Perfect Timing
AIMEE BRISSAY
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, the models on the cover, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Perfect Timing Copyright ©2011 Aimee Brissay
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other enquiries, please contact Aimee Brissay directly:
[email protected]
Chapter 1
In spite of the carefree face he was showing the world, Valentin Alekseev felt bone tired. Cold and hurting, but above all tired. Too many nights out in the rain, each of them a year’s worth of pain and misery. The exhaustion, the blood loss, and the hunger had taken their toll on him and he was already running on fumes, his strength and will to live almost gone. He was still fleeing, still fighting for his life, but the moment when he would no longer care what happened to him was closing in.
So many towns and faces had passed before his eyes in the last few weeks, he’d lost track of them. They all mingled, becoming but a blur in his mind. None of them mattered anyway. Humans, all weak and fragile and oh-so-shallow, nothing more than a meal or a quick fuck, simply means to pass the long hours of eternity.
Once, he would have taken his time indulging in all the pleasures mankind had to offer. Vice, in all its sizes and shapes, was no stranger to him, and while his tastes leaned toward pretty boys with tight asses, in his three hundred years he learned to take pleasure everywhere he could.
Yuri Sergheev, his sire, had taught him well. He’d given him eternity. He had shown him the beauty of the night and introduced him to the joy of the hunt. In the hands of Yuri, he had learned the ways of their world, how to conduct himself in order to survive, how to give pain and pleasure and how to revel in them. Yuri had been his sire, his mentor, his lifeline for so long. And now he was gone. Valentin was alone, running for his life.
Now, the promise of warm blood or a sweet ass no longer held any appeal to him. While fresh blood was easy to find, since Yuri’s demise, it had become harder to stomach. He couldn’t recall the last time he had enough to restore some of his former self. But the thought of a welcoming place to rest for a few hours had proven too hard to resist.
He shouldn’t have stopped, his pursuers were so close he could feel them breathing down his neck, but he was exhausted. He just wanted out of the weather and maybe, if he was lucky, a few hours out of his head. So he entered the brightest tavern he could find, hoping he would be left alone.
The place was cozy, the light just dim enough not to hurt his eyes and the music floating from the speakers pleasantly fading in the background. He’d found the farthest booth and sank with a grateful sigh into the well-worn leather. He’d kept his back against the wall in a protective manner but it was all for show. There was no strength left in him to back it up.
A gust of wind stirred the air as the door opened. He gathered the jacket closer to his body, shivering. Fingers wrapped tight around the steaming mug of tea in front of him, he glanced up briefly, catching sight of the newcomer, and the breath stopped in his throat.
The man at the entrance was young and exotic, not his type. He usually went for twinks, with blond hair and lithe bodies. Sparing the newcomer a second glance was surprising. But, hell, was he worth it. Not overly tall, five six or five seven, dark hair, almost black, golden skin, and the most striking gray-green eyes Valentin had ever seen. At least his eyesight was still working.
The man stepped into the room, pausing midstep, nostrils flaring. His eyes widened and he turned half an inch in Valentin’s direction. Their gazes locked as the air crackled between them. Those piercing eyes widened even more and the moment passed. The oddest expression passed over the stranger’s face, quickly replaced by a blank mask. What was it? Shock? Resentment? Disgust?
Jaw set, the exotic creature turned away and headed for a booth on the other side of the tavern, and Valentin was left staring after him. He took in the strong shoulders, not overly large, feeling a small pang of regret that the leather jacket the man was wearing concealed the shape of his chest and abdomen. However, his regret was short-lived. Valentin’s eyes traveled lower to a round, firm ass and perfectly shaped thighs clad in a tight pair of jeans.
Valentin worried at his lower lip, watching the sway of the man’s hips, hunger rising in his throat. The feeling was welcomed, like a long-lost friend, and he reveled in it. He had lost hope he would ever feel this way again. He hungered for the man’s body, thirsted for his blood. His gums ached, fangs pushing through, and it took everything he had to keep them hidden. His fingers tingled to reach out and touch. His dick got painfully hard within the confines of his pants.
He wondered about the man’s scent, wishing he was seated closer. Wishing that he still had a sense of smell. His eyes locked on the skin between the neck and the shoulder, longing to lean in and sniff the spot, to run his tongue over the softness there and taste its texture. Once, he’d have been able to pick up the man’s scent or hear his heartbeat half a mile away, but he was no longer what he used to be. And what about the tan the man was sporting? Was it natural? Somehow he couldn’t place the stranger as the type to use tanning beds or lotions, but one could never tell these days.
Ahh, the things he wanted to do to that man. The things he could show him. Wishful thinking on his part, for all he knew the man wasn’t even gay.
If only he’d had the time, if his life was different… But things were as they were, and his moping around wasn’t going to change matters. Valentin watched the man take his seat in the booth, stole a last glance of those striking eyes—yep, he’d been right, they did change color, there was more gray than green in them now—and turned his attention back to the mug in front of him, deciding to ignore the beautiful stranger for the rest of the evening.
