by Kallysten
As much as he hated to admit it, Marc knew him well. A few decades spent together had seen to that. What had Marc seen that he couldn't?
In the end, the beginning of their conversation gave him the key he needed to understand what Marc had said. He had thought at first that it had had nothing to do with the rest, but this was Marc. Of course his damn Pacts would have to be involved in some way.
When he heard Marc getting out of bed that morning, he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He understood; that didn't mean he knew what to make of it all—or even that he thought it was true. He let Marc go and, staring up into the darkness, tried to decide what to do.
Marc believed that, just because Blake felt something for Kate, his motivation for fighting had changed. He could believe what he wanted; Blake knew otherwise. Caring about her didn't make him care about anybody else. But why was Marc making such a big deal out of it? Why talk to him after two days of near complete silence to ask why he fought? Hadn't he accepted, long ago, that Blake wasn't like him and—
He sat up, frowning at the sudden thought.
What if something had changed, in that battle, not for Blake but for Marc? What if what he had been able to tolerate before had become unacceptable in the light of Kate's close miss with death? What if this was Marc's twisted way of giving Blake an ultimatum—change, or lose his Sire?
In the darkness, the walls started closing in on him. He got up and stumbled out of the room, glad beyond words that he had been too apathetic to undress before falling into bed. The corridor wasn't much better, but as soon as he threw open the second door, his chest stopped constricting over his heart and he remembered—he always remembered too late—that he didn't need to breathe.
A few pairs of eyes had turned his way at his hurried appearance. Holding on to his fragile calm, he ignored them and strode toward Marc. The soldiers resumed their sparring, and the muffled sounds of their weapons clashing rose through the room. Sitting astride a chair a few feet from such a pair, Marc was giving each of them advice and comments in turn. He continued even as Blake dragged a chair to sit next to him with his back to the fighters. He listened to him for a little while, remembering the lessons Marc had given him in his fledgling years. Blake had learned how to fight when he had been human, but he had only become good at it long after he had been sired. Without Marc's apparently infinite supply of patience, he might not have survived more than a couple of decades.
"Let's go to the City,” he said abruptly.
Marc threw him a distracted glance before looking back at the fighters. “What?"
"Just you and me. We go faster when it's just the two of us. We fight better, too. We can find that damn breach for them like we said we would. Keep them safe and all. Keep that Pact of yours."
That brought Marc's attention fully on him. Blake started fidgeting under the wide-eyed stare, and he was soon frowning at Marc, forgetting his goal of making him happy by whatever means he could find.
"What?” he snapped defensively. “Why are you grinning like that?"
Marc laughed, head thrown back, his laughter loud and earnest. It had been a long time since Blake had heard him laugh like this, but just the same, he crossed his arms.
"Because I've been waiting for this moment pretty much since I sired you,” Marc said when he had calmed down, though he was still grinning widely. “My Childe is all grown up. Give me a second, let me savor the moment."
He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. Blake scowled at him.
"Asshole. Stop making fun of me."
Even the insult didn't seem able to damp Marc's good mood. “I'm not. All right, maybe a bit. But I'm proud of you. Our clan always followed the Pacts, even when humans hunted vampires. Our bloodline held on to the traditions as a matter of pride. I'm glad you finally get it."
A niggling feeling of guilt settled over Blake's shoulders, weighing him down. It would have been nice to truly earn Marc's pride rather than to deceive him like this. He shook the feeling away. This was his chance to keep Marc. Not only that, but they could take better care of each other when no humans got in the way of their fighting. On top of it, he had the faint hope that they might find the breach and finally close it before Kate returned to the fight; she'd be safe a little longer if they did. All of it reinforced his resolution. Marc had told him countless times that he was a bad liar, but in this case, Marc wanted to believe him. It shouldn't be that hard to pull.
"We'll go tonight,” Marc said after a moment. “We can take a different road so we won't meet the squad. But before that, you need sleep."
Blake started at the idea of returning to the oppressive bedroom. “Sleep? I just got up!"
"And how much did you sleep last night? Or the nights before that?"
"It's not like I got tired while sitting around and doing nothing!"
Marc stood, implacable, and motioned him to follow. “Come on."
After remaining frozen for a few seconds, Blake managed to push himself off the chair and onto his feet. He could smell the fear on himself, and he forced himself to take deep, calm breaths. He couldn't let Marc know this was happening to him again. He knew Marc had watched him carefully the first few nights they had spent in that closet-like room. He had put up a good front for him. He couldn't let it go to waste, not now, not when Marc might leave at the smallest hint of a weakness.
He narrowed his eyelids to slits when he shuffled back into the corridor. Sometimes, it wasn't as bad if he forced himself not to look too closely. He took slow steps forward, imagining a wide-open, starry sky over his head. Marc was waiting for him just past the bedroom door, and without a word he took his hand and led him to his bed. It was small for two, and he ended up pulling Blake on top of him, a hand around his waist to hold him securely in place. The room didn't feel as stifling, suddenly, and neither did Marc's embrace—but then, it never did.
His fear fell dormant again even as he found sleep. In his dreams, he couldn't tell whose hand held him close, whose fingers raked through his hair. At times they were Marc's, and at times, Kate's. And sometimes, they both held on to him and promised never to let go.
