Blurred Nights (1st in the Blurred Trilogy)

by Kallysten

  Marc snorted. “I hope that bed is comfortable, because we're here for as long as they'll let us stay. There's a breach in that town, and I'm closing it if it's the last thing I do. And if you've got a problem with that, or anything else for that matter...” He paused and waited until Blake had finally turned his eyes back toward him. He held his gaze, and willed him to believe that they were done playing games. “If you've got a problem,” he repeated, “just go ahead and leave. Nobody's stopping you."

  The words held the sour taste of an ultimatum, and Marc wished he could take them back as soon as he voiced them. He didn't, though, remaining quiet as he waited for Blake to respond. He flexed his hands at his sides, tightening his fists and opening them again a couple of times. For months, ever since he had come back, he had accepted Blake's antics, calling him to order only when his behavior had put someone in danger. He was done. He didn't want Blake to leave, but they couldn't go on like this.

  "You'd love that, I bet,” Blake said suddenly. He sat up on the bed. His teeth and fangs were bared in a grimace that could have passed for a sardonic smile. “Finally get rid of me so you can hunt yourself someone prettier, hey? Someone who won't give you as much lip as I do? That girl, maybe? What's her name ... Kate? I saw how you looked at her. Tired of having me in your bed, you'd rather—"

  "Sometimes,” he cut in, not listening to Blake's inane ramblings anymore, “I really have a hard time remembering why I sired you."

  He punctuated his words with an icy look and turned his back on Blake. The door made a satisfyingly loud noise when he banged it shut behind him. He leaned back against it. He wished he could have left the hurt and anger in that room with Blake. He wasn't surprised that Blake had noticed the few appreciative looks he had thrown at Kate; she was pretty, and she fought like a tigress. Blake himself had leered at her a little too overtly. They weren't anything more than looks, however—at least, they weren't on his part. Blake sometimes took lovers for a few hours or a few days, but Marc wasn't interested in that kind of thing. The only time it had happened ... He closed his eyes tight, pushing away the memory.

  Had Blake really meant it, or had it only been one more jab, one more reproachful though indirect reminder of Jen?

  Shaking his head, he pushed away from the door and wove his way through the clutter of the corridor. As tired as he felt, he didn't want to go back in there quite yet, not when they were both mad enough at each other to throw hurtful words as well as punches. He'd try to get his travel bag from the car, and see if he could find the washing area. Maybe that would allow him to calm down. He opened the last door and stepped out into the common space. At the very least, it'd give—

  "Oh. Hey.” Kate looked up from where she was setting up a camp bed not even four feet from the door. She had washed off the camouflage paint from her face, revealing delicate features. “Need something?"

  Taken aback, Marc looked around, trying to figure out what she was doing there. The building was deserted, as far as he could tell, except for her. The bed she was manhandling into shape looked even more uncomfortable than the ones in the small room. She had dropped a crossbow and several stakes on the floor. Marc frowned as he noticed them, finally understanding.

  "You're going to stand guard over us?” he asked, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. “Why don't you just lock us up if you're that scared?"

  "Because you're our guests,” she replied with a shrug. “It wouldn't be very polite to lock you up. And for the record, I'm not scared of vamps."

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  "Still,” she continued, inclining her head as though conceding a point, “some of our people are nervous around vampires. I'm here for your protection as much as theirs.” She paused, hesitating, then added with a rueful smile, “And while we're putting things out in the open, you should know that the walls are paper-thin in this building."

  He was still wondering what she meant by talking about protecting them—surely, she couldn't believe that he and Blake feared humans?—and didn't quite understand her remark about the walls until he noticed the red spots high on her cheeks. How much of his argument with Blake had been loud enough for her to hear? Had she caught the bit about her?

  "Huh, right.” He looked away, feeling more than a little foolish. He didn't usually care what others thought of him, but after seeing Kate on the battlefield and in her camp, he had the respect for her that only a fighter could have for another fighter. If he was going to stay with this group for a little while, he didn't want her to think badly of him, for any reason. “Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to tell Blake. He can be ... rambunctious, at times."

