Crimson Ties

by V L Moon

  A week into sharing space, Vischeral had located a paranormal security firm to install a system in Copi’s home. Two nights after it was installed, Copi’s house had been trashed. The decoy vampire nearly killed. The system had been compromised, and the security technicians still didn’t know how. However, when Vischeral visited the scene, the wolf’s scent coated everything.

  He refused to put Copi at risk so the forced arrangement stood. Copi’s defiance and eagerness to return to his own space dimmed, albeit fractionally, after the break in. It took an order from the Chief to keep the male in his house. The tension between them mounted every day, and it scraped horribly against his nerves. Thankfully, it didn’t affect their jobs.

  Another shift rustled upstairs. Copi called his name. The sleepy voice penetrated straight to Vischeral’s already aching cock. He wanted the male in his bed so badly his dick was on perpetual hard. His fangs ached with the need to be buried deep in the pulsing vein at Copi’s throat. His name sounded again.

  Unable to resist the temptation, Vischeral reached out to Copi's mind, needing to be one with the male at some level. He eased into his partner’s sleeping psyche and was not prepared for the imagery unfolding there. His cock bucked against his abs as he watched Copi’s dream.

  They were back in the alley in New York, the waitress a distant memory. Copi stood, legs spread wide apart, leaning against the side of the building. His unzipped jeans gaped open to expose his straining erection. Amber eyes locked on Vischeral who stood in the shadows across from him.

  “Come get me, mother fucker,” Copi snarled, wrapping his fist around his own shaft. Vischeral groaned and stepped from the shadows. Black leather pants clung to his heavy thighs. The black tee shirt molded his chest outlining every ridge of hard muscle. His midnight hair blew gently in the wind and the black leather trench coat billowed around his massive frame.

  Stunned, Vischeral studied the image Copi held of him. Despite the mind wipe, Copi's subconscious clung like a leech to its memory of Vischeral; even going as far as including the two inch long canines and the glowing eyes. The dream continued.

  Vischeral closed the distance between them and grabbed the human male by the neck and snatched him away from the wall. Their mouths crashed together in blinding need. Vischeral's hand took control of Copi's thick cock. He stroked the male hard and fast. Copi's hands got busy unbuckling Vischeral's belt and undoing his leather pants.

  Vischeral arced off the bed and palmed his own cock when the dream version of his partner gripped his cock. The male set a steady rhythm; root to tip and back down again. Alone in his underground bunker, Vischeral felt every stroke, dreamed and real. Knowing it was dangerous, he tossed caution to the wind and immersed himself in Copi’s subconscious. The dream became their shared reality.

  Sensation overwhelmed him. He reveled in the feel of Copi's firm hard body against him, and his partner's fingers wrapped tightly around his cock.

  “I want to taste you,” he breathed against the warm flesh of Copi's throat and smiled against his skin when the male titled his head back exposing his vein. “Not there, not yet,” he murmured before sinking to his knees on the pavement.

  With one hand, he tilted Copi's cock toward his waiting mouth. The other rose to cup Copi's balls, rolling their heavy weight in his palm. In one motion, he leaned forward and swallowed Copi deep into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to accommodate the male's size. His lips glided back and forth He swirled his tongue around Copi's dick paying special attention to the mushroom shaped head.

  Copi's hands fisted in his wind-blown hair urging him to a faster pace. But, he resisted. Slow and steady, he worked Copi's sex, adding the scrape of his fangs to the arduous attention of his tongue. His hands left Copi’s cock and balls to slid around his hips and grasp his firm ass. He kneaded the taunt flesh.

  Seconds before release raced along Copi's cock, Vischeral popped him free of his mouth and surged to his full height. Spinning Copi around, he pressed his partner face first against the brick wall. Copi moaned and pushed his ass back seeking Vischeral. Not wanting to deny the human, Vischeral palmed his length and rubbed the head of his dick along the cleft of Copi's beautiful ass. Copi clenched his cheeks, squeezing Vischeral's sex. A moan escaped, but he wasn’t clear if it was Copi or him.

