Night Train to New Orleans

by Caroline Valdez

  On Decatur near Canal Street, he located an Italian restaurant and ate his fill. He’d enjoyed the Creole and Cajun cuisine he’d sampled, but these familiar flavors tempered the feeling of being a stranger in a foreign land.

  On the way back to Alex’s, he browsed through some small antique shops. In one, he found an antique silver fish knife. It was a serving piece intended to cut and slide a piece of the main fish onto individual plates. Its edge was sharp enough that, with a good thrust, it could penetrate the body of an immortal. Silver was poisonous to vampires, and if he left it planted in Giacomo, it would gradually do its work even if the stab didn’t kill him immediately. It was larger than he’d wanted, but it was all he could find on short notice and would fit in an inside jacket pocket. He wanted it on him at all times.

  §§§§

  Alex wakened and slipped from his secure hiding place. He changed from his nightwear into shorts and an emerald green shirt from Italy. He found Dante in his office, bent over his desktop.

  A warm feeling, unique for this human, rolled through his chest and he thought it would have been felt in his heart if he’d had one that could feel. The need to touch Dante was so strong he approached him without making noise and leaned down to kiss the dark curls on top of his head. He rubbed the solid muscle of Dante’s shoulders with his hands.

  “Hi,” Dante said. “I’ve been waiting for you to waken.” He clasped one of Alex’s hands, turned it over, pressed his lips into the palm and tongued it.

  The simple gesture caused happiness to invade the warmth Alex had already enjoyed at the sight of him at his desk. When Dante slid his chair back and stood, Alex wanted to hug him so hard against his body they would fuse and become one person. Then he remembered, with a wave of frustration, that he was not human, and in clutching Dante too close he would hurt him, despite Dante’s strength as a man.

  “Love your shirt,” Dante said. It had been his gift to Alex in Naples. He placed his hands at the back of Alex’s head and slid his lips across Alex’s before he could respond.

  To show his pleasure, Alex emitted a soft growl, and since he’d forced his lover into submission last evening, he let him take the lead in their lovemaking now. As their kiss deepened and Dante’s tongue would have entered his mouth, he tightened his lips to prevent it. He felt Dante pause before a low laugh rumbled in his throat as he reached for the tip of Alex’s now fully erect cock and pinched.

  Shock caused Alex to gasp. His mouth opened, and Dante’s tongue plunged in. When they came up for air, Alex said, “You taste Italian. Oregano and basil.”

  Dante yanked Alex’s shirt up over his head and off, then smothered his face with kisses. “I am Italian, signor.”

  Alex slid a hand inside Dante’s short pants and, fingering his cock, whispered, “And this…is this Italian, too?”

  “Oh, yes. And it’s all yours. Strip for me while I watch, vampire.”

  With hands shaking from emotion, Alex stripped.

  Dante’s voice was soft. “I’ll never tire of seeing your perfect body. Unbraid your hair.”

  Alex did as ordered, and his hair fell in a silken tumble around his face and shoulders. He watched as Dante shed his clothes one piece at a time, like an athlete undressing in the locker room. Soon they were all over each other, and Alex wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back his climax.

  Dante backed him up against a leather settee in the office. His voice was full and throaty as he held up a tube of cream. “Bend over.”

  Alex turned and leaned over the settee’s arm, spreading his legs as he felt Dante’s hot, wet mouth nip his neck and lick his shoulders before traversing down his back to the thick cheeks of his ass. He was lost in the feeling of the hands that cupped his sac and spread his cheeks, of the hot mouth and teeth grazing his skin. He warned, “Hurry or it will be over for me.”

  Dante’s hand was warm as it rhythmically spread the lube over his pucker in coaxing foreplay. Alex almost came as the tip of Dante’s cock slipped inside, then paused until the second muscle opened to let him in fully. Alex tightened his hole as much as he could to keep Dante where his cock ignited Alex’s every nerve, and Dante groaned with excitement.

  Later, Alex thought the roof could have caved in on him and he wouldn’t have noticed. All of his focus had been on what was happening inside his ass as it danced with the sensation of Dante’s cock pushing in and out.

