He motioned for another drink and knocked it back quickly to help steady his nerves. Tonight wasn’t going exactly the way he’d planned.
Instead of helping him relax, the alcohol seemed to make the feeling worse; the weird anxiety he’d felt looking at the Prime doubled, and became heavy…it became dread. That couldn’t possibly be just from a momentary glance at a beautiful boy…no, this feeling was more like…
He turned toward the open room, where dozens of Elite were socializing, and scanned the crowd, not sure what he was looking for but sure it wasn’t good. Something—something wasn’t right—
He noticed the Second was near the door, with Faith, whom Jonathan had met a few nights ago in another bar across town. Something tugged gently on his mind, and he knew without looking—though he was terrified to wonder why he knew—that the Prime was on the other side of the room, probably talking to one of the lieutenants. But midway between, directly across the room from Jonathan, he saw that double image again; a nondescript man in a hooded coat that flashed into a rage-filled face lifting his arm, the dim light of the bar catching the edge of an arrowhead—
Before he could think, Jonathan judged the distance to the man and the distance to the Prime, and threw himself toward the left, barreling into a knot of people and crashing to the ground while overhead he heard the whistle of a crossbow bolt cutting through the air where not seconds ago the Prime’s heart would have been.
Jonathan heard shouts, heard Solomon snap out orders, and a strangled cry heralded the apprehension of the would-be assassin.
Elite formed a tight circle around their leader who was quite solidly pinned under Jonathan’s considerably larger body. Jonathan waited until he heard the Second give the all-clear before moving even an inch.
“Blackthorn, Sire,” Solomon said, edging into the circle. “There are a few stragglers coming out of the woodwork. Since they usually work in pairs it might be best to get you home while we hunt for his partner.”
“Good idea, but I’ll need to get up first,” that voice was right next to Jonathan’s ear, and he shivered before he could stop himself.
“Sorry, my lord,” Jonathan said, face burning—he knew he was turning red, but oh well. Too late for dignity now, he supposed. He rolled off to the side and got up; the Elite offered hands, and he got a few appreciative pats on the back.
Most of the Elite disappeared, some having the car brought around, some doing reconnaissance outside the bar or searching the building for any other shooters.
“Are you all right?” Solomon asked, his voice gentling as he looked the Prime over.
A smile. “I’m fine…thanks to our new friend, here.”
“Ah, yes—Sire, this is Jonathan Burke, a new recruit to the Elite. Burke, meet the Prime of the…Western…”
Solomon trailed off, his eyes lowering, widening. He seemed to lose the ability to speak at all.
The Prime gave him a look of concern. “David, what’s the matter?”
The Second could only make a weak gesture, and the Prime’s gaze followed…and he gasped.
Jonathan, bewildered, said, “I don’t understand. It’s flashing—is that bad?”
Solomon took a step back, the shock and pain in his face so raw and intense it overcame professionalism and centuries of cultivated emotional distance…a look of instant, utter heartbreak, one that Jonathan would never, ever forget.
“No,” Solomon said softly. “Not now. No. No…”
The Prime tried to catch his hand, but Solomon pushed away, shaking his head, and all but staggered for the exit.
“David—” The Prime didn’t go after him, but the astonishment was just as clear on his face as he turned back to Jonathan, taking a deep breath.
“I don’t understand,” Jonathan said. “What did I do wrong? What does this mean?”
They stared at each other, a tempest of emotion in the Prime’s eyes. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Sire! Down!”
Instinct took over again; Jonathan whirled toward the voice, placing himself firmly between the Prime and whomever might be coming. He felt something thud into his midsection, the force of the impact pushing him back before the pain even registered. Distantly, he heard the same sounds of struggle and apprehension as before; the assassin had a partner, apparently, who was given the same summary execution.
The pain hit. Jonathan dropped to his knees, grabbing at the wooden shaft with hands gone uncooperative. He sagged sideways, vision graying out.
Hands took hold of his shoulders and eased him back. “Easy,” he heard. “Be still.”