  Wrapping himself around Copi, he ground his hips into the male while grasping his partner's cock with one hand. His strokes matched the rhythm of his hips thrusting against his partner’s ass. Vischeral longed to part Copi's thighs and bury himself balls deep in his partner's welcoming body, but even in the dream state he held back.

  Instead, with his free hand, he tilted the male's chin upward exposing the strong column of his throat. “Now, I'll taste you here,” he growled. He struck fast and sure; his fangs burying themselves in Copi's flesh. The dream was so vivid and Vischeral's need so strong that the first satisfying draw of blood threw Vischeral over the edge into ecstasy.

  With a strangled moan of release, Vischeral snatched free from the dream to find himself and the bed sheets covered in his own semen. His body trembled from the powerful response to the dream. Above him, Copi's moans of release were quickly followed by his curses. Shame washed through Vischeral.

  Would Copi's dream have ended the same way of its own accord, or had Vischeral inflicted his selfish pleasure on his partner? Even more frustrated than before, he flew from the bed and within seconds changed the wet sheets. The soiled ones were piled in the corner. No way was he risking a trip to the laundry room and bypassing Copi's room.

  Back on the bed, he willed the lamp off and stretched out on his back. Although he expected to lie awake, exhaustion, and the powerful release caught up with him and dragged him deep into the Sole Dormire.

  ~*~*~*~

  Sweat soaked sheets tangled around Copi’s limbs. He tried to regain his composure after the fiercely erotic dream. The heady, musky scent of his arousal mingled with his body heat, filling the air around him with a shameful reminder of his weakness. Vischeral. A weakness he couldn't afford to have. Balling the sheets in his meaty fists, Copi trembled through the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through his veins. Shivers danced down his spine in prickling waves of spent desire.

  He couldn't move; hell he could hardly fucking breathe. The dream remained so vivid. His mind had pieced together his subconscious and conscious thoughts, weaving a solution he could not—or would not acknowledge. Especially after being shipped out of one precinct and dumped not so royally on his ass in the middle of fuck-off nowhere.

  But, they were there. The surreal images; the formation of facts that stirred Copi's mind, as well as, his heart. The eyes from the alley haunted his dreams. They had a face; one he recognized, and for some unknown reason, feared. It wasn’t the sort of fear that materialized when you knew your ass was on the line. No, the fear Vischeral provoked was from both knowledge and the unknown; a carnal knowledge that Vischeral held the power to rip Copi's soul apart, but the where and when of the evisceration remained blanketed in shadows.

  Struggling free of the sheets, Copi yanked them from the bed and tossed them in the hamper. Naked, he paced around the room. Pent up aggression and a serious case of the ‘fuck yous’ rolled off of his powerfully built body until his brain ached for calm. Bracing his hands on the window ledge, Copi hung his head as his thoughts tumbled.

  Copi grimaced, unable to deny even to himself the deep seated feelings Vischeral stirred within him. The very same desires Copi had fought against most his life, Vischeral dragged out of him and laid bare, openly on display like a festering sore.

  Frustrated and riled, Copi slammed his fist against the small ledge and cursed when the wound on his hand re-opened. Copi watched, his heart thudding hard against his chest, as the small river of crimson dripped down over his wrist to trail down his forearm. Blood. Automatically, his mind flashed back to the precise point in the dream when Vischeral pinned him against the wall and slowly sank his fangs into his neck.

&nb
sp; Overwhelming sensations flooded Copi's senses. His cock reacted to the erotic imagery. It stood up ram rod straight against his abdomen and pulsed with need. He cursed aloud.

  “You bastard! Stop screwing with my head and stay the fuck out of my thoughts,” he blasted. Guilt slammed into him. Why was he blaming his partner for his own dream? Because it felt like he was there. But how?

  Furious beyond reason, Copi stomped to the en suite bathroom and quickly washed away the sticky semen. He padded back into the bedroom and threw open the nearest closet. Vischeral’s vanilla and wood smoke scent hit him like a ton of bricks. He snatched a pair of jeans and a sweater at random and shoved his arms and legs into them. The clothes swallowed him, but he didn’t care. He needed to escape his cage, his prison.

