Crying for the Moon

by Sarah Madison

  “Aw.” Duncan poked him with a finger. “Look—he’s blushing.”

  Thankfully, Peter chose that moment to re-enter the room. His face looked pinched with weariness and he moved stiffly to join everyone else at the table. When he sat down, he winced and gripped the arm of the chair, using it to lower himself carefully into his seat.

  Tate let the subject change but continued to be as entertaining as possible throughout dinner, repeating some of the stories he’d previously shared with Alex the night at PJ’s. He winked at Alex at one point, acknowledging that he was putting on a bit of show. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to be working; Peter soon began sharing stories of the classroom as well.

  During dinner, Alex felt compelled to have some of the jambalaya. He found it to be better than he’d expected. He said as much, which led to speculation on Tish’s part that perhaps vampires needed food with more seasoning to appeal to their senses when they didn’t have the option of a blood meal. After the dishes were cleared and the food put away, they drifted into the living room. Tish brought out her fiddle and played some traditional Scots ballads. Duncan’s rich bass was almost haunting as he sang the sad songs and it was a relief when Tish pleaded for a break. She turned to Nick and begged him to get out his guitar, which he did with some embarrassment.

  “I didn’t know you played,” Alex said, when Nick had returned from the van with the guitar case in hand.

  “I haven’t been at it long.” He shrugged. He’d obviously shaved that morning, ridding himself of his incipient beard, but he already had a pronounced five o’clock shadow again. Sitting next to the fire, picking out simple melodies on the guitar, he looked as though he could easily be the lead in some bar band somewhere.

  “You guys should start a band,” Tate said when Nick had finished a rendition of “Dust in the Wind.” It was as though he had been listening to Alex’s thoughts. “I think you’d be really good. You could always turn down any gigs that take place during the full moon.”

  For the first time, Alex felt as though he belonged to this group of people, that he was more than just an observer.

  Nick gave a little self-deprecating snort, but Peter sat up rather alertly at Tate’s suggestion. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

  Nick set the guitar aside. “You’re forgetting the part where you have to be good.”

  “So?” Peter lifted a hand, flipping it over before letting it fall again. “You’ve got all the time in the world to get good. Hell, we’ve got two baritones, a bass, and a soprano between us right here. Tish and Duncan know the old ballads and some bluegrass. It’s a natural pairing with your mix of old-time rock and a little country music. Seriously, this could work.”

  Alex saw a little glint come and go in Nick’s eye and he recognized that emotion: the need to feel as though your days held more meaning than just the passage of time. He thought about saying something but decided to stay out of it. If he knew Nick, anything that smacked of encouragement would make him dig in his heels and forget about it altogether.

  “Hey!” Tate dragged the word out until it almost had multiple syllables. “You guys will let me sing with you sometimes, won’t you? You could use a tenor and I can really hit the high notes.” He looked so hopeful that Nick couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Give me some time to learn more than one song, okay?” Alex could tell from Nick’s expression, however, that the idea had taken foothold. It pleased Alex on some level that was hard to explain. Nick needed something outside of himself to believe in, he realized. Something to give him a sense of self-worth. A reason to get up in the morning beyond worrying how to feed his pack. Beyond even loving Peter. Perhaps because he loved Peter.

  “Start with ‘You Are So Beautiful’,” Duncan rumbled from his chair, exchanging a fond glance with Tish.

  Tate gave Alex a saucy little wink when they made eye contact. It took Alex’s breath away for an instant. What remained behind was a warm glow of contentment that he tried very hard to suppress as being something too good to be true.

  “Say, how did you guys meet?” Tate asked suddenly, his question coming out of nowhere. His hands moved to include Alex and Nick’s pack.

  Alex turned to Nick, curious as to how he’d answer.

  Nick’s face held its little half-smile and he motioned toward Peter. “He had tickets to a benefit concert. Alex was one of the singers and we were given an opportunity to meet the performers after the show.”

  Tate grinned. “How boring. I was expecting something more dramatic.”

