by BA Tortuga
Nothing was working right. His legs didn’t want to hold him, and that hunger was back again—smaller now, gnawing in the base of his spine.
“Come on and sit with me. I got something for you.” Yeah. Yeah, Clay would take care of him. The man always did. They were good together. So good.
“Okay. I can sit.” He thought. Maybe.
Hell, maybe not. He was having a seriously stupid day.
“I got you.” Clay half dragged, half carried him to the bed, then helped him slump down on it. “Better?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I am.” He reached out, fingers trailing over Clay’s bicep. “What do you have for me?”
“A little more sustenance.” Clay looked worried again, that face all screwed up in a frown. “You sit. I’ll make you a protein drink, okay?”
“A…. Clay? What’s up? What happened?” Something was fucked. Something was deeply cracked. Like deeper than a hunch cracked.
“I’ll explain it all.” Cupping his cheek in one hand, Clay stared right into his eyes. “I promise. But you need some food, first. It will help your legs work.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I have this hunger like I haven’t eaten in a hundred years. Almost hurts worse than the cuts.” Those eyes just looked like home.
“Uh. Yeah. We’ll talk about that too….” The man had legs to his fucking neck. They were pretty legs. They worked too. Clay got a big cup and a bag of something that looked like Bloody Mary mix but smelled better.
His stomach clenched, trying to fight its way out of his body, and he started moving across the bed, dragging himself.
“Hold on, honey. I’m coming.” It looked like Clay put a little hot sauce in, maybe some pepper. Then he could smell it, smell the amazing… whatever it was, and Clay was right there, holding the cup to his mouth.
He groaned, drinking deep. Better. Oh, better. His eyes closed, that deep ache fading again. Yes. Yes, good.
“See? Much better, yeah?” Sitting, Clay wrapped an arm around him, leaning close, letting him just use that strength.
“Yeah. Yeah, ’s good.” His eyes started blinking, nice and slow. “Man, I….”
Tired. He was tired.
“That’s it, honey. Sleep some. Real sleep this time, not that whole unconscious thing. I’ll fill you in when you wake up.”
A light kiss fell on his forehead; Clay eased him down on the pillows.
“I… I don’t really sleep….” But he did.
Deep.
Chapter Eighteen
LORD, LORD, Lord.
He’d been in some deep goddamn shit with the boss. He surely had. But going and burning down a big old house after getting shot up, hit, shot at, and rescuing a Frankensteiny, kinda crazy, fucked-up, former cop baby vampire?
Pretty goddamn weird.
Not as weird as the last cochon de lait him and Granny had back home, because Lord, Lord, you get them Thibbideaux boys to drinkin’ and the world got a little starry, but still.
Yeah.
Weird ju-ju.
Remy opened the door a crack, peeking. Just to make sure the boss’s ass wasn’t toasted.
He about shit himself when the door opened all the way and Clay came out, then closed up behind him. “Your room, babe.”
“Boo okay?” As okay as could be, anyway. Remy hadn’t never seen nothing like that—wild eyes, fangs like a snake, Boo tearing into his own skin. Weren’t nothing that could be okay after that.
“Yeah. I mean, he will be.” Oh, the boss didn’t sound so sure, did he? But the big guy put a hand on his back, steering him away, so he must have figured it was okay to leave Boo alone.
“Yeah? I know you like him something fierce, cher. I do.” He looked Clay over; the boss looked plumb wore. “You need some of me?”
They got into his room, the door closing behind them, and Clay wrapped around him, just holding on. “I promised not to bite anyone else, babe.”
“You’re gonna get fucking hungry.” There was something cracked ’tween them two boys. Still, friends was friends, and he got to loving on Clay, trying to work that tension out.
“Mmmm. Oh, you’re too good to me, Rem. You really are.” Nuzzling in, Clay licked at his throat, a low moan sounding.
“You’re my family, cher. My friend.” He tilted his head some, figuring that instinct would take right on over. It wasn’t nothing but loving and living right now. Having a snack.