The pain quadrupled as the stake was pulled, but having the wood out of his body was a relief. He wasn’t as strong as he should have been, with the stress of the last few months and the amount of alcohol he’d been pouring down his throat lately instead of blood, but he felt something move through him…warm, sweet energy closing up the wound, feeding him strength, and soothing him to sleep.
*****
The scent of dawn was well in the air when Jonathan woke somewhere unfamiliar, a room heated by a fireplace at one end. He lay on his side with his head resting on something far too firm to be a pillow.
He heard a sigh, and felt it against the back of his head. His vision cleared after a moment; he looked down at the pillow, curious. As he moved, it shifted as well, tightening…muscles tightening.
Not a pillow, then. A lap.
He knew he should sit up, knew he should ask the first of a thousand questions already clamoring in his mind, but for just a moment he let himself enjoy the peace, the scents of leather and whiskey and…trees? Oh, why not, trees.
Finally, though, the need to know what the hell was going on overrode that peace, and he turned onto his back, looking up.
First he saw the slowly-pulsating green stone—it wasn’t flashing as brightly now, as if it was satisfied for the moment that they were paying attention. It did seem to have taken on the same rhythm as a heartbeat, and he had his guesses whose. Beyond that, those eyes again, still with that lavender cast over pale blue.
“Hello, Jonathan,” he said softly.
Jonathan’s heart did cartwheels at the sound of his name. “…Hi.”
“Are you in any pain?”
He shook his head. The very idea of pain was ludicrous right now. “No, I’m…wait, did you…”
A nod. “I healed you.”
“Sire, I…I don’t understand what’s going on.”
He struggled to sit up, and the Prime helped him; his hands were small, but remarkably strong, and had the nimble surety of either a warrior or an artist. He also barely came up to Jonathan’s shoulder, even sitting down…
…on a bed. They were sitting on a bed. This must be the Signet suite at the Haven. More heart-cartwheels.
The Prime watched him for a moment before asking, “What do you know about Pairs?”
“Not a lot, really. I know every Prime’s supposed to have a Queen—a soul mate, I guess. I’ve never really believed in that sort of thing, but that’s the legend.”
A faint smile. “You haven’t.”
“No. It’s just a romantic ideal created by bards and starry-eyed children.”
“You don’t say.” Now, there was definite humor in his eyes, and Jonathan was even more confused.
“Why are you asking me this, my Lord?” Jonathan wanted to know.
A pause. The Prime reached over to the bedside table and picked up a square wooden box with a carved lid. “Taking a Signet means setting yourself apart from your kind,” he said. “We take on the mantle of patriarch to our entire territory…we have power no living thing should ever have. That power…it hurts. No one person can bear it alone. That’s why each of us has a perfect match, someone to share that burden…bound together unto death. Not all of us find that person. I…” He took another breath, contemplating his next words, upon which both of their lives hinged. “Given who and what I am I never believed it was possible for me. I was read
y to face however long I have left without knowing that kind of connection. But fate, it seems…”
He lifted the box’s lid, and Jonathan saw another flashing green stone, its setting nearly identical to the one at the Prime’s throat.
Paralyzed, he could only stare at it until the Prime reached over and took his hand, gently placing it on the stone. “It’s yours,” he whispered. His eyes were shining. “I’m yours.”
Hands still touching, they both lifted the amulet from its velvet nest and fastened it around Jonathan’s neck.
The energy that swept up over them both was unlike anything he’d ever felt; it washed away all the uncertainty and worry that he’d been carrying, leaving nothing but joy behind. He could feel something in himself opening up, feel something else…no, someone else…fitting into an empty place he’d never even known was there. Emotions, even memories, surged through him, two heartbeats coming into synch, something he had been aching for but unable to name dissolving into a quiet happiness he had never, ever expected to feel.
The next thing he was really aware of was the feeling of an actual pillow under his head, and the warmth of a body beside him, eyes watching him.