  Peter leaned forward, wincing a bit from the movement before speaking with animation. “Alex was utterly fabulous. I just had to meet him afterward. He’d added ultrasonic notes above and beyond what the score had called for and even though the majority of the audience couldn’t hear it, they could feel it. It resonated in the room. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.”

  “It was incredibly egotistic of me,” Alex admitted. He remembered that evening clearly. Victor had deigned to attend for once and he’d felt the need to impress him on some level.

  “When we saw you there with Victor, of course, we knew right away that he was a vampire.” Nick’s comment was dry.

  “How was that?” Alex said. He pictured Peter and Nick as they were that night, Nick looking like a wolf in sheep’s clothing in his borrowed tuxedo, Peter looking dapper and very much at home in his own tux. The two of them together had made an interesting pair, and Alex could smack himself now for not having seen the attraction between the two of them before.

  Peter and Nick exchanged a glance before Peter answered his question. “Well, there was no doubt whatsoever that Victor was a vampire. He reeked of it. The ultra-smooth appearance, the slicked-back hair, the translucent skin….”

  “His overweening arrogance,” Nick added with a snort.

  Peter nodded. “As a matter of fact, we thought he was well on his way to making you a companion and… well, we, um, wanted to try and talk you out of it.”

  “Peter!” Alex gaped in astonishment.

  “I tried to tell him it was no good,” Nick said, crossing one leg to rest his ankle on the opposite knee as he slouched in his seat with a grin. “Not only would it not be appreciated, but that it would probably get us killed.”

  “What happened next?” Tate leaned forward, intent on catching Peter’s every word.

  Nick spoke first. “Victor pegged us for were right away, making some snide remark about how, in the future, Alex should be sure to only hold concerts during the full moon in order to keep out the riffraff.”

  Alex nodded in remembrance. “It pissed me off. Peter had come over to compliment me on my performance and Victor was being rude. I wrote my e-mail address on the back of Peter’s card and told him that a true music aficionado was always welcome at one of my concerts.”

  “We started a correspondence. I don’t think anyone was very happy with us.” Peter glanced at Alex with a fond expression. “How was I to know that we were supposed to be mortal enemies? I enjoyed discussing music theory with you.”

  “And then Alex warned us of an impending attack by a party of vampires against the pack.” Duncan’s voice rumbled into the conversation unexpectedly and Tate turned toward him, his eyes round with surprise.

  “It was stupid and unnecessary,” Alex said gruffly, angry all over again. “You guys were hardly a threat to the Life. You did a better job at keeping a low profile than most of the people Victor knew. They were just spoiling for a blood bath and egging each other on. I was sick of it.”

  “When you told me that you wanted to leave Victor and make a life for yourself without all the trappings of being a vampire, I was very worried for your safety,” Tish said quietly.

  “We all were.” Nick looked grim for a moment. “Peter had said all along that Victor only wanted you because you had access to a coffin.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Alex said, dismissing the notion out of hand. “I told you before: the coffins a
re linked to their owners. You can’t exactly steal them.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Peter asked sharply.

  “Yes,” Alex said. He let his tone indicate that the conversation was over. He stood up. “I’m getting some ice cream and coffee. Anyone else want some?”

  “I’ll help,” Tate said, rising quickly.

  They lingered over dessert and coffee until Tate checked his watch and sighed. “I should be going soon,” he said. “I’d like to recheck your wounds before I do, Peter.”

  Peter measured the distance from the couch to the bottom of the stairs and glanced back at Tate mournfully. Tate just laughed. “I can check you out here if you prefer.”

  Alex could tell that laziness was at war with Peter’s sense of propriety but in the end, laziness won out. He sat up with an effort and let Nick help him off with his shirt. Alex noted that he’d wisely chosen to go with a button-up oxford and wondered if he was cold. He somehow doubted it. No one in Nick’s pack ever seemed cold, which struck him as just a little unfair, and he shivered a little in his sweater.

  Tate was still impressed at how Peter’s healing was progressing, even if it had slowed down since the change was over for this cycle.

  “Another few days and you can go home,” he predicted.