  Dressed, Copi slipped quietly through the house, collecting his coat, wallet and the keys to the department’s SUV along the way. He avoided the other bedrooms. No way had he wanted Bourne shadowing him. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. Before he popped the lock on the heavy wooden door leading outside, Copi scanned the silent room. Nothing moved, only the hum of power and the deeply enticing aroma of Vischeral Bourne. Copi inhaled deeply before gently clicking the door shut.

  ~*~*~*~

  A nagging alarm brought Vischeral out of deep sleep. He immediately reached out for Copi. The powerful bond forged with his partner throbbed with the knowledge that the house above him was empty. Copi was gone. Rolling off of the bed, Vischeral hurried to the closet and dressed in his usual black tee, black jeans and motorcycle boots. He glanced at the clock out of habit. At least two hours until civil twilight ended.

  “Fuck!” The curse exploded into the room, powered by his desperation. He sprang across the open space and snatched up his cell phone. A missed call popped up on the screen. He checked the number and frowned. The station. After hitting the icon for voice mail, he tagged the speaker button and let the message play. His face hardened.

  Another victim and the dump site wasn’t far from Vischeral’s home. It was a ‘look what I can do’ aimed directly at Vischeral. Fear, an emotion he hadn’t experienced in centuries grabbed him by the throat. Copi was out there. The serial killer was out there. And, he was trapped by the sunlight.

  Hastily, he dialed Copi's number. When the phone went straight to voice mail, a growl rumbled through his lips. He dialed again and again. Voice mail. Curses in Italian and English peppered the air as his fear escalated. Giving up on reaching his partner by phone, he prepared himself for the night.

  An ankle harness circled both boots; one knife, one gun fully loaded. Another blade slid into the holster under his left arm, and his department issued Glock fit into the holster at the small of his back. He strapped yet another holster around his right thigh. It held a three inch long silver dagger. A switchblade fell into each outside pocket of the trench coat and extra ammunition for all three guns filled the inside pockets. The weight of the coat settled comfortably on his shoulders. He didn’t need any of the weapons, but if Copi were with him, the human male would have access to a small arsenal if Vischeral went down.

  Pacing the room that now felt like a cage, he counted the minutes until sundown. The unbroken link with Copi kept him sane, but the waiting ramped up the adrenaline pumping into his system. Minutes before he ported out, his hunger clambered to the surface. Impatiently, he warmed and drained two bags of stored blood. A grimace stole across his face. He needed fresh; the bagged blood was nearly out of date.

  ~*~*~*~

  Walking into the Tap Root Café, it felt like years since he’d been there instead of weeks. Vischeral flat refused to go near the place. Copi ass planted on the stool at the end of the bar. He kept his back to the wall and eyed the barkeep. Roan approached with a smile, his long muscled legs closing the gap in seconds. Copi's gaze roamed upward, raking over the rest of Roan's body. Bruises, cuts and scrapes scattered over his bare arms. Copi frowned. The wounds looked defensive in nature.

  Roan's physique was pretty damned impressive and Copi might have been attracted if he hadn't been so damn aggressive with his attention, and if Vischeral wasn’t looming in the foreground of his mind. Impressive or not, Roan in no way compared to the enigmatic power of Bourne. Roan’s eyes gleamed as he caught Copi's gaze with a look of unadulterated lust. He leaned toward Copi with an inviting smile and filled a tumbler from a bottle of Jack. “You look like you need this, handsome.”

  “Yup and make it a double, maybe a triple,” Copi said.

  “How about I leave you the bottle?” he asked.

  “Sounds like a plan, thanks.” Raising the glass, Copi downed the hard liquor in one shot. His body shivered from the outside in, and not from the bite off the alcohol. His eyes dropped to the counter. Roan's fingers swirled over his arm. Heat crawled over his flesh and his stomach churned. Roan leaned in close; too close. Copi stilled. A wave of unease prickled up his spine.

  Roan made no effort to hide his actions. He rubbed his fingers and hand all along Copi’s arm and shoulder, even brushing the top of his pec. He seemed to revel in his outward display of affection and took no notice of the open stares from the customers dotted around the bar. Copi's eyes widened in shock when the man bent at the waist and rubbed the side of his face over the surface of his arm. Roan inhaled deeply like an animal marking its mate.