  “I wish I could bite you like you do me,” Dante had murmured just before he began to pump in earnest.

  He’d felt Dante come the moment he did, those few seconds of explosive release and recovery were always all too short.

  After he and Dante were no longer joined and had recovered, they showered together.

  All interest in sex had fled—until the next time, when a scent, a song, the sound of a voice or the sight of one of them engaged in something as simple as reading a book or smiling would ignite passion and desire once again.

  Chapter Four

  “I just remembered this is the night I have to meet the count. What shall I wear?” Dante asked.

  “Sturdy boots and jeans. A light jacket, as we will be outside and near the river. Malcolm and I will flank you when you are introduced, and we will leave as soon as possible. This is not a business presentation to an executive board; it is their regular business meeting. These vamps are an unruly bunch, so be sure you carry no weapons.”

  “Can’t carry my gun in my ankle holster?” Dante teased.

  “You may not.”

  They laughed together at the memory of another time and a gun in his holster, but the laughter had a sharp edge to it.

  Alex went to his room to change. He’d just finished dressing for the meeting when, from the doorway, Dante said, “That memory of Naples reminds me of what I purchased today as I explored the Quarter.”

  He looked up as Dante entered carrying a silver fish knife in his hands.

  Fear exploded in Alex’s head, and weakness hit his knees. He put his hands up to shield his face and turned away before sitting down hard on his bed. “Please. Put it away!”

  Dante hid it behind his back. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I had no idea it was that powerful.” He rushed out of the room. When he returned he knelt in front of Alex, his face almost as pale as Alex thought his must be. “Did it hurt you?”

  Alex had recovered his composure, and he leaned over to kiss Dante’s forehead and brush his knuckles down his cheek. “I am sorry to have frightened you. It burns only if it touches my skin or slices into me. But after what happened in Italy, when Giacomo tried to destroy me with that sunlamp, my fears are stronger than before. You bought it because of Giacomo.” He said it as fact, not a question.

  “Yes. Just in case he comes here. It seemed the best weapon.” Dante reached for Alex’s hands and his lips were gentle and warm as he kissed them. “So you’ll know to avoid it, I put it in its box in my top dresser drawer under my T-shirts. I’ll let you know when I’m carrying it.”

  Alex stood and drew Dante into his arms. Locked tight, they rocked together for a moment, and Alex knew memories of the Italian murder attempt would remain in Dante’s mind as it did in his. He broke the hug. “You haven’t had any dinner, and we only have time for you to eat something here. You’ll need your strength for tonight.” He smiled to lighten the mood and took a playful swipe with his fist that just missed Dante’s jaw as if to say, Get Busy.

  Alex loved watching Dante eat. He loved his long fingers and their dexterity as he handled his knife and fork, the way his mouth closed over and savored each bite. He was dressed in a light brown turtleneck, designer denim pants and a jacket of dark brown that deepened the dark chocolate color of his eyes. His sturdy black boots were handmade from Italian leather. Alex was pleased to see there was no missing the fact that his lover was well to do. It would help put him on an acceptable level with the eccentric, class-conscious count.

  “Covering your neck was an excellent idea,” Alex commented. “I hadn’t t
hought to mention it. You will also want to be sure you do not injure yourself. Spilling blood is not the best idea in a room filled with vampires.”

  Dante’s jaw tightened as he nodded, then, in a change of topic, he asked, “I’ve read the city was founded by the French under the direction of Jean-Baptiste Le Moyen de Bienville and named Nouvelle-Orlèans after the then French Duke of Orlèans.”

  “That’s the popular belief.”

  “So is the de Bienville of the vampires a descendant of the French Canadian man?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Was the first man a count?”

  “No.” Alex smiled.

  “Got it.”

  Alex certainly hoped he did get it. This leader was not Massimo of Italy, for whom loyalty was more important than status. When Dante had finished his meal, Alex said, “Let us go up to the office. I want to show you how to reach my boss and Agapeto should the need arise.”

  Afterward, Alex locked up and set the alarms. They entered the courtyard just as Malcolm approached the gate. Alex said, “Perfect timing, my friend.”