Sure enough, Clay just turned and sank his teeth through the thin skin of Remy’s throat. Oh. Oh God, he hadn’t felt that in too long. An ache, a heat, and then just a wash of pure pleasure—like nothing on Earth. He stroked Clay’s thick, soft hair, fingers shaking as the suction started, Clay pulling at him, balls-deep.
It didn’t last long, even as hungry as the boss was, he never took more than a few sips… but it was long enough to make Remy hard as a rock. Make him shake.
“Better?” He couldn’t help but whimper like a girl-child at a horror matinee.
“Much better, babe.” He got a smile, those dark eyes looking much more… well, not human. The boss wasn’t that anymore, was he?
Eh, whatever. Clay was still family, and that was enough. “Good. Wha’s next, boss? What do we do?”
“I have to make sure Vance is healed. He was… he was very weak, babe.” Yeah. Weak in the mind, that was for sure. “Then we go after that bastard Colonel.”
“Why?” That was a bad fucking idea. Whoever this olonel man was, he had more money, more guns, more men, and could go outside in the sun. “We could jus’ take Boo and head south.”
“We could, but I get the feeling this bastard takes things very personally. He’ll keep coming.” They rocked a little, Clay’s skin warming right up under his hands like it always did when he drank.
“Well, he cain’t have Boo no more. Boo’s one of ours now, yeah?” Except for that whole crazy bitey gonna-eat-his-ass-for-lunch thing, which, really, hadn’t stopped Mama from marrying Daddy, had it…?
“He is, babe. That he is. You gotta be more careful, though, ’til I give you the all clear. He might not be right enough not to, uh….” Clay chuckled, kissed his mouth hard. “You know.”
“Yeah. No sucking the chauffeur dry.” He grinned, kissed Clay’s cheek. “You want I should look around, cher? See what I can see?”
“Would you, babe? I mean, if you’re tired, get some sleep. But if you have the inclination, we could use a little extra knowledge of the lay of the land.”
“No problem, boss. I can go look. You know me. I’m a go-baby.” ’Sides, he got shit done, he did.
He took care of shit.
“You’re a stud.” He got another kiss, Clay pushing him right down on the bed and fucking his mouth with that amazing tongue. The man had talent.
He wrapped close, rubbing against all that muscle hard enough to feel good. Real good.
“Want some help with that, Rem? I know what feeding does to you.” Oh. Good boss. Clay reached down, cupping him through his jeans, giving him something good and hard to press against.
“Good to me.” The man was too fucking pretty for color TV. Remy humped away, a little high from the feeding, a lot hard, and maybe just a touch strung out.
“Come on, babe. Let me….” Clay got into his pants, the button and zipper undone so fast it made him gasp. Then that hand was around him, stroking like crazy.
“Thank… thanks, boss. I…. Yeah.” Remy’s head tossed, and he blinked as he thought he saw someone in the window, then Clay hit that spot with a thumbnail and pop went the weasel. Thank God and Greyhound.
“That’s it, babe. That’s it. God, you smell good.” He got a kiss, sweet and good, a real thank you. The boss knew all about family. That was why he stayed.
He cuddled in a second, nuzzling and taking a minute, just them. Just to rest. Pretty soon, Boo would be calling, and the boss would go, but right now they’d rest a second.
Chapter Nineteen
REMY LEFT to do his go see, and Clay watched him for a long moment, th
e back of his neck prickling. Damn it, he hated that Remy had to do all the dirty work, but morning always came faster than he wanted it to, and he didn’t need to get caught out.
He keyed the lock to his own room and slipped back in, checking the curtains to make sure they were good and shut. Then he went to check on Vance. Pale as milk, except where the burns were healing, and restless, Vance was muttering, muscles jerking as the newly born feeder dreamed. He’d never met one that had been so close to turning before death. Not that it fucking mattered now.
Rubbing a little at his own burns, Clay stripped off and headed over to crawl under the covers to hold Vance tight. That would settle him right down. Vance hummed and cuddled in, hands slipping over Clay’s back, petting him like he’d been the restless one.
It was fucking weird. He’d never felt like this with the guy who’d turned him…. Of course, that had been kind of a “fight so I don’t get fucked” sort of situation. Vance, though, Vance was worried about him, was dreaming about him now instead of being hurt. Clay could see it, see himself through Vance’s eyes.
