Matthew thought (almost hysterically) the pain helped his eyes refocus.

  "But I warn you, if I have to do this again, I won't stop until you're unconscious. Then I just might take you anyway, okay?"

  Arius's palm fell away and Matthew took a great heave of air. His head erupted in waves of pain as oxygen rushed to fill the places in him left empty for too long.

  "Gentlemen," Arius said calmly, "I think that's enough."

  As quickly as they had fallen on him, the three vampires pulled away from Gavin. Gavin lay on the floor, coughing, choking, and bleeding. Although, Matthew saw with not just a small bit of relief, even as Gavin lay there staining the rug with blood that made the whole room smell sweet but fetid, the gashes on his skin were beginning to close back up.

  "Let me go," Matthew wheezed, pulling toward Gavin regardless of his earlier promise to stay still. "Let me... I'm a doctor... I need to—"

  Arius let him go so abruptly that Matthew didn't just lurch toward Gavin, he fell onto his knees. He crawled closer, his body shaking so badly that he felt clumsy and stupid. "Gavin? Are you okay?"

  "Fine." Gavin's speech was garbled and slow as though he was trying to speak through a throat full of phlegm. But when he laid his hand on Matthew's arm, the weight of it was instantly soothing. "Fine," Gavin repeated, much more confidently.

  "D'aww!" Arius gushed. "Lookit 'em! Dey so cute!"

  A round of laughter followed Arius's comment, and the sound made something in Matthew's head snap. He turned, his own all but useless teeth bared, and screamed, "What do you want?"

  "A home base, Doctor." Arius stepped closer. He knelt. When he spoke again, his face was only inches away from Matthew's. "Last time I made an attempt to settle my debts with those fucking wolves, I was foolish. I rushed. I smashed and roared and stamped my foot like a spoiled child."

  He lifted his hand, the blood on his palm now dried and cracking on his white skin, and ran a fingertip over Matthew's lip to rewet it. Then he lifted it to his mouth and sucked it clean. His eyelids fell closed. He moaned, and though Matthew would never admit it to anyone, it was an extremely sexy sound. Terribly sexy. Awfully sexy. Horribly sexy.

  Arius opened his eyes and winked. "Yeah, I was foolish. But that won't happen again."

  *~*~*

  "Is that your name? Your real name? Dali?" Matthew whispered as the blond vampire whom Arius had called 'Dali' bound his legs to a kitchen chair. It had been dragged into the living room and set in the middle of the now-stained carpet. A single line of light had appeared underneath the drapery. Dawn was coming, but it was coming so very, very slowly. And why not? Matthew thought. It's not like hurrying the sun along is going to help anything.

  In lieu of rope, Dali had simply yanked the phone cord out of the jack. It was thin and flexible and seemed to get tighter any time that Matthew shifted. At this point, they'd made no attempt to bind Gavin. They hadn't had to. Anytime Gavin shifted, even his eyes, a simple lift of a hand to Matthew's throat had stilled him.

  "It's a nice name," Matthew continued. "Was your mother a fan? Or is it a nickname? Do you paint?"

  Dali didn't respond. He stood, looked around the room and spied the pile of clothing that he and Gavin had left behind.

  "That would be great," Matthew nodded exuberantly. "Clothes. Yes. I'm cold. If you would be so kind..."

  Dali picked up a shirt.

  "Okay, a shirt is at least a start." Matthew lifted both arms. "Thank you."

  Dali stared, his gaze cold and hard. He began to spin the cloth in his hands twisting it into a... Matthew sighed and dropped both arms. A rope. When Dali stepped forward, Matthew tucked his hands behind the back of the chair without being asked. Why bother to wait for the inevitable?

  Gavin, as if in response to Matthew's thought, got himself a sharp glance when he lifted a palm to his forehead and closed his eyes. Matthew could only shrug, albeit mentally. What was he supposed to do? Try and fight the vampire? Refuse? Make a scene?