  Dante stopped and studied the green convertible parked next to Alex’s red one. “Hmm, let’s see. Shall I buy one in bright blue or yellow?”

  They enjoyed the joke and began to walk. Alex felt uneasy about this appointment, and he held Dante’s hand as much to reassure himself it would go well as because he loved touching him.

  “Where is the meeting?”

  “In the oldest cemetery in town,” Malcolm said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The voodoo queen Marie Laveau is supposed to be buried there, but vampires have no use for voodoo. Its cheap appeal is only for the tourists.”

  Alex felt Dante’s hand grip his a little harder, and to calm Dante’s concerns said, “It is safe for us to meet there because no one dares venture far into the burial grounds at night due to rumors of thieves and murderers.”

  “And ghosts. Don’t forget zombies and ghosts.” Malcolm leaned toward Dante, his eyes gleaming with humor. “All rumors we undead are careful to spread.” He laughed, and his laugh was both naughty and not so nice.

  §§§§

  They approached a cemetery surrounded by an ornate iron fence, its paint faded and the metal pockmarked by orange flakes of rust. The gate, whose keyhole was large, was locked. Beyond it, in the settling mist, Dante could just make out grayed and crumbling marble tombstones and crypts. He halted at the gate, but Alex put an arm around his waist, and Malcolm did the same from his other side. In moments, they were airborne, floating over the gate and following a narrow street that threaded through the disintegrating monuments until they reached a crypt in the form of a house. They touched down in front of it. Dante made out the word Le Blanc carved in the door mantle and thought it smart of the count not to use his family’s crypt.

  “Enjoy the ride?” Malcolm asked as he released him.

  “No wonder there are rumors of ghosts,” Dante replied, his throat a little tight with concern now that they’d arrived. If anything had ever seemed unholy to him, this old cemetery at night did. Plus, he was once more facing an unknown reception and not on his own terms.

  Alex put his right eye up to a scanner, and the door opened. With an arm around Dante’s waist, they moved as one through the doorway. The door shut in Malcolm’s face, and then he was there again, presumably because he’d scanned his iris. They waited in a hexagonal antechamber that smelled musty and felt damp. One wall suddenly separated in the middle, revealing a heavily muscled vampire dressed in motorcycle threads and wearing a black do-rag decorated with a skull and cross-bones on his head.

  Uh-oh, Dante thought. Here we go—into the jaws of the motorcycle undead.

  The immortal invited them in after checking Dante’s ID. In the next small room, they were frisked for weapons. Dante thought this second vampire had been a little too thorough on him. There was no way he could hide any kind of weapon in his balls. Up his ass, maybe, but not in his balls or dick. Fortunately, his ass was left sacrosanct and his dick was too insulted to rise.

  From there, they walked into a much larger room, where vamps were milling around with glasses of blood in their hands. The chandelier in the center of the ceiling was covered with what must have been a thousand lighted candles, whose polished crystal prisms reflected their glow throughout the room. He saw any number of dress styles, from somber to wild and prudishly covered to almost naked. The scattering of females in the group who noticed him eyed Dante as if he were prey. Were he weaponless and unprotected, he’d have been attacked, bitten and drained of every drop of his blood, and torn into pieces. He fought a shudder. It wouldn’t pay to show weakness or fear in this crowd.

  He sensed the close presence of his sponsors and relief settled in his chest.

  A waiter came up to them and extended a tray of wine glasses filled with blood and, since Alex and Malcolm weren’t out hunting humans indiscriminately, they each took a glass marked with their preferred blood types.

  “May I get you some wine, sir?” the waiter asked Dante.

  “Thank you, I’m fine.” Dante thought he’d lose anything he put in his stomach at this point. Naples had been a controlled situation. Here it was like being in a crowd poised to riot at the slightest excuse.

  He felt Alex’s hand on his arm as he said, “A 1998 Criolloa Rosso Reserve for my friend, if you have it.” To Dante, he said, “An excellent Louisiana Cabernet Sauvignon. I think you’ll like it.”