He really needed to stop getting Remy to cut his hair.
“I’m right here, honey. Right here.” He just murmured it over and over, petting Vance right back, loving on him gently.
“Mmm. You got me. I thought….” They’d shot Vance in the front door, after Vance refused to give him and Rem up. Stubborn man.
Clay rewarded that with a kiss, turning Vance’s lips to his and licking at them. Sweet, hot, and just following his mouth everywhere, Vance was a wet dream.
“Oh.” Vance’s eyes popped open, glowing for him. “Oh, I can. I can feel you.”
“Hmmm?” He was kissing here. No talking, damn it. Kissing. Kissing. Vance groaned and pushed closer, dragging them closer together, one leg wrapping around him and holding on tight. Hot damn. Yeah. Clay much preferred the kissing to the serious talking they needed to do. He just humped, teeth stinging Vance’s bottom lip.
Vance stilled, shivering, caught in that whole bite-or-be-bitten thing.
“Shhh. We can do both, baby. I promise.” Yeah, he could give a little now, thanks to his snack.
“I…. Damn. That was….” Vance held his hands out, looking confused as fuck, then pushed back into the kiss.
Poor baby. He’d have to explain a lot, but Vance just needed to heal, needed to settle into his bones first. Clay could help with that, and he stroked down Vance’s belly, right down to that amazing cock.
It curled right on up, hard and warm, slapping into his palm.
“Pretty, honey.” He broke the kiss long enough to look down, just to make sure everything was okay down there, not burnt. That bit was whole, solid, thank God. Last thing Vance needed was a stripedy, blistered pecker. He didn’t need Vance to have that either. He needed that to be good and strong, because he had plans for it. In fact…. Clay hummed, sliding down the rough hotel sheets to take Vance’s prick right into his mouth.
Vance grunted out something that sounded a whole lot like “yours,” and, yeah, yeah, Vance was, but it didn’t matter right then because Vance was pushing into his lips, fingers in his hair.
Clay closed his eyes, sucking hard, his lips working up and down the shaft. He steadied Vance with his hands, holding him tight, wanting to feel every tremor, every move. Vance throbbed and swelled on his tongue, that flesh hard as nails, thick and heavy with their need. Humming, Clay worked harder. Hell, if a vampire couldn’t suck, he needed a new line of fucking work.
Vance blinked, a surprised laugh ringing out, balls drawing up tight, nudging his chin. Hoo yeah. Mind-meld in action. Or something. Clay laughed too, then licked right up the underside of Vance’s cock before pushing down to the root. Just demanding Vance’s come.
Vance’s roar echoed, the man giving it up for him, bucking and rolling, spunk on his tongue tasting of blood. Clay licked up every bit, the tiny tang of copper making him hunt more. God. Just…. Vance. His.
Yeah. Yeah, yours. He heard it, clear as a bell, Vance still too caught up in the pleasure to get what was going on. Clay went verbal with it, hoping to keep Vance from getting het up. “I got you. Told you so, huh? It’s all good, baby.”
“Yeah. Thank you. Thank you for coming for me.” Vance was fading again, the morning encroaching, insisting that they hide, sleep.
Poor Vance. He’d probably slept less in the last five years than he had the last day. That young, it was impossible not to sleep when the sun came up…. “You’re welcome, honey. Rest now. I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Yeah? ’Cause I can….” The words faded away, Vance going still and quiet, body working on healing itself, making the change.
Clay shook his head. He’d have to feed Vance more of his own blood if the man was going to heal enough to go after the fucking Colonel. He could wait, though, see what Remy came up with.
Waiting wasn’t his strong suit, but for Vance? The sky was the limit.
As long as it was dark.
Chapter Twenty
FUCK HIM raw, his feet was sore as boils.
Remy had walked and looked and listened and shit and found out exactly dick about who ran shit ’round here. Every town had a boss and, if Boo’s soldier man was the boss, well, then, the cat was away and them mousies would play, yeah?
’Cept nobody was playing.