  “Good.” Peter looked embarrassed. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed being here.” He shot Alex an apologetic look. “But I really think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

  “Have you been chewing on the kitchen chairs again?” Alex asked. He let his features settle into the appearance of disapproval.

  “No! Of course not. Why would you even think that?” Peter sputtered.

  “Well, then.” Alex smiled as he stood to escort Tate outside. “You haven’t overstayed your welcome yet.”

  “Just be glad you didn’t roll in something, man.” Alex could hear Duncan’s voice behind him as he walked Tate to the door. “That outside spigot is cold.”

  Tate was chuckling as they reached the door.

  “What?” Alex asked. He had no idea what made Tate so happy all the time. It was surprisingly contagious though.

  “Nothing.” Tate smiled up at him. “I can’t begin to explain. I just…. Nothing.” His grin was reassuring though. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” His tone made it a promise.

  Chapter 9

  THE following day dawned gray and overcast, with pewter-colored clouds that moved rapidly across the sky and spoke of rain to come. Alex got up from the couch (having decided it only made sense to let Tish and Duncan have the mattress in the spare room, much to their protest) and felt every one of his many years as he stood looking out the window at the gloomy day. The tops of the trees were bobbing with the wind. Alex felt a dull ache between his eyes that told him the barometer was falling. There would be a storm before the day was over.

  His arm was throbbing as well. He stumbled into the kitchen, holding it carefully against his body as he started the coffeemaker.

  “You don’t look so good,” Duncan announced when he came into the kitchen a few minutes later.

  “Fuck you,” Alex snarled.

  Duncan left the room without speaking and returned with Tish.

  “Alex, sweetie.” Tish’s voice was soothing and sweet. “Are you okay?”

  Alex began to breathe rapidly, conscious that he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He felt a rising panic within and he didn’t understand it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  Cautiously, with Duncan close behind her, Tish approached and laid the back of her hand on Alex’s forehead. Her hand felt cool in comparison, and Alex closed his eyes briefly in relief.

  “I think you’re running a fever. Probably as a reaction to being scratched by Peter. Honey, I don’t think you have a choice. You’d better go lie down in the coffin for a while.”

  “I don’t want to lie in the coffin. I’m fine. I just need a nap, that’s all,” Alex said, vaguely aware that he sounded like a petulant child and wondering why he felt so weird. “I don’t want to be like Victor. What if someone kills me while I’m sleeping?”

  “Aw, honey.” Tish’s voice was so full of heartbreak that Alex thought it might possibly choke off all his air. “We won’t let anyone hurt you. We’re all here for you, okay? We love you, baby.”

  Alex let Tish and Duncan guide him up the stairs and into the locked room, aware on some level when Nick and a very worried Peter appeared on the periphery, but feeling too tired and lost to respond when they spoke to him. All he could hear was the overwhelming song of the coffin, calling him to come and accept its embrace and all it had to offer. It thrummed and pulsed all around him, causing his heartbeat to slow to match its tempo.

  “Don’t let me stay in it too long,” he begged when strong hands assisted him with climbing in over the lip of the casket. “You’ll come and wake me, right?”

  “You’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Tish’s face swam into his vision and the faces of all his friends suddenly sharpened into clear focus. He felt safe in a way that he never had when it had been just him and Victor. He sighed and fell backward into the coffin’s embrace, accepting the warm oblivion that it offered. He hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

  Consciousness returned with a sharp pang when he awoke and realized that he was closed within the coffin. He pushed up on the lid, marveling as he always did at how easily the heavy lid moved under his touch. The room was nearly dark; outside the light was fading fast. The breeze from the open window was cool and wet and it shifted the sheer curtains playfully as he sat up in the coffin. The heat of hunger pulsed through his veins and throbbed in his groin. He needed to feed with a desperation that was almost overwhelming. Without thinking, he opened his mouth and emitted that ultrasonic burst of sound that would help him identify his prey.

  The sound clearly illuminated someone sitting in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, someone waiting patiently, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him, willing Alex to acknowledge his presence.