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Chapter 17
The kiss started slowly, tenderly, two mouths getting to know each other. Kate had kissed Blake a couple of times already, but this felt ... different. No more stolen kisses hiding at the back of a truck or behind a crumbling wall. This time, they had all the time in the world. She closed her eyes and parted her lips. His tongue slipped inside her mouth. She made a small sound, low in her throat. His hand cupped her face, holding it gently as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
She wanted to feel his skin. Instantly, his clothes fell away, and she wrapped her arms tighter around him, pulling him close to her chest. The coolness did not surprise her; instead, she embraced it and tried to press more of her body to his, trying to soothe the inferno that raged in her. His hardening cock pressed into her upper thigh. She shivered. It had been so long...
A little out of breath, she broke the kiss and nuzzled his shoulder, placing small kisses against skin that warmed at the brief contact of her lips. He arched his neck for her, drawing her to it. She could feel two small scars against her lips. She stopped there and sucked on them gently, wondering if this was where Marc had bitten him when he had turned him. Blake made a little humming noise. Emboldened, she scraped her teeth against the scars and felt his cock jump against her. She did it again, grinning against his skin, with the same result.
"Mmm ... Do you have a biting fetish you didn't tell me about, Kate?"
The quiet, chuckling words made her frown, though she couldn't have said why. She pulled back to look at Marc. Her frown deepened. Marc? He smiled at her, sparks dancing in his eyes and brightening his entire face, and her confusion vanished.
"As long as I'm the one doing the biting,” she replied in a mock-severe tone.
He chuckled again. “No biting. Got it. How about sucking?"
; Before she could reply, he lowered her to the mattress behind her. He kissed her again, and his mouth seemed different, for some reason. It pressed a little stronger against hers; his lips were a little fuller. She wanted to discover him all over again, but after a few seconds, he pulled away, much too fast to her liking. She threaded her fingers through his hair, intending to draw him back to her mouth, but forgot what she meant to do at the first caress of his lips on her breast. She stilled against him and held her breath, waiting for...
She shivered. “Oh. That's..."
His tongue flicked against her hardened nipple, then ran lightly around it.
"That's?” he said, his lips moving against her nipple and sending another shiver through her.
"Nice.” She felt like purring as he drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked gently. “Very nice."
In response, he sucked a little harder. Her fingers tightened in his hair. She gasped, unsure whether to draw him closer or push him away. His hard cock rested against her leg, heavy and full. She wanted to touch it, touch him, make him feel half as good as he was making her feel, but his body was in the way.
As though reading her thoughts, Blake—she frowned briefly; hadn't Marc been here just a second ago?—shifted against her, turning his attention to her other nipple, sadly neglected until now, and giving her room to reach for his cock. He raised his head. Flames danced in his eyes.
"Touch me."
She knew what he wanted—the same thing she did—but she took her time, teasing the both of them just as he was teasing her nipple with small touches of his tongue. Her right hand let go of his hair to slide down the muscled expanse of his back. She raked her nails into his skin, wondering if it would be enough to mark him ... Marc?—for a little while. She kneaded his tight ass for an instant. She definitely would need to give it a proper look later. Finally, she slid over his hip and down to her goal. His cock twitched when she ran a single finger along it. Unable to resist any longer, she took it into her hand and squeezed lightly. Blake arched into her touch and took more of her breast into his mouth while caressing the other with his hand. She sighed in pleasure and closed her eyes. If he only had two mouths...
His hand retreated, giving way to full lips and a tongue that twisted around her right nipple while the lips around her left one tightened and the barest hint of teeth pressed into her flesh. Blake thrust lightly into her hand while Marc's cock pressed into her hip.
Kate's eyes snapped open, jostled out of her dream. She covered her face with her hands and groaned.
"Not again."
This was not good. Not good at all. She remained still for a little while, waiting for her heart to stop hammering in her chest and for her libido to cool down.
The Healers had warned her of this side effect of their work. It was, after all, why no Healing took place at the camp, even though Sasha could do a small bit of it. The patients were always left with what the Healers called ‘cravings’ for a few days afterwards. In other words, a female friend had explained to Kate, long before, you're horny as hell for a week.
Her friend had failed to mention erotic dreams. Where in hell were those coming from? And how long until they stopped? It had been five days already. With her system still recuperating from the healing and her days peppered with naps, she'd had more than her fill of dreams.
She sat up in her bed and shook her head. She knew where they were coming from: Blake. Blake and his little talk about how he didn't mind sharing. Until now, she had imagined—not that she had thought much about it, not at all—he meant he didn't mind if she was with Marc when she wasn't with him. After her dreams, she was beginning to wonder if he had meant—
She groaned again and got out of the bed. Not good. Whatever he had meant, she certainly was not thinking about it. A few steps took her to the small bathroom, standard in every hospital room on the Healers’ floor. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror above the sink and pulled off the hospital gown to step into the shower stall. She scowled at the ‘3’ inside the press-button for the water. Three minutes of hot shower. Two less than at the base. She hated coming to Claremont.