  She grinned. “I hadn't noticed. Not any more than I noticed you checking me out."

  Marc stifled a groan. This wasn't going at all the way he expected. He gestured toward the outside door, fumbling over words.

  "I'll just ... in the car ... travel bag."

  Clamping his mouth shut, he hurried away. He wasn't used to women being so straightforward. He had been born in an age when men led the chase, and proper women resisted their advances. He knew, rationally, that things were different now, and he had no trouble accepting the presence of women on the battlefield, but one of them flirting with him just confused him to no end. It didn't help that she followed him.

  "The sun is up,” she pointed out, catching up with him. “I didn't think I'd have to protect you from yourself as well."

  His confusion disappeared behind a roll of his eyes. “I'm not suicidal, if that's what you mean. The sun is low enough that the trees will give me cover."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Only one way to find out."

  He gripped the handle and flung the door open, ignoring her urgent, “Wait!” Had he been wrong, the early morning sun might have burned him—if the fog had lifted, that was. He had taken a good look at the surroundings of the camp when they had arrived, however, and there had been no doubt in his mind that he would be safe.

  Kate muttered something that he pretended not to hear. She followed him out in the wispy fog, shrugging when he looked at her. “Need help?"

  He shook his head as he opened the trunk. “Thanks, but I don't."

  He pulled out his duffel bag and started tugging down the trunk door before changing his mind. With an inward sigh, he took out Blake's bag too, along with his sword. Kate eyed the sword dubiously when he turned around, both bags hanging from his left shoulder and the weapon in his right hand. The ornate hilt felt unfamiliar against his palm, heavier than his own weapons of choice.

  "You know,” she said, sounding as though she was weighing each word, “I don't actually believe anyone would be foolish enough to try to hurt you. I'm camping out there pretty much just for show."

  He let out a dry chuckle. “Good to know. But that's not why I grabbed this. Blake is a pain when Seneca is out of his sight for too long."

  "Seneca?” she repeated, the grin obvious in her voice. “His sword has a name?"

  He opened the door for her, and she preceded him inside. “Not only does he have a name,” he said, glad that she shared his amusement, “he has his very own character, if you listen to Blake."

  She laughed lightly, the sound like silver bells. “I'll be sure to ask about that, then. I'm sure it has to be fascinating."

  "I don't know about fascinating, but Blake can be very..."

  His voice trailed off as he noticed the silhouette by the corridor's entrance, now looking toward them. Hands in his pant pockets, barefoot and head tilted to the side, Blake was a picture of relaxation. Marc glanced at Kate, wondering if the charade was fooling her.

  "I can be very what?” Blake asked mildly as they approached him.

  "Very strange,” Marc replied, handing him his things. “I thought you'd be asleep by now."

  "And I thought it might be nice to wash up before I do sleep.” He turned a slightly too wide smile to Kate. “Could you maybe show me to the facilities?"

  His tone was nothing if not
proper, but Marc could hear a very different offer behind those pleasant words. He frowned, a little alarmed. What was Blake up to now?

  Kate didn't seem to notice and merely nodded. “Sure. You won't have to go far. The men's washing room is down there.” She pointed at the second door down on the same side as their room. “There are towels in there. First five minutes of water are hot. After that, you've either got to go to a different stall or finish washing up in cold water."

  "What about if there's two people in the stall?” Blake asked, his grin turning almost lascivious. “Do you get ten minutes to scrub each other's backs?"

  It was an invitation if Marc had ever heard one, yet Kate didn't seem to take it as such. When she shook her head and laughed weakly, the same spots of color appeared on her cheeks as had been there earlier, and she looked quickly from Blake to Marc. She thought he was talking about showering with him, Marc realized, amused. Of course, she didn't know Blake anywhere near enough to read him as well as Marc did.