* * * *
Bloodsuckers? Here?
Shawn Dougal’s sensitive nose had picked up the scent the moment he stepped inside the tavern. He separated it from the thousand others, humans, food, alcohol, and it ingrained itself in his mind.
What the hell was a vampire doing on the pride’s territory? His nostrils flared. There was no mistaking. The man was indeed a bloodsucker. If Alec ever caught a whiff of this, the vampire would be history.
And why would I care what happens to him? He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But there was something about that man which called out. Perhaps it was the sorrow that surrounded him or the hurt coming off him. Or maybe it was the sense of vulnerability and sheer exhaustion he glimpsed in the vampire’s eyes, so unexpected for a bloodsucker.
Shawn took a deep breath and schooled himself to take a closer look. The boning was fine, the cheekbones high and the jawline perfectly chiseled. His eyes traveled south from the plump lips to the long, elegant fingers, more suited to an artist than a cold-blooded killer. Okay, maybe he was a little biased, but vampires weren’t known for being cute, innocent bunnies.
His gaze came back to the mug and the steam that was rising from it. What do vampires drink anyway? Coffee? Hot cocoa? The blood of their enemies seasoned with cinnamon? Shawn tried to mask under a cough the chuckle escaping his lips at the mental picture, but judging by the looks he received from a nearby booth he wasn’t doing too good a job.
Shawn let his eyes wander over what he could see of the man’s body. The vampire was skinny, painfully so, like the softest bree
ze could knock him on his ass, and yet the way he held himself spoke of strength and nobility. How much of a fighter would he be? Was he skilled in any way, or was he relying on others to do his dirty work? There had been nothing in the bloodsucker’s eyes when their gazes met to help Shawn form an opinion on the matter. Usually very skilled at sizing up an opponent, his inability to do so now was unnerving.
As inconspicuously as possible, he continued his perusal. The vampire wore a button-up, blue cotton shirt under a denim jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. The top three buttons were undone, offering a perfect view of the neck that had Shawn searching for a pulse and finding none. Yeah, what a surprise. His eyes traveled over the aristocratic nose and arched eyebrows to the man’s hair. Dark blond, unruly, longer than Shawn would have liked for himself, it had that just-got-out-of-bed look. Not many could pull off this particular style, but his vampire certainly could.
Whoa! Mine? When did that happen? His eyes flew back to the vampire’s mouth, lips now pressed together in a thin line, and lingered there.
And when did he start noticing another man’s lips? Maybe he needed to get laid. That had to be it. How long was it since he last had any? No way could he be attracted to a man. Sure, he could appreciate the beauty and strength of the male body, but to actually find it arousing? No. Nope. No way in hell. Yet, there was no other reason for the erection he was sporting and, the worst part was that he couldn’t remember how or when that happened. Maybe when he was watching those fine fingers around the mug, wishing they were wrapped around his cock? Or when he noticed the shape of those cheeks? Or was it the very beginning when he first noticed the other male? Or it could simply be the adrenaline talking, of finding a predator in his territory. Happy with the easy-on-the-mind solution found, Shawn nodded to himself.
He didn’t want any complications. He had enough problems as it was. But an annoying little voice in the back of his head kept telling him that the vampire was going to be trouble and there wasn’t much Shawn could do about it.
The vampire shifted slightly and a glint of gold caught Shawn’s eye. A necklace, so thin he’d have thought twice before touching it, much less wearing it, graced the base of the man’s neck, with some sort of medallion hanging from it, partially hidden by the shirt’s collar. His pupils turned to vertical slits and he squinted to hide them as he tried to get a better look. What could it be? A Zodiac sign? A family heirloom? A vial of poison? Maybe the bloodsucker had a sense of humor and he was wearing a cross. Scowling, Shawn tore his gaze away from it and found himself staring straight at the vampire’s black eyes. Shit, he’d been caught ogling. The man’s luscious lips curved in a smile but its warmth never reached his eyes. If anything, they looked sad and regretful.
Another second and the bloodsucker lowered his head, breaking the contact. Shawn stood back in his chair, glaring. He didn’t want this, whatever this was, but he knew he had to at least talk with the man. Damn it! Alec will have my head for this! On second thought, as of today, this is no longer an issue. I am no longer part of his pride. A wave of unwanted sorrow washed over him. Upset at his own reactions, Shawn ground his teeth together and pushed himself to his feet. He had nothing to lose. If push came to shove and the leech made a go for his throat, which was unlikely in a crowded pub, Shawn was fairly certain he could handle it. At least he’d get a good fight out of it. Shrugging, he walked over to the bar to get himself a beer and a mug of whatever hot concoction the vampire drank.
* * * *
Valentin stared pointedly at his now almost-empty cup, painfully aware of each move the dark-haired man made across the floor, so when a pair of jean-clad legs appeared in his peripheral vision, he wasn’t surprised. However, he hadn’t expected the fresh, steaming mug that was placed by his hand, or the man to slide into the chair in front of him.
