by Lou Harper
“It’s not the same?” Joe looked confused.
“No, good sense means being practical. If I had a good sense I wouldn’t be here.”
Those subtleties of the language tended to trip up non-native English speakers. Like Gabe’s parents.
He let go of the lamppost and stood straight. Despite appearances, he was stone-sober. Only his first drink of the night had contained any alcohol at all. The rest were Gustav’s sleight of hand. It came as no surprise to Gabe to see Joe too, far more steady than he had appeared back in the bar. Although, in his case, it had to be a high tolerance to booze. Joe stood in a relaxed pose, legs slightly apart, arms loosely by his sides.
“Your English is very good for someone who’s only been here a few years. How long has it been?” Gabe asked.
“Almost six years.”
“Why did you kill those kids?”
“What are you talking about?” Joe raised his eyebrows.
Gabe didn’t buy the display of confusion for a moment. “Let’s not waste each other’s time, Joe. Or is it József?”
Joe’s face hardened as the amiability dropped from it. “I am Joe here in America.”
“Of course. You’re not from Russia, though, but from Hungary, right?”
“How do you figure?”
“Your accent. You sound like my parents. You still haven’t told me why you murdered those young people.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you think it was me who killed them?”
“That black candy you keep chewing on. I first noticed it the other night when we accidentally bumped into each other at that bar in Boystown. Negro, isn’t it? The main ingredient is anise, and it has a distinctive scent. It’s a popular candy in Hungary but hard to find around here. I know, I drove all over town looking for it without any success.”
Negro candy had been one of those strange, befuddling things about Hungary that a foreigner would experience. Eventually, he’d learned it had been named after its inventor—some Italian guy—and not the racial slur. According to some Hungarians, it could fool a breathalyzer. That had been at the back of Gabe’s mind when they’d last met. It just hadn’t clicked until later.
For the first time, Joe looked genuinely confused. “So?”
“Both victims smelled it before they died,” Gabe explained.
“How would you know that?” Joe asked, dumbfounded.
“I have sharp senses,” Gabe reminded him, with a deliberately mysterious expression. There was no way in hell he’d reveal Denton’s role to a murderer, or that the sole reason for Denton’s presence tonight had been to confirm Gabe’s suspicion by a smell-check.
Joe didn’t believe him. “That is not possible.”
Gabe shrugged. “They did. But that’s not all. You were following me around, weren’t you? If I had common sense as well, I would’ve figured it out sooner. I thought I saw you at Cloud 9 too but wasn’t sure. I went back later to talk to the bartenders, and they recognized you from the description.”
Joe remained stubbornly silent, so Gabe went on. “You followed Paul Mayer from the bar. When you came to a deserted street, you attacked him, but he fought back, and in the struggle you lost one of your stakes. The weather’s too warm for leather jackets, unless they’re a fashion statement, or if they serve a special purpose.” As he spoke, Gabe unzipped his own jacket and opened it wide, displaying the loops specially designed to hold the tools of a slayer.
Joe’s scornful snort was likely a comment on their empty state.
Gabe wasn’t done yet. “A week later, you chatted up Chrissy at Club 9, slipped drugs into her drink, then went home with her and killed her. Am I right?”
Joe scowled. “This is all bullshit. The police will laugh at you.”
A nervous thrill rushed through Gabe, but he kept taunting Joe in a calm voice.
“Yeah, but we both know I won’t go to the cops. You came to kill me too. So why don’t you tell me what it’s all about? I know you want to.”
This is what the whole evening came down to. Gabe had figured out the murders, but had no tangible evidence, and the only way to lay the matter to rest was to make the killer confess. Everything, from the party to his spat with Harvey had been staged for this sole purpose. Gabe had set a trap and used himself as bait.
“Baszd meg a kurva—” Joe cursed at him.
“English please. You need the practice, and my Magyar isn’t very good.”
“It is about you, asshole,” Joe snarled. Gabe could see the effort it took him to keep his rage under control. “You and your fucking senses.”
“What’s it to you?”