Angling the showerhead so as not to wet her hair, she turned on the water. She let the hot spray wash over her for a few seconds before picking up the soap and quickly washing off the antiseptic smell that still clung to her. Even these small, innocent touches had her nipples hardening again, and renewed the wetness between her thighs. She gritted her teeth and put down the soap, refusing to think of her dream. It had been the cravings talking, not her. She didn't want—
The water temperature dropped without warning, and she gasped. She'd never get used to it. Shivering, she forced herself to stay under the spray for a few more seconds. If that didn't calm down her libido, nothing would short of getting back to the camp and—
She rolled her eyes at herself and turned off the water. Icy cold water wasn't enough, it seemed. Goosebumps covered her entire body when she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a threadbare towel. From the cold, she told herself firmly. Nothing more. It wasn't as though she wanted to think about those two vampires anyway. Neither of them had seen it fit to come and see her in the infirmary, or even to come and say goodbye to her. When she had mentioned it to Daniel—she had still been out of it, pain medication making everything a little blurry or else she wouldn't have said anything—he had simply shrugged and replied they were busy. She snorted at the memory, a little disappointed, a little annoyed. She should have known better than to think they really cared about her.
Although ... Placing the towel on the sink, she looked down and traced the thin, white scar along her abdomen with a finger. It was all very foggy in her mind, but she didn't think she had imagined Blake's arms around her, holding her tight, carrying her to safety. She remembered the tone of his voice, though no distinct words remained in her mind. He had been scared, scared for her. She wouldn't have thought until she had heard him that he could be scared for anyone, not even himself. That had to mean he cared about her, that he really liked her. She looked up into the mirror and was surprised to see herself smiling, surprised how young she looked suddenly, and how her eyes seemed to gleam.
So that's what I look like when I'm in love.
The unexpected thought knocked the breath out of her. Her smile vanished in the mirror, replaced by a wide-eyed, almost scared look. It was one thing to be attracted to someone—to two someones. It was something else for her subconscious to have a field day with both of them. But to actually love...
She shook her head and pushed herself away from the sink. Naked, she hurried back to her bed and the pile of clothes next to it. She dressed quickly, focusing on what she was doing and nothing else: underwear, sports bra, socks, pants, t-shirt, combat shoes. Like every day since she had awakened in Claremont, she grimaced at the absence of her knives. She always felt naked when the sheaths weren't strapped to her arm and leg. They had to be at the camp—
She redirected that train of thought as quickly as she could. She'd have to do without the knives, that was all. It wasn't like she would need to fight while she was in Claremont anyway.
A nurse tried to stop her when she walked out of her room, claiming that she had to stay under observation until the next morning. She even tried to scare her, promising her the pain would return soon, when the drugs started to fade. Kate shrugged it all off. She'd been there for five days. She needed fresh air, and to clear her head. She'd never be able to do that if all she had to contemplate were the four bare walls of her hospital room.
Night had not fallen yet, and wouldn't for at least an hour more, but heavy clouds darkened the sky and already the streets of Claremont had cleared out. Hands in her pockets, Kate strolled through deserted alleys, letting her memories guide her while her mind wandered freely—or almost. She made sure she steered clear of one particular topic every time it brushed her mind. She had no time to be in love. People got distracted when they were in love. They made mistakes. That was how she had ende
d up in Claremont, wasn't it?
She grimaced when she realized her mind had brought her back to what she didn't want to think about. She needed something to distract her. Thankfully, she had arrived at the pub. She pushed open the heavy door and walked in. A few heads turned to look at her. Other soldiers from the squad were on leave, and they had found their way to the clandestine pub as she had. She nodded at them. Rather than joining then, however, she went to sit at the counter.
The owner looked up at her from behind the counter, his wrinkled face brightening into a smile. Spencer Lievitch had belonged to the squad, long before she had joined it herself, and treated those he still called his comrades extremely well.
"Long time no see,” he said, already placing a glass of his home-brewed beer in front of her.
She nodded, returning his smile. White froth covered the golden beer and already condensation fogged the glass. The prospect of drowning her confusion in a few glasses was enticing. If she still had drugs in her system, however, it might not be the best idea to get drunk.
"I should stick to water,” she said apologetically, as she pushed the glass away. “With a sandwich? And I don't suppose you have fries?"
His slight frown lasted no longer than a second. He didn't ask why she didn't want beer; he didn't need to.
"Officially, I don't,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, rationing and all that. But I've got this small patch of earth on the roof and I've been growing some vegetables..."
He winked and limped to the back of the counter to prepare her food. Kate watched him absently, her eyes stopping on his right leg. The fabric of his pants hung loose around it, and revealed, just above his shoe, the gleam of metal. If he had not lost his leg in battle, would he have continued fighting until he had died? She had always believed that was what would happen to her. As a child, she had wanted a nice house, a husband, and children. She liked kids. She had dreamed of being a teacher. Only when she had participated in basic training had her perspective on the world shifted. If she was to have kids, she wanted to know they would be safe. The only way for that to happen was to stop the demons. She had joined the squad, then. She couldn't imagine herself resigning now, not for anything, not until she knew all the breaches were closed, all the demons gone.