They both smiled. The Prime’s expression was surprisingly shy.
Jonathan couldn’t help it—he wrapped a hand around the Prime’s neck and pulled him close, kissing him deeply, knowing by instinct exactly how he would want to be kissed. They were both panting when he drew back for breath.
“I…” Jonathan shook his head in amazement. “I have no idea what to make of any of this, Sire.”
“Neither do I…but you and I are equals now. You don’t have to call me that.”
“Well, I do,” Jonathan told him, “Until you tell me your name.”
The Prime actually turned pink at the ears. He was adorable when he blushed. “I thought you knew.” He smiled. “It’s Deven.”
Jonathan nipped his ear lightly. “Nice to meet you, Deven.”
A smile. “I should warn you, though…I’m an absolute nightmare. I’m secretive and stubborn and riddled with emotional issues. And I talk in my sleep.”
Jonathan grinned. “Well, opposites attract then, because I’m a delight.”
He laughed. Jonathan instantly loved the sound of his laugh, and made a vow to himself right then and there to make it happen as often as he could.
“Hold on,” Deven said. “Let me turn out the lights.”
He climbed out of the bed, and Jonathan suddenly realized something was wrong: David. The Second was supposed to be here, not Jonathan. Had they talked? The look on David’s face had been wrenching…where was he now?
But before he could ask Deven that very question, something imperious emerged in his mind: Leave it.
How could he do that? Even if he’d been expecting this to happen eventually, David had to be in agony—
Leave it.
There, before his mind’s eye, images began to form, and he understood they were of the future…David’s future. Anger and hurt and betrayal would drive the Second away…to the place he was supposed to be. If Jonathan intervened and saved the Prime and Second’s relationship—and he could, he had always been polyamorous and would certainly be willing to let that relationship continue, especially given how deeply it seemed to run—then David wouldn’t leave California, wouldn’t devote himself to a new life that would lead him to…
That glowing red Jonathan had seen in the Second earlier made sense now. But it was more than that…a tumult of moments all came to Jonathan at once, and he struggled to interpret them. Red hair. Music. Eight lights in a circle, the world torn by explosions…Deep green eyes…love, such love…of a kind he would never, ever find here, one soul in two bodies…something beautiful and terrible that was destined to rock the foundations of the Shadow World…
The fate of millions, vampire and human, depended on that broken heart. The weight of that knowledge made Jonathan’s eyes ache, knowing he was going to play a part in hurting such a good, brilliant soul.
The visions had never been this strong before. The chain around his neck had chained him to something else, too…the price of what he was about to receive, the burden of knowing too much.
There was no walking away…and he wouldn’t even if he could. He knew his own future now, too…would it all be worth it? Would loving this half-broken boy with a heart full of shadows and eyes full of moonlight be worth what was coming?
Deven blew out the last candle, leaving the fire to burn itself out over the course of the day. He turned back toward the bed, and smiled.
Oh God yes. Yes. You are worth every tear I might one day shed.
“Are you all right?” Deven asked, concerned.
He nodded. “Just a little overwhelmed.”
Again the smile. “Well, I suppose it’s not every night you go out for a beer and end up going home with your very own Prime.”
Jonathan sat up and held out a hand, and still smiling, Deven took it, allowing Jonathan to draw him onto the bed and into his arms.
Yes, my love…you are worth every tear I will shed.
Earlier That Night
August, 2010
Orgies just aren’t what they used to be.
I’m reclining in the cushions, surrounded by sighs and groans and the heady smells of sex and incense; there’s a naked woman curled up against my left side offering sips of blood from her wrist, another licking slow spirals over my neck, shoulder, and right side; and a lad down at the end of the sofa, on his knees, doing something unspeakable to my dick that really ought to have my full attention.
I just keep wishing I had ice cream.
Not ice cream in the sense of “I wish I had ice cream to drizzle on this beautiful woman’s soft breasts and then lap up with my tongue,” but “I wish I could be at home right now eating ice cream and watching Firefly.”