  "Pity,” Blake said, shrugging but never losing his smile. “Thanks for the directions, then. You don't mind if I leave my things here for now, do you?"

  He was about to put his bag and sword down next to her cot, and certainly planning to chat with her some more when he came out of the shower, probably half-naked and displaying his perfect chest. An angry rumble started in Marc's chest that he had some trouble silencing.

  "I'll take those to the room,” he offered, his voice making it clear he was on to Blake's game.

  Blake didn't seem phased. He handed Seneca and his travel bag back to Marc and sauntered to the washing room.

  At Marc's side, Kate yawned audibly. “Sorry. I'll get some sleep now. Unless you need anything else?"

  He assured her he was fine and went to drop the bags in the room. When he came back out, carrying two pairs of sweat pants and two t-shirts, she was curled on the cot beneath a thin blanket, her eyes closed, though he didn't think she was asleep yet. Just the same, he tiptoed by her and to the washroom. He quickly surveyed the room when he entered. A dozen shower stalls were lined up to the right of the door, with as many toilets stalls to the left. A line of washbasins and mirrors were back to back in the center of the room, dividing it, with a couple of benches against the back wall and piles of faded white towels on metal shelves above them.

  He left the clothes he had brought on a bench along with his own and grabbed a towel before entering the stall to the right of the Blake's. A thin bar of unscented soap and an almost empty bottle of shampoo rested on a ledge beneath the showerhead. The stall looked very clean, and even vaguely smelled of disinfectant. He turned on the water and couldn't suppress a satisfied little groan when the jet hit his shoulders, strong and very hot. He washed away the grime of travel and battle. Not even a minute had passed before the water stopped running in Blake's stall. Seconds later, Blake was sliding in next to him.

  "She wasn't kidding when she said five minutes,” he said for an explanation, and proceeded to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

  "Didn't she also say two people doesn't mean twice the time?"

  "Did she? My mistake."

  Marc sighed, a little louder than strictly necessary, and gently elbowed Blake to the side so that he could rinse the soap off before the water turned cold.

  "Hogger,” Blake protested.

  He pushed back, and somehow managed to press his ass against Marc's cock, which was just starting to take notice of the proximity of a naked Blake.

  "Not ten minutes ago you were inviting her to join you, and now this?” Marc snorted, though he didn't move back. “What am I, the consolation prize?"

  "You're the one who has a lot of make up fucking coming your way,” Blake answered, deadpan.

  Marc canted his hips toward Blake and trailed his hands over the smooth planes of his back. “Do I, now?"

  Blake threw him a quick glance before angling his head up toward the water again. “Guess so, since she didn't take me up on it."

  Snorting, Marc stepped out of the stall. “And you were accusing me of wanting her."

  He picked up a towel and started rubbing himself dry, ignoring his cock that now stood at half-mast. Whatever Blake said, nothing would be happening in the small bedroom, not with Kate practically outside their door. He had never cared for having an audience.

  A hissed curse in the stall was followed by the abrupt stop of the water. Blake came out, naked and dripping water all over the floor. He looked as annoyed as a doused cat. “Damn hot water restrictions."

  Marc threw him a towel. “For your information, she heard you earlier,” he said, keeping his voice low now that the cascading water didn't muffle it anymore. “So don't be too surprised if she thinks my bed is the only one you want to sleep in."

  Pausing in the middle of toweling his hair dry, Blake looked thoughtful for a moment, then took the piece of information in stride. “I'll just have to correct that misconception, then."

  "Blake,” Marc said warningly.

  "What? You think she wouldn't be interested?"

  The gleam in Blake's eyes announced nothing but trouble. Marc finished pulling on his sweatpants then his t-shirt and walked over to him, hoping he looked as irritated as he felt.

  "I think she's not a game for you to play,” he started, but Blake interrupted him.

  "Who said I was playing? She looks good, she fights well, she's not an airhead, and you said we're here for a while. But maybe you were planning to get there first?"