Or talking.
Or doing nothing like he’d thought.
Maybe the soldier-man worked another town.
Maybe he’d driven too far south. Lord knew he’d been hyped and scared and Boo’d been making that grinding noise in the truck.
Nasty.
Still, maybe he could tell Clay that things were quiet, and they could just go home where there was good music and decent folks and enough gators to keep all them stray dogs from following an honest fella.
He put his hand in his pocket where his little knife was, speaking of strays and being followed. “I ain’t got nothin’. Jus’ lemme ’lone, now. You don’t wan’ trouble.”
“I don’t? Are you sure?” That voice was like the boss kinda. Well, not, because it was smooth as honey, not gravelly, but still. It had that same reverb in his head, making him pant all of a sudden.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m real sure.” He didn’t turn around; Lord, no. Remy just walked, eyes ahead, fingers on his knife.
Boss, you’d best be up and willing to help your kin out.
“How do you know what I want, sweet? It might be something more than trouble.” Oh, now, that wasn’t fair. The man moved a hell of a lot faster than he could, one hand falling on his shoulder.
Remy ducked and spun, wishing people didn’t take such notice of a guy with a José Canseco. ’Nother reason to miss home. “Now, now. You be nice.”
“I intend to.” He got a general impression of tall, lanky, and lots of teeth. Fuck a duck.
“Lookie here. I ain’t scairt of y’all.” Nope. Not scared. Not.
Not, notty, not, not, not.
Fuck him.
“I don’t want you to be scared, sweet.” The guy had an uncanny speed, no doubt, suddenly right in his space. Right. There.
Sweet? No way. “What you want, then?”
He did his best to puff up, look bigger. It worked on gators. Hell, he’d seen it sorta work on the boss.
Once.
For about a minute before Clay started laughing.
“I can smell you, sweet. Spicy. Hot. Needing more than the one you serve can give you….” Was that supposed to be charming? Shee-it. Them blue eyes was just staring at him from behind a shock of long, long black hair.
“I don’t serve no one. I work for a living.”
“Work doing what? Acting like a guppy to a shark?” Hands! Hands in bad places. Okay, good places, but not with this guy. Except it felt real good, and Remy didn’t want to admit it.
He pulled the knife out, hands shaking a little—not out of scared, goddamn it, but healthy rage. “I had me a couple three bad, bad days, man. Don’ to push no more. I
’m real tired.”
“Now, sweet. Stabbing me with that toothpick will only make me angry.”
Oh. Asshole.
“Clay’s gonna eat your ass, man. Back off.” Why the hell did the tall ones always pick on him?
“Clay.” That artfully shaggy head tilted. “Is that his name? Why are you with him? He has picked his companion and it is not you. Why do you keep helping him?”
“Where’re you from?” Just ’cause Boo and the boss was… close, didn’t mean he didn’t have a place, damn it.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, sweet. You should be more concerned with where I want to be.”
“Huh?” Man. Man, he needed to get somewhere with a load of folks ’til he could call the boss.
The guy just… followed him, every move he made, side to side, back and forth. It was fucking uncanny. Finally he just faked a stab and turned and started running for all he was worth, heading for a grocery store parking lot with all them lights and folks and shit.
He expected to get his ass caught, as fast as the dude could move. But when he reached the shopping center and looked back, there was no one behind him. It was like the big guy was a figment of his imagination.
Lord, Lord. He grabbed his phone and headed into the store. Time to call the boss and find out what the living fuck—wait, was it a living fuck with them or not? Whatever. Didn’t matter. He still needed to know what was what.
Sweet.
Him.
Right.
Chapter Twenty-One
CLAY PACED. He was starting to worry about Remy. The Cajun hadn’t come back, not to his own room, not to theirs. Jesus fuck, he hoped Remy hadn’t gotten caught by the damned Colonel or something. The thought of someone hurting Rem made his hands clench, his fangs dropping.
Vance was sleeping, tossing and turning a little, but calming every time Clay touched him. God, it had been a long time since he’d been turned. He never dreamed anymore. Still, the burns had healed, and Vance shouldn’t be as ravenous now.