Even in the poor light, Gabe saw how dark Joe’s face turned. “You are a traitor! I know what you are, what you should do, but you don’t. Vampires are filthy beasts. They need to be put down. You are worse. You go to bed with them. That’s two sins, buzi.”
“Okay, so I’m a traitor and a fag. I got that. Why did you go after a couple of kids?”
“They were fraternizing with the enemy; they deserved it,” Joe spat the words out.
“They didn’t even know they were with vamps!”
“Bullshit. That pretty boy in the bar knows. You all sicken me. I’ll get him too, and your Chink boy.”
Gabe saw right through the posturing. Joe was nothing but a hate-filled petty thug.
“You couldn’t slay a vampire if you tried. That’s why you go after regular people, you fucking coward!” Gabe didn’t try to keep the revulsion out of his voice any longer. He let the bastard have it.
Joe snapped back with fury. “I’m not a coward! I fought them, I have the scars! I was trained much longer than you.”
“By Miklos, right? How did you know him?”
“He was my father.”
“But—”
Joe’s mug twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. “He never told you, did he? My mother was really Russian. She married him when they were young; then I was born. She left us when I was little. It was only me and apám. He trained me ever since I could walk. But I was never like him. The talents take time to develop, he said, but mine never did. Then we found out—I wasn’t really his. My bitch of a mother lied. He sent for you and your fucking precious senses then and had me do his dirty work here. It’s fucking unfair! If I had what you have, I wouldn’t let them go to waste.”
“Uncle Miklos wouldn’t have approved of what you’re doing,” Gabe retorted.
A short bark of a laugh erupted from Joe. “The fuck you know. Would you have gone to Hungary if your parents were alive? Would your father let you? He was a traitor too, running from his duty. It’s convenient they died right when they did, isn’t it?”
The words hit Gabe in a spot more sensitive than he’d realized. They hurt, and he snapped. He sprang forward, but Joe was as fast as him, only bigger and stronger. Gabe caught the glint of metal barely in time. He jerked his hand up to block the blow, and the silver knife slashed through his palm. Loud pain shot through him, followed by the warm, sticky sensation of blood.
A feral growl made the presence of a third person known. Harvey stepped out of the shadows. Face hard like a porcelain doll, eyes burning deep amber.
Joe’s left hand, curled into a fist, struck Gabe in the chest. Gabe stumbled. Joe spun, knife slashing the air in a wide arc. Powerful and deadly.
The next second was a blur, and by the time Gabe got back on his feet, Joe lay crumpled on the dirty pavement, his head in an unnatural angle, lifeless eyes staring into nothing.
The fierce intensity hadn’t left Harvey’s face. With his eyes glowing and nostrils flaring, he was terrifyingly beautiful. A chill ran down Gabe’s spine, and the primitive part of his brain where instinct lived screamed: Run! However, his feet had turned into stone and stuck to the pavement. Harvey stepped over the lump of the dead body, till he was inches from Gabe. He took Gabe’s injured hand and unfurled the protective fingers. Finally taking his unblinking eyes off Gabe’s, he bent his head over Gabe’s palm. He pressed his tongue
over the gash and glided it over its full length. Still holding on to Gabe’s wrist, he straightened up. His eyes were closed, as in meditation. His features went slack.
A strange tingling sensation spread from Gabe’s hand up his arm and through his body. The pain was gone, and so was the deep gash.
“Fuckin-A!” Denton broke the intense moment, appearing out of nowhere.
Harvey tensed and relaxed within a split second. He let go of Gabe and stepped aside. “Well, that could’ve gone better,” he said. He looked and sounded as his usual self, except for the fire that still hadn’t completely left his eyes.
“You think?” Gabe was grateful his voice sounded normal and he could move his feet again. Adrenaline still cursed through his veins, along with something unfamiliar. Was arousal a proper response to stress? To make things worse, he could clearly sense Harvey’s craving—it filled his insides with unnatural warmth.
The presence of another vampire getting closer drew his attention. He looked in that direction but knew it was Stan, even before the vamp got close enough to be seen.