  Matthew attempted to rekindle their previous, unfortunately one-sided conversation. "My mother says that a name can make the man. Mine is Matthew." He craned to look behind him as Dali secured his right arm to the rungs of the chair with the shirt-rope. "Did you know that? My name, I mean? It's Matthew. Matthew Dietrich. The first name means 'gift of God' and the surname means 'powerful people.' Or 'strong race.' Something like that. I'm not, in either case—strong or a gift from God. Although I imagine to my parents I felt like one. They never used birth control and even so, through all those years, I was the one way that came along. Although, I guess—"

  Suddenly Dali was standing in front of Matthew, leaning close enough to kiss. He'd moved so fast that Matthew smelled his breath before Matthew realized he was standing there.

  "Stop," Dali hissed. "I'm not a serial killer, I'm a vampire. This attempt of yours to display your humanity and, through that effort, establish some kind of connection with me, will not work."

  Dali leaned closer still—an inch, no more—but it was close enough that the ends of their noses bumped. Matthew couldn't decide which eye to focus on. The left? The right? His gaze ping-ponged between the two. "As a matter of fact, the only thing proving your humanity will do is make me hungry."

  The couch jumped as Gavin quickly rose. Without even looking back, Dali grabbed Matthew's chin and twisted Matthew's head, exposing his throat. "Don't," was the only caution Gavin was given.

  "Oh, Dali, darling." Arius appeared at the doorway of the living room, speaking in sing-song. "A delectable dinner of drawn delights await thee in the dining area."

  He sounded brilliantly pleased with himself. It was an emotion so contrary to Dali's quiet, somber one that, to Matthew, it made Arius seem that much crazier than Matthew was sure he was.

  Arius waved his fingers at Dali, and then toward the kitchen. "Toodles. Cheerio. Before it gets..." he stopped himself, pinched his lips together, and laughed soundlessly behind them. Then, as if that were too hard to hold for long, he gasped and spoke around a mocking chuckle. "Oh, wait! It already is cold!"

  In a startling change of expression, Arius's face tightened and the gaiety dropped out of it. "Get."

  He watched Dali walk out, then turned his gaze to Matthew. Slowly, like a cat through tall grass, Arius walked in Matthew's direction. As he walked, he turned his other hand—the 'toodle-free' one, Matthew thought, perhaps it was the non-British one—up. It was held in a light fist, which Arius opened without looking at it. As he opened his fist, he dropped his fingers forward, flourishing his palm as though he were a hostess on a game show about to show them both some fabulous prize.

  A slice of metal caught the lowered lighting. It gleamed as Arius caught it with two fingers, spun it once, then back, and caught it. The metal snicked and clinked and settled, blade out.

  Balisong, Matthew thought. His heart dropped from chest to belly. He could feel it laying there—he was sure of it—jackhammering furiously in his digestive juices. The taste of bile, of fear, rose in his throat. Both he and Gavin whispered, "Please," at the exact same time.

  "Oh, don't be such a boor," Arius said in deadpan, completely ignoring their plea. "It's a butterfly knife. We're not in the fucking Philippines. That's like calling Santa Claus Saint Nicholas. Or fucking Odin, for that matter. Get with the times, doctor boy. You're in America." He held up the knife, pointing it at Matthew's face. "It's a goddamned butterfly knife."

  Matthew nodded, slowly. He
couldn't seem to make himself speak. Whatever you say, Arius. Butterfly knife it is.

  Arius squatted beside Matthew. "And relax. The knife isn't for you, Matthew." He held it to Matthew's throat. Every muscle in Gavin's naked body tensed. "Mostly it's for him."

  Arius's eyes were fixed on Matthew, staring, staring, staring. Waiting for... what, Matthew wondered? A reply? A reaction? If so, to what? The knife at his throat? The way Arius humbled Gavin as if Gavin were nothing to be afraid of? Did Arius hope to see fear glaring out of his eyes? Respect? Admiration? Matthew could give Arius those things. If it would help, yes, he sure could.

  He swallowed hard. He held Arius's interested gaze. "Please don't hurt me. I don't have anything against you or your people. As a matter of fact, we're trying to help you. We're trying to help all of you."

  Once again his plea was disregarded.