His gaze trailed from the beer the man was holding to his face. He looked so young. How old was he? He had to be over eighteen, or he wouldn’t have been allowed inside. But then again, anyone seemed young next to Valentin. What was the legal drinking age in this country, anyway? Come to that, where the hell was he? He’d left his homeland, Russia, and crossed over into Ukraine under the cover of darkness, but he’d lost it from there. His pursuers had almost caught up with him, and he’d been forced to take hundreds of back roads and mountain trails to elude them. He had no idea where he was.
“Eerr... what’s this?”
“It’s for you. You looked like you could use another one of these. I asked the bartender what you were having and bought the same.” The words, spoken in a soft, soothing voice, the kind a trainer would use to calm a skittish horse, jerked Valentin from his musings. The tone was warm, but those gray eyes held a hint of annoyance. “I didn’t know vampires drank tea.”
What the hell? How could he know? Valentin frowned at the mug, his mind spinning. He’d had his fangs hidden the whole time and there was nothing else to say he was a vampire.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The gray eyes gleamed mockingly, silently calling Valentin out on his lie.
“I’m Shawn.”
“Huh?” Never one to be caught without a snappy comeback, he was now at a loss.
“And you are?”
“Huh?” Surely he could manage more than that one word.
The stranger broke into a grin, settling back into a more comfortable position.
“I asked who you are.”
The vampire pursed his lips. He was smart enough not to fall for that; he’d offer his name and nothing more. The man already knew too much.
“I’m Valentin.”
“Valentin. It suits you.” The name rolled off Shawn’s tongue like a caress.
The vampire wanted to throw in Shawn’s face the fact that nobody knew nothing about him or his life and that all he wanted was to be left alone. Instead, he swallowed back his words and shook the offered hand. The contact, however brief, sent waves of awareness through his body, finally settling in his groin. His gum tingled, his fangs threatening to burst through while his cock stirred.
For a moment, Valentin was tempted to use his gift to search the man’s mind, to solve the mystery that was Shawn. It would have been so easy to plant the idea in his mind, to make Shawn want him. It would be even easier to reach out and take him then and there. Humans had so little resistance in them. He’d use his powers to cloak them both, and Shawn would be his for the taking. To fuck and feed and maybe feel whole again, at least for a little while. But he pushed the thought away, disgusted at himself for even thinking it. He was better than that. He had never needed his powers to get somebody in bed. Being sick brought out the demon in him and he wasn’t happy about it.
The vampire rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers, hoping to ease out the dull pain that had become a constant companion over the last few months, and forced himself to focus on the man in front of him.
With Shawn so sitting so close to him, Valentin breathed deep, letting Shawn’s scent sink into him. It was a woodsy combination of earth and trees, refreshing after the smells of stale beer and the day-old food of the tavern. It triggered something in his memory, but not enough to put into words.
“Have we met before?”
Shawn gaped at him, like he was trying to figure out whether Valentin was playing some sort of joke on him or whether he was serious.
“No, we haven’t.” He hesitated for a second before continuing. “You are not safe here.”
“I’m never safe.” The words held an unquestionable finality, overwhelmingly so even in Valentin’s ears. “But how would you know this? And why the hell would you care?”
Shawn opened his mouth to retort, but stilled, cocking his head to the side, listening intently. He swore under his breath and rose to leave.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go. Keep in mind what I told you. If you want to live, don’t hang around here too long.”
It wasn’t a threat. At least it didn’t sound l
ike one. The tone in which it was delivered was soft, almost caring, and Valentin watched in confusion as Shawn got up and left the bar. Shaking his head, he turned back to the fresh cup of tea and ignored it pointedly in the favor of the now-cold one.
Chapter 2
“You should have left the town, brother!” Lucan practically spat the last word. There was no love lost between them and, as so many times before, Shawn felt a twinge of regret over it.
“What are you doing here, Lucan? Shouldn’t you be at home? Kissing Alec’s ass?”
“I was sure you would still be here. You never had a single ounce of common sense. If you had, you would have died a long time ago and spared me of your presence.” Hate was oozing from Lucan’s every pore.
They were in the tavern’s parking lot, Shawn leaning against his brother’s truck with an easiness he wasn’t feeling, while Lucan’s posture was stiff, fists clenched at his sides. And his brother wasn’t alone. Three of his closest friends were waiting nearby, watching them intently.
“I’m sooo sorry to disappoint you. I had every right to be here. Just like you.”
“You never had the right.” He was sneering, working himself up, and the scent of his emotions was heavy in the air around them. The bitterness of jealousy, the nauseating sweetness of hatred, and a hint of something else, something that smelled suspiciously like satisfaction. The hatred seeping from every word was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Excuse me.” He pushed past Lucan, trying to get back in the tavern, but his brother yanked his arm and shoved him hard against the side of the truck.
“Not so fast, big brother. You’ve had your chance.” Lucan gripped the soft leather of Shawn’s jacket and pressed him harder against the metal. “You are no longer welcome here.” Each word was marked by a shove. Annoyed, Shawn pushed back, sending his brother stumbling.
Perfect Timing Page 1