Stan took in the scene with displeasure. “This is not good. Augustine won’t like this at all.”
“He was the murderer,” Harvey said, looking at the body without pity.
“And a slayer,” Gabe added.
The information seemed to ease Stan’s concerns somewhat. The three of them gathered around the body in a semicircle. Denton stood a few feet back, in a forced slouch, not looking at them directly. Odd tension zinged through the air. Gabe shivered, and it wasn’t even a cold night. Harvey shifted stiffly from one leg to another. Stan must have sensed it too, because his eyes darted from one to another. A moment later, recognition reflected in them. He reached a hand out and, with his thumb, wiped something off the corner of Harvey’s lips.
“You two take a moment. I’ll handle this,” he said, looking at the corpse.
“But—” Gabe started.
“You can make your report to Augustine later, but this is vamp business. Ray and I will deal with the body.”
“Where’s Ray?” Harvey asked.
“Back in the bar with Dill, of course.” He tipped his head in Denton’s direction. “Who’s he?”
“He’s cool. Works for Augustine too,” Gabe assured him.
Stan turned toward Denton. A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he retained his polite tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Denton Mills, but some people call me Dead Man.”
“Fitting, but I’d rather not. Mr. Mills, give me a hand, please. I parked not far.”
Stan instructed Denton to pick up the silver knife, while he heaved Joe’s body over his shoulder and marched toward the parking lot.
Before walking away, Denton turned to Gabe. “It’s gone.”
“What is?” Gabe asked, perplexed.
“Your shadow. It’s completely gone.” Denton poked at the empty air with the knife, then shrugged and trailed after Stan.
Chapter Eight
Harvey grabbed Gabe by the elbow and dragged him into the shadows, all the way into a corner of two brick walls behind overgrown shrubbery. Gabe went with him more than willingly. Somewhere between Denton’s parting words and getting into the bushes, it had dawned on him that Harvey had drunk his blood. There was something about it, something he should have been aware of, but he couldn’t remember, as he was rapidly losing his ability to think.
They fell on each other, eager and impatient. When the frantic rubbing and groping wasn’t enough anymore, Harvey fell on his knees and yanked Gabe’s jeans open and down his thighs. The tight, wet suction of Harvey’s mouth engulfed Gabe’s cock, focusing his entire being on that one spot. He didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on in his life.
Before long, Harvey pulled Gabe’s jeans and briefs all the way down and spun him around so he faced the wall. It happened so fast Gabe didn’t have a chance to protest. When Gabe’s cheeks were parted and Harvey penetrated Gabe’s hole with his tongue, the wave of sensations washed away Gabe’s rising objections. However, when Harvey’s slicked fingers pushed into him too, an unmanly whimper escaped his throat, and he tensed up. Harvey didn’t stop; moving his fingers inside Gabe, another hand over Gabe’s cock and balls, he persevered till Gabe gave in, and his muscles gradually relaxed.
Harvey straightened up, arms around Gabe, his slender, slippery shaft pressed between Gabe’s ass cheeks.
“I want to fuck you,” he whispered.
“I don’t…” Gabe’s words dissolved into a groan as Harvey stroked Gabe’s cock while canting his hips.
“I want you.” Harvey’s voice was low, pleading, trembling with want held barely in check. His hand stroking Gabe’s stomach was unbelievably tender.
Harvey kissed Gabe between the shoulder blades, then rubbed his face against the same spot and moaned softly. Harvey’s desire and longing swept through Gabe in an aching wave. His defenses crumbled, leaving him with that vulnerable feeling he feared so much. It was different, though, with Harvey wrapped around him—it was possessive and protective both. Gabe could hardly breathe from his heart thrumming in his throat. He couldn’t tell if it was more from fear or from his secret desire to surrender.
Gabe widened his stance and braced his hands on the wall, and let his head drop between his shoulders. Harvey pushing into him hurt, but even as the pain rippled through him, it mingled with sharp spikes of pleasure till he didn’t know where one ended and the other began. By the time Harvey’s cock was fully in him, Gabe was panting heavily, and he attempted to dig his fingers into the unyielding concrete wall.