  "A butterfly on a flutterfly," Arius murmured. "I like that." He raised his voice and cast a quick look at Gavin. "Stay right there, Strauss. Be a good little vampire, if that's what I can even call you. Or I'll slice his throat wide open." Then that pensive, searching, too-amused gaze was right back and boring into Matthew's. "You see, I don't drink cold blood. Give me your arm, Doctor."

  Matthew started to shake. Not tremble, not shiver—but shake. That feeling of dread he'd imagined as his heart falling into his guts became an avalanche of terror. His lips were no longer anything but wet, lifeless chunks of liver. They fumbled as they tried to form the only words he could think of. "Please. Please don't."

  "Your arm."

  Matthew's mind railed against the calm patience in Arius's voice. It screamed that he should have known there was a reason that Dali only bound one of his arms—his right arm, the one he might have been able to fight with. Not that he could. Not really. Not against a vampire.

  "Please don't—"

  "Your arm, Doctor. If you give it to me, I won't rip you open. If I have to force you to give it to me, rest assured that the both of you will sit here and watch while you bleed to death."

  Gavin choked on a squawk of distress. "Give it to him, Matthew. Just give it to him!"

  Nothing in Matthew's body favored that idea. His skin crawled, as if seeking to slink away one cell at a time. His limbs were numb. The only thing his nerve center would allow him to do was babble, "Please. Please."

  Fear.

  Yes, Arius wanted fear. And fear Arius was certainly getting. Panic, even. Matthew could only imagine what that did to the blood. HCT, cortisol, norepinephrine and ephedrine, all being pumped faster, heating up, dumping oxytocin and vasopressin in an effort to counter the rest of it. Arius was working up his own cocktail of agony, like a desperate addict cooking up a fix.

  "Don't you get it?" Matthew whined. "Don't you even know what we're trying to do here?" He looked at Arius, desperately hoping Arius would give him a chance to talk. To reason. "We're trying to save you!"

  "Your arm," Arius growled.

  "We're trying to save you!" Matthew hollered. "Save all of you!"

  Arius grabbed his shoulder. He shook it so hard that Matthew's teeth rattled. "Give me. Your arm. This is your last chance to do it the easy way!"

  Matthew closed his eyes. He held his breath. He thought of his family. He thought of the desperate way that Gavin had begged him to comply. Oddly enough, he thought of the tiny placard his mother kept stuck on the wall of the fridge, a quote of Plato's, apparently: We are twice armed if we fight with faith.

  Faith, he had. Control, he could find. He let his breath out in a long, slow exhale. He drew one back in just as slowly. And he continued to do that until he could lift his arm. He could not, however, look at anything but his own lap.

  There was nothing merciful about the way he was bitten. It was worse than Matthew could have imagined: hot, searing agony as his skin was punctured and Arius's fangs sunk into the tissue and muscle; a cruel, prodding tongue that worked the skin and pulled at the tears, wrenched at them; and a ruthless sucking that felt like it would pull everything in Matthew's forearm out. The seconds that Matthew was able to suppress the sounds threatening to come out of his throat were not nearly as satisfying as he would have hoped. Then he gave himself over to the pain—the fear, the sense of violation—and with his body shaking and his muscles as hard as stones, he started to cry.

  *~*~*

  There was a ceiling fan on the level above them that had been left on. Be it fault of design or installation, every time the blades rotated they took a little jump. That jump was passed on to the silver chains that hung from it. One, in the middle, allowed its owner to turn off the light and just leave the fan running. While it bounced a half an inch or so, the weight of its handle kept it pretty much soundless. The other chain, the one that hung down the side of the fan's motor and allowed its owner to regulate the speed was not so quiet. It was that sound that Matthew focused on, awed by the fact that he could hear it all. The little jingle wasn't pronounced enough to keep a person awake in the room beside it, let alone an entire floor away. Yet now, in the overwhelming silence of the house, it seemed to be as distinct as birdsong through an open window.