Good Christ, what’s become of me?
I’ve spent a great many nights in this very room, having my every whim catered to by the most stunning humans and vampires the Shadow World has to offer. They’re not prostitutes, exactly—they paid to be here too, and most are wealthy, bored, and lonely. That much we have in common, I suppose. We paid for the privacy, the facilities, the security, the top-shelf alcohol. There are also drugs of every sort you can think of, though I have little interest. I had my Sherlockian cocaine experiments in the 1890s, my LSD period in the 1960s; with the exception of alcohol benders that are, distressingly, increasing in frequency, I prefer my mind remain under my control.
The boy on his knees is a CEO; the woman feeding me is one of the top lawyers in Austin. They know exactly what I am and what it means—they probably paid extra to be where they are right now.
I sigh.
Warm air hits my thighs as the boy lifts his head. “Is something wrong, Sire?”
The woman to my right is also concerned. “If you’d prefer someone else with more experience…”
“You’re fine,” I say. “Sorry, darlings, I’m just not really here tonight.”
When I first left California I threw myself into the club scene. I was angry, desolated, looking for an escape. I wanted to bury my broken heart between the thighs of every woman I could find—I couldn’t even look at men for well over a decade. By the time I got to Austin I’d relented somewhat, and now that I have a Signet around my neck I’ve been forcing myself to forget. I refuse to think about the past. For a long time, I managed it; between the stress of my office and long afternoons spent with legs wrapped around my neck I could switch off my heart.
Lately, though…
I look at the women. Two redheads. I’ve always had something of a weakness for the gingers.
I look down at the boy: Almost Elf-like features, dark hair.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
I crook my finger at the boy, beckoning him up. He obeys and stretches out alongside me, snaking in between me and the woman on the right. She makes an irritated noise but stays where she is.
His
weight on my body is familiar, the combination of angles and planes and just a slight curve here and there that I know all too well.
I stare into his eyes for a long moment. He looks nervous, all of a sudden—I don’t think he really counted on getting any closer to me than he already was, and there is after all something unsettling about a vampire’s gaze.
He grows more anxious as I continue to stare. “Sire…”
I smile slightly, kiss him on the mouth. “I apologize,” I say against his lips. “I’m far too much myself tonight.”
“Maybe it’s best if I go,” he says, tone somewhere between hopeful and reluctant.
I nod, tilt my head to the side, indicating he should leave. There are others here who will have what he wants tonight. He’s the last thing I want.
Lies, lies, lies.
But I refuse to think about it.
I feel guilty for being a lackluster fantasy. That’s what they’re all paying for, after all, a chance to find whatever pleasure it is mortals seek in us—the thrill of danger, perhaps, that shot of adrenaline thinking I might take more than I give. All these centuries and they still think we’re romantic.
Such a desirable creature, lying here wishing I could be home watching television while they rub themselves all over me.
I make it a point to get both women off as hard as I can manage in my distracted state before leaving the room and taking a shower. They shouldn’t have to endure a disappointing night just because their immortal plaything can’t be bothered.
My stall is private, but I can hear the ones that aren’t all around me. Mortals and immortals, slick with soapy water, fucking against the walls or the side of the tub; I could walk into any room in this building and point to anyone I wanted and they’d do anything I asked. Whether because of what I look like or the weight hanging from my neck or the size of my account balance, not one of them would deny me.
That used to be a high. Even a month ago it was a high.
But there’s something else I’m longing for, something I can’t have…and if I honestly look at it, I realize it’s not what I thought, not who I thought. Ever since we started speaking again, of course I’ve been thinking of him, but it’s as if my mind is latching on to that old hurt to avoid confronting the truth. What I’m missing is far deeper and sadder than my fifty-year-old heartbreak. Of course the first place I go to, when I’m feeling like this, is back in time, but...what I need is…who…
Met by Midnight: Shadow World Stories and Scenes, Vol. 1 (The Shadow World) Page 7