“So you’re what? A ghost?” he manages shakily. “No, shit, I should know better than anyone how solid you are. You . . . my blood on the sheets, that night at your farm . . . you didn’t use an awl, did you?”
“If I may?” I cock my head quizzically.
He nods uncertainly. I swore I wouldn’t touch him, but the temptation is too great. I stride over, sit beside him, and gently take one clenched fist into my hands. The heat of his skin is a shock in this wintry garden, and I can feel him suppress a flinch as my cold flesh touches his. I kiss a knuckle, brush my bearded chin over the back of his hand. I unclasp his tense fingers, bend down, and gently press the sharp tip of one extended fang against the ball of his thumb.
“My God,” he whispers. Instead of recoiling, he runs his index finger over one fang and then the other. I can’t resist licking his finger, sucking on it a second before pulling away.
“My beard is white because I haven’t fed for a good while. I am, after all, three hundred years old. Blood keeps me young.”
Matt’s looking at me with wonder now. I can smell the cheap wine on his breath. “Goddamn, what is this? Some kind of hillbilly Dark Shadows? So, the sunlight . . . and bats? Coffins, and . . .”
“Yes, much of the folklore’s true. I can run through your questions later, if you’d like. If there’s to be a later. That’s the only question I have.”
Matt rests his elbows on his knees, cups his forehead in his hands, and mutters, “Are you wantin’ to change me, Derek? You know, into . . . Can you do that?”
“I can,” I admit. “But I never have. Not in all these years. I would never do such a thing without your consent. And I’m afraid this . . . chemistry between us might be cancelled. What we feel when we touch, it’s the play between darkness and light, the tension between winter and summer, the sparks that leap between polarities. If you became what I am, we might lose that. I don’t want to lose that.”
“What do you want from me then?” He wraps his arms around himself and shivers. The wind is rising. Somewhere I can hear pellets of old snow skittering across a crust of ice.
“What do I want from you? You’re beautiful, Matt.” Reaching up, I steal a quick stroke of his thick hair. “I want to touch you. Passionately and often. I had a lover when I was human. His name was Angus. He was my brother-in-arms, my companion. What I had with him I want with you. Not marriage, not monogamy. That’s like trying to store lava in Tupperware. And if I fed on you solely, you wouldn’t last long. Neither would I, if I had to live with the knowledge that I’d killed you.”
Now I’m risking a hand on his knee. “Yes, I’m a monster. But when I touch you, I’m also human. I want you in my bed, warm and hairy and naked and willing. I want to have another night like the one we shared in Mount Storm. If there’s a next time,” I promise shamefacedly, “my thirst won’t get the better of me. Warrior’s honor. I want a night like that, and then another, and another. For as long as our mutual appetite lasts.”
Matt’s utterly silent for about five seconds before he groans, “Oh hell,” turns, takes my head in his hands and kisses me hard, just as the first fat flakes of snow start falling over the Kanawha Valley. By the time my stunned heart has started a faint undead beat again and we’ve managed to wrap our arms around big shoulders and bulky coats, his teeth are beginning to chatter.
“Damn, I’m freezing,” Matt laughs, pulling free, jumping up and shaking his ass. “These leather jackets are sure hot to look at, but they’re damned cold to wear this time of year.”
Rising, I recover from my shocked flood of relief fast enough to be gallant. “We’ll warm one another. Come in here,” I whisper, shrugging off my duster before wrapping it and then my arms around him. He leans his head against mine, and the gratitude almost chokes me. His trust in me—unearned, undeserved—is a kind of Grace.
“I’m terrified,” Matt admits quietly, his breath hot against my face.
I nod, incapable of speech for a long moment, before muttering, “Tomorrow’s the winter solstice, Matt. We’re having a party up at Mount Storm. Bob’s hot buttered rum really takes off that mountain chill. And with this weather, we might be fortunate enough to be snowed in. Want to come up?”
Another thoughtful silence before he replies, “Yeah, I think so. Maybe I’ll help Bob chop wood while you sleep. As long as I get Top for a change.” He grins, tugging on the stainless-steel hoop in my icy left ear. “Chainin’ you up would, uh, well, I’d feel safer. And I got lots more questions you got to answer.”
The brief steam of his breath spirals off down the wind. I think of the cross amidst the standing stones, and, grinning, I open my mouth to catch snow like defeated stars on my tongue.
I nod. “It’s a deal. Whatever helps you learn to trust me. Want to go in now?” The windows of the inn are orange with inviting lamplight.
“Not yet, Derek. This coat of yours helps. And I like to watch the snow. Have since I was a kid down in Summers County.”
Flakes are coming faster now, slanting across the river. The Kanawha Falls roar on, a sound bound to outlive us both, human and vampire. I hold Matt tighter, brush my beard against his cheek, against the miracle of his heat. Together we watch as dead grass at our feet grows pale, as cold white crystals are cast from the sky and swallowed by the dark waters of the river.
Masters of Midnight: Erotic Tales of the Vampire Page 40