Harvey pulled out and thrust in again slowly, but he held Gabe’s hips in a death grip.
“More,” Gabe demanded through clenched teeth, and Harvey obeyed, chanting Gabe’s name and nonsensical little words.
Their rhythm built from raw desire and deep longing. It was sweet agony singing in Gabe’s blood. He gave in to it, gave himself, let go, let Harvey take him.
When Harvey bit the back of Gabe’s neck, it wasn’t hard enough to break skin but enough to make the pain-pleasure surge through him. For an instant, he and Harvey were one—he’d never experienced anything like it before. Then, as if every muscle in his body contracted then released at once, he came, and his jizz splattered all over his hand, his shirt, and the wall. Harvey’s thrusts became erratic, and a couple of seconds later, he climaxed, calling out, “Angel!”
It took Gabe minutes to get back to a semblance of normalcy, even after Harvey’s cock slipped out of him. He made a halfhearted effort to pull his jeans back up. He managed, more or less, before sliding down along the wall, to sit on the grass. His legs were not up to the task of holding him vertical. Harvey followed him.
Gabe took deep breaths, and every lungful cleared his head a little. The sexual rush left in its wake languor and confusion. He was just like Dill now, wasn’t he? A mortifying thought.
“You okay?” Harvey asked.
“I’m good,” Gabe replied, although the word proved woefully inadequate to express the complexity of emotions whirling around in him. He wasn’t exactly weirded out, but in the neighborhood. “Tired,” he said.
“Me too.”
“Long night.”
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence.
“We should go. There’s still much to do,” Gabe said but didn’t move a muscle.
“Yes, we should,” Harvey agreed, as he remained leaning against Gabe.
They finally got a move on twenty or so minutes later.
No matter how tumultuous the night had been, Gabe had to report to Augustine before dawn. Stan had been right—Augustine wasn’t pleased. “Perhaps I haven’t been clear. When I request you bring someone in, I expect the person to be alive, more or less. I have no use for corpses.”
Gabe stood his ground. “I’m sorry, there was no alternative.” It had been Gabe’s decision to keep Harvey’s role out of his accounts, and he’d pressed everyone involved t
o do the same.
“Your propensity to eliminate useful sources is rather disadvantageous. There are more important matters at hand than one deranged man.”
It was news to Gabe. “There are?”
Augustine’s pale gaze felt like it was cutting him open to see what was inside. He adjusted his collar, hoping it covered the bruise Harvey had left. His ass was still sore, and a flash of memory made him flush.
“Sit,” Augustine said without taking his eyes off Gabe.
They settled in their usual chairs.
Augustine studied his perfectly manicured nails for a moment. “Those vampires you encountered in Europe—they are what happens when the transformation goes wrong and the person doesn’t die. Some call them ferals. They are mindless creatures, dangerous even to us. It’s a rule to put them down immediately. Fortunately, they are rare. When the process goes awry, the subject almost always dies.”
“The ones I saw were no accidents,” Gabe speculated.
“No, I don’t believe they were.”
“Somebody made them on purpose? Why?” None of this made any sense to Gabe.
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“And you think Joe had information?”
“I think he might have possessed knowledge your uncle didn’t share with you.”
“But he was a slayer, not a vampire. How could he be involved?”
“We won’t know that now, will we?” Augustine’s words snapped like a whip.
Gabe bowed his head in a show of acquiescence. “I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“See that you are.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. You will find out everything you can about the late Joe Vadas.”
“But with your connections—”
“Yes, yes. Of course, I will do what I can through my own channels, but you have an in. Maybe even an instinct for this work, despite your lack of impulse control.”
And with that, Gabe was dismissed.
By the time he got into bed at the crack of dawn, Gabe was bone-tired. All he wanted was sleep, but his thoughts kept spinning in his overheated brain. He stared at the ceiling as an army of silent minutes marched by.