  Dante caught his quiet words as the waiter left. “Unacceptable to turn down the request. At least pretend to sip it. I will dispose of it for you if necessary.”

  The wine was excellent, and Dante swirled it, smelled its bouquet and sipped, but couldn’t trust his stomach to do more than that. Eventually, Alex exchanged glasses with him without being noticed, and Dante set Alex’s on a tray set out on a table for empties. He didn’t see what Alex did with the remaining wine.

  Apparently, they were the last to arrive. Dante felt males staring at him, either sizing him up as an enemy or, if gay, wondering what it would be like to fuck him. No doubt some of the glares were because a human didn’t belong in one of their business meetings. He was increasingly glad his neck was covered. Alex and Malcolm greeted many in the room, but stuck with him as if they were conjoined triplets.

  A vampire with darker skin and dressed like a maître d’ or a butler entered the room through yet another door. He carried a small gong, which he struck with a padded mallet as he passed through the crowd, and a ripple of hysteria bubbled up in Dante’s throat. Surely he wasn’t announcing dinner because if he was, Dante had a feeling he was it. At the sound of the soft gong, all chatter ceased and the vamps stood and turned toward the door.

  Alex’s voice barely reached his ear. “That’s Beau. Pierre Beauregard. A Cajun killed and turned at the Battle of Shiloh in Tennessee during the war between the north and south.”

  Beau announced in a strong voice, “Comte Jean de Bienville.”

  The vampires made a quick bow with their heads when the count strode into the room and mounted the steps of a raised dais. He sat on an ornate Louis XIV chair covered with gold leaf and upholstered in faded scarlet brocade. Obviously old, the chair made Dante think of a throne.

  If there was any vamp who differed more from Massimo di Osci than Jean de Bienville, Dante couldn’t imagine it. The count was a slender lightweight who must have been turned just before he hit thirty. Like Alex, he was beautiful, but unlike Alex, who was all male, this one’s beauty bordered on feminine—masculine and yet feminine. His medium length, jet-black hair might have given off a natural luster under the glowing candles. Instead, it had been brushed up and back from his forehead and the sides of his head and gelled in place. Dante thought it shone like something belonging in a stage production.

  A short chain of what must be diamond earrings dropped from his earlobes, and he wore full makeup—his dark eyes lined in black, their upper lids deeply shaded in gray, and his eyebrows carefully darkened, widen
ed and shaped. His naturally long lashes were enhanced by thick mascara. His lips and cheeks were rouged.

  Small rhinestones, or possibly diamonds, formed a short arc upward beginning at the outer corners of his eyes.

  Dante couldn’t guess how he dressed at other times, but now, holding court, his costume was a lightweight shirt in dark blue with the long sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. It was unbuttoned to the nipple line, and a pewter chain with gypsy medals rested in its V against a hairless chest. One of the medals was encrusted with tiny stones—probably sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. Over the shirt he wore a faded, sleeveless denim jacket. Patches of the flag of the United States and the undead were stitched over his heart. Dante recognized it as a designer jacket—perhaps Versace or Armani—because its fading was manufactured rather than from years of wear.

  The count’s nails were short and polished in garnet. The one ring on his left hand was pewter, hinged at the knuckle and extended over most of his finger. The rings on each finger of his right hand were fashioned of what were probably pink and chocolate diamonds set in gold, and pewter filigree rings featuring blue stones.

  To Dante, the whole attire was very feminine.

  de Bienville conducted the business before him with dramatic flare and clever quips, but sometimes his dark eyes blazed golden in anger. Dante thought he loved the attention, loved his position as vampire royalty and commanding the stage. He couldn’t help but wonder if the count was bi or only went for males.

  Dante found this expression of femme glam in someone so powerful jarring. He didn’t envy his followers, who must feel exhausted at the end of these meetings because of the count’s flamboyance and drama, not to mention they’d have to be hypervigilant to avoid being the object of his cruelty. In contrast to the other sometimes hyperactive and demanding femme glam guys Dante knew, one of the things he enjoyed about Alex was that he was anchored and quiet. It was restful being around him.