  The words were light and innocuous, concealing the steel blade beneath them. Marc had been waiting for just this kind of trick, though, and he didn't let it surprise him. Had he been in a better mood, he would have told Blake that he was an idiot and he was planning no such thing before taking him to bed. The wounds Blake had pressed on earlier were still stinging, however.

  "Maybe I was,” he said, his voice void of expression. “Maybe someone who doesn't feel the need to argue with me about every little thing will be nice, for a change."

  He started for the door and didn't slow down when he heard Blake laugh quietly.

  "May the best man win, then, Sire."

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  Chapter 5

  The way Blake saw things, the worst part of the situation was that all he needed to do was extend his arm and he could reach Marc, on the other side of the empty bed between them. He didn't care that the mattress he was lying on smelled vaguely of mildew, or that the sheets felt starchy. He didn't care, or at least not that much yet, that the room made him slightly claustrophobic or that there only was one way out. He didn't mind either the noises that filtered through the too-thin walls after a few hours; humans sounded like a pack of chatty geese when they ate in groups. No, it wasn't any of these things that kept him awake. Instead, it was the cold and stony presence of his Sire, not even four feet away.

  Marc had already been asleep when Blake had returned from the bathroom, or pretending to be asleep, his back turned to the door. Blake's first instinct had been to join him, wrap his slender frame around Marc's, never mind that the bed was so small. He had stomped on that idea as hard as he could. He hadn't done anything wrong. He had nothing to apologize for.

  After hours of tossing and turning, and a few close calls at falling off the edge of the mattress, he hadn't changed his mind. He was convinced he was not at fault. Maybe, however, he had been a little too harsh with Marc. Maybe his Sire was truly repentant, and, if so, Blake had been a little unfair toward him. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to forget the entire mess with that harpy, Jen. Marc had never really said why he had come back, but he had all but promised she wouldn't return. Blake liked to believe that meant she was no more than ashes, although he would have liked to have staked her himself.

  As soon as they got up, he decided, he would tell Marc he didn't really care about Kate. Or maybe he would just ignore her and let Marc figure it out; yes, that was best. Marc would understand. He knew Blake's temper got the better of him sometimes.
He would call him an idiot, probably, but they would be all right. He finally feel asleep on that thought, moving on to less complicated dreams in which he chased demons through a foggy labyrinth that might have once been a city.

  When he woke up, too few hours later, his first thought was to wonder when Marc had left the room, and why Blake hadn't awakened when he had. Tired, hungry and his mood souring already, he threw clothes on and stepped out of the bedroom. He stumbled on a pile of cooking pots as he made his way through the corridor, and cursed at the clanking sound they made when they scattered behind him. He left them as they were and moved on. As soon as he came out, he saw that Kate's cot had been pushed against the wall, the blanket folded neatly over it. He felt relieved at the sight; a small part of him had been sure he would find Marc sitting there with her and recounting his most dangerous feats in an effort to woo her. The relief was short-lived, however. When he looked up, the two of them were in the middle of the building's open space, fighting.

  "Nice try,” Marc said, on the edge of laughter. “Not quite good enough, though."

  He pushed back her sword with his, and she took a few staggering steps back. She didn't lose her balance, however, and after only a couple of seconds, she charged again. The circle of onlookers around them cheered her on, but her entire attention remained on Marc. She was smiling, Blake noticed when he approached. She was having fun.

  "You keep opening yourself on your right,” Marc pointed out as their swords clashed again with the dull sound of weighted plastic. “It's as good as an invitation for a demon. You were doing it last night, too."

  He twisted his sword around hers, forcing her to break away, and thrust toward that right side opening as though to demonstrate what he had just been talking about. Kate pivoted at the last moment, using her smaller size to escape the blow and move back.

  "Funny,” she said, slightly out of breath. “You keep finding gaping holes in my defenses, but neither you nor any demon has ever gotten through."