  He was having a hard time lifting his head. It wasn't the hollow thumping of the headache he got every time he did lift it that was bothering him. It was the nausea and the way the room started to lurch around him. Merely the symptoms of low blood pressure, he kept telling himself. Or the aftermath of the adrenaline dump that had taken place when Arius had been... he swallowed hard and shook his head... doing what Arius had done. He couldn't bring himself to even think the term feeding. That brought its own crippling wave of nausea that had nothing to do whatsoever with his diminished blood capacity.

  It would pass. All of it would pass. Even the sense of being defiled. Until the next time, anyway.

  He could feel Gavin watching him. The weight of Gavin's gaze was as heavy as his head seemed to be. At this point, he hadn't been able to meet it, but he'd have to gather up the courage to do it soon. They needed a plan. And the idea that he should feel any shame at all was ridiculous. Still, deep down he did feel shame. He should have made Arius force him. He shouldn't have just given in. Maybe it would have been better in the long run if Arius had killed him. At least he wouldn't have been sitting here wondering when the next time was going to come—

  Something clipped off the top of his head. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it did sting. He raised his eyes, he glared. Gavin's gaze bored right back at him: a furious, flashing, expression set as if in stone. Left, then right, Gavin shook his head in sharp, barely perceptible jerks.

  "Get out of my head," Matthew mumbled.

  There were two vampires in the room with them. Not Arius or Dali, but the other two who, in Matthew's recollection, he didn't have names for yet. They paid neither Gavin nor Matthew any mind but for quick, uninterested glances now and again, and they didn't seem to hear—or perhaps just didn't care—when Matthew spoke.

  Once again, Gavin shook his head. Once again, an unspoken 'no.' He didn't stop staring. Perhaps a 'watch me'?

  The smallest smile twitched Gavin's lips. He nodded.

  Matthew frowned. Did Gavin have a plan? Even if he did, would it be possible to pull something off? Wouldn't the vampires pick it out of Matthew's head just as easily as Gavin did?

  Gavin shrugged. He turned both his hands palm up in his lap, fingers splayed, as if to say, what else can we do?

  What else, indeed? It didn't take a mind reader to figure out what Arius had planned. If neither Gavin nor Matthew were seen, eventually someone from the O'Connell/Connor residence would come looking to see what was up. Especially if they tried to call. It might take a couple of hours, it might take a week, but someone was going to get suspicious. Maybe they could rely on Rafe catching on to what was going on. Maybe they couldn't. Maybe the little O'Connells would get concerned first. Maybe they'd be the ones to show up at the front door.

  And that was a thought that Matthew couldn't even bear thinking. Arius, Matthew was mo
re than sure, would have no qualms about stealing the O'Connell children. At best, Arius's plans would be simply stealing. At his worst, Arius would kill them both. Maybe send over bits and pieces of them one at a time until he had Vaughn and Randy doing whatever the hell he wanted them to do. Whatever that might be.

  No, if they were going to get out of this, they were going to have to do something before Vaughn, Randy, Henry or the kids got worried. Only Rafe might be able to help, because then if someone did come over, they'd come forewarned. And then what? Well... only God could know. Maybe the idea of saving the vampires could go right to Hades. They weren't exactly proving themselves to be worthy, were they?

  Gavin huffed a low, quiet sigh. He shook his head.

  Yeah, yeah, Matthew thought. Not all vampires. But one good cookie in a jar of poisoned cookies isn't going to convince me to dig through the rest and hope I picked out the right one.

  Gavin's lips tightened into a thin line. He shook his head, but what he was trying to say with that gesture was anybody's guess, as far as Matthew was concerned. His disagreement, probably.

  The couch sighed as Gavin sat back. The move got him a sharp glance from the shortest of the vampires—Shorty, Matthew decided right then and there to call him—and Gavin only glared back. When Shorty turned back to the other vampire—Mr. Nobody Important—Gavin caught Matthew's eye and tapped his fingers on his thigh.

  For a moment, Matthew was sure Gavin just wanted to get his attention. Then he realized that the tapping wasn't consistent. A series of three quick taps was followed by a noticeable pause, then two more short taps and one long. Another pause, then a long and a short. Gavin was tapping in Morse code.