  “Tate?” Alex asked aloud. His voice sounded rusty to him, as though it had lain dormant for centuries.

  “Alex,” Tate said from the darkness, his voice little more than a purr of acknowledgment.

  Alex rose effortlessly with the sensation of floating that only time spent in the coffin could give. He glanced down at the bandaging on his arm. He’d dressed the night before in a tank top for better access to the wound; now he peeled away the bandaging and let it fall to the floor. His arm was clean and unmarked, as though he’d never been injured at all.

  “Tate,” he said, turning unerringly toward the chair in the corner of the room, where the heat emanated off Tate. Alex heard the slight whisper of fabric shifting, and he smiled as he realized that Tate had spread his legs.

  Alex moved deliberately toward him. The light from the rising moon was coming in the window; Alex could just make out the way Tate sprawled in invitation, waiting for Alex’s touch.

  “I need to feed,” Alex said, his voice dark with hunger.

  “I know,” Tate said. He stretched out his hand, offering it to Alex with his wrist turned upward and exposed. Alex felt his teeth lengthen even as a pulsing rhythm set up in his cock. He wanted this. He needed this so badly.

  Without any hesitation, he glided toward the chair, covering Tate by sitting straddle-legged across his lap. He took Tate’s offered arm in his hand and brought Tate’s wrist to his lips, pausing only to take in the subtle smell of Tate’s warm, clean skin. He gently kissed Tate’s upturned wrist, sensing rather than hearing the soft release of Tate’s breath when his lips made contact. Alex began to slowly lick and suck Tate’s wrist. He pulled at the thin skin covering Tate’s wrist bones with his lips and pressed a smile into Tate’s flesh when he felt Tate shudder at his touch. He trailed his tongue up Tate’s palm, taking one of Tate’s fingers into his mouth to tease and suck before releasing it to nuzzle Tate’s wrist again. The pulsing beat of life beneath Tate’s skin set up a
corresponding throb in his dick.

  “Oh fuck, yeah,” Tate murmured.

  Alex tore his gaze away from all that lovely skin. Tate was working his cock through his jeans and, when Alex glanced up at his face, the raw need was there for him to see.

  “Take it, take it.” Tate pushed his wrist up into Alex’s hungry mouth.

  Yes! Yes! He closed his mouth over Tate’s wrist and bit down, sinking his fangs into that perfect flesh and shuddering when Tate cried out and pushed backward into the chair. He locked his lips onto Tate’s wrist, taking in that hot, bitter rush of blood with great sucking pulls. Tate cried out again and thrashed underneath him, but Alex pinned him down and continued to feed until Tate tensed and cried out again. This time he bucked and shuddered under Alex’s softening ministrations until he lay limp and unresisting beneath him.

  When Alex released Tate’s hand, he thought for a moment that he’d gone too far, that he’d taken too much from Tate, unable to resist the temptation to revel in his blood until he had no more to give, simply because Alex had denied himself for so long. He was horribly relieved when he saw the glint of light reflected in Tate’s golden eyes as he opened them.

  Tate smiled sleepily and then swarmed upward unexpectedly to kiss Alex thoroughly. When he leaned back, he was licking a smear of his own blood off his lips. “Nice,” he said. “I see why you like it.”

  “You’re fucking unbelievable,” Alex said simply. He felt sated and complete and yet wanted nothing more than to do it again. Tate made him feel this way: as though it would take a thousand years or more to tire of this attraction.

  “Oh, but you’re not done,” Tate said when Alex levered himself up off the chair. He reached over to the table beside the chair and switched on the lamp.

  “I’m not?” Alex looked down at him in some confusion, blinking at the sudden brightness despite the fact that the lamp was small and cast only a warm pool of light around the chair.

  Tate untied his boots and toed them off, stripping off socks as well and stuffing them into the boots. He rose to his feet easily and casually unbuttoned his jeans. Alex watched in fascination as Tate’s fingers pulled down the zipper to his fly and swallowed hard when he saw the dark swatch of auburn hair appear. Tate had gone commando.