  The smooth feel of his skin felt strangely warm against Copi's arm. The awareness rocketed straight to his balls and a surge of spine tingling energy shot to the tip of Copi's hardening cock. WHAT. THE. FUCK? The question boomeranged in his mind, but Copi couldn’t pull away.

  Roan growled low, actually fucking growled, and looked deep into Copi's eyes. He grasped Copi's injured hand in the palm of his own. Copi was startled to find he was bleeding again. Something shifted in the man’s eyes. With great effort, Copi fisted his hand and drew it back. It shook slightly as he refilled his own glass.

  “You've had your fun, Roan. You’ve got other customers, just leave the bottle where it is,” he said. “And, this is the last time I’m warning you to keep your hands to yourself. If I want to be touched, I’ll let you know.” He hated the slight tremor in his voice.

  Roan's eye's narrowed. A look of hunger and need, not unlike the way he probably looked at Vischeral, played over the other man’s face. Once again, his fingers traced over the wound in Copi's hand. When he placed his fingers to his lips tasting the fresh tide of blood seeping from the cut, confusion and embarrassment flooded through Copi. Roan laughed and sucked at his fingers.

  “Mmm, you taste good, Officer Dane,” he teased. The temperature in the bar plummeted. The chatter died and a tangible stillness settled over the room. Roan blanched and tried to run, but stepped straight into the path of a very pissed off Vischeral Bourne.

  ~*~*~*~

  The nanosecond the twilight faded, Vischeral flung himself from his home to Copi's location. The damn Tap Root again. Every time they ventured out Copi wanted to stop. Vischeral refused, earning glares and curses from his partner, but he had his reasons. He didn’t want to spook Marrett.

  Since the confrontation with the killer, Vischeral had returned as much as possible to tail the barkeep. Many cold hours were spent in surveillance. Cameras, tracking devices, no detail was spared and still, the wolf managed to protect the identity and the location of his Alpha. The Chief was getting antsy about the expense incurred from Vischeral’s hunch. Leave it to Copi to bring things to a head.

  The door swung open under his touch. He stalked inside. The knots in his chest and stomach eased. Copi sat at the bar; drink in hand and a frown on his handsome face. Safe. Copi was safe. The weight of the universe seemed to lift from his shoulders; until he spied the wolf with his hands on Copi. A resonating growl vibrated out of his chest.

  Faster than the humans could track, Vischeral crossed the room and snatched Roan bodily over the counter. “Game over for you fuck face,” he snarled into the wolf's face. The smell of Copi’s blood on Marrett’s breath enraged him.
Without breaking eye contact with the killer's apprentice, Vischeral snapped at Copi. “Handcuff him. I'll call the station.”

  Copi, who had spun around on his stool, slowly stood. “What the fuck's wrong with you, Bourne. The man hasn't done anything. Let him go.” Copi's tone was hard, angry. Vischeral didn't loosen his grip, but his eyes swung to meet Copi's defiant amber glare.

  “Do you trust me, partner?” Vischeral asked; his tone nasty. While they stared at each other, the wolf got antsy and swung at Vischeral's ribs. Lightening reflexes blocked the blow. Vischeral shook the wolf like a rag doll before cuffing him hard on the head.

  “Behave whelp, or would you like me to pound your ass again?” Vischeral snarled before returning his frozen glare to Copi. He arched one eyebrow in question when Copi still didn't move.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Do you trust me?” Vischeral’s words hung conspicuously between them. Amber eyes drilled into onyx. Copi wanted to answer with a vehement ‘fuck no,’ but standing there in front of his partner, he couldn't say it and be truthful. Vischeral knew his job, made a great detective even if his methods were a tad extreme. He stood there exuding whatever ungodly power he possessed and waited impatiently for Copi to say or do something. The silence stretched like a rubber band. Copi knew, for whatever insane reason, he trusted Vischeral; probably not enough to let him loose in his head again, but as a cop—yup, he trusted him.

  A frustrated, pissed off sigh erupted. Vischeral was not used to explaining himself. “This wo…man was in the woods with the wolf that attacked you. He ran while I fought the beast. If you were answering your fucking phone, you’d know another victim has been murdered and this weasel pops up bearing scratches and bruises. Happy now, partner?”