“Well it does.” Now go away.
The reporter blinked but didn’t budge, and Kiyoshi had to bite back the snarl that threatened to erupt from within. Either this mortal’s will was unaccountably strong or Kiyoshi himself was even weaker than Liu and Kuro had accused him of being so long ago.
“I suppose it is getting a might late and it seems that you—er—gentlemen have plans. My editor wants me to do a serial feature on you and your little theater. How you decided to perform in America, just what the hell this kabookie is and all.”
“Kabuki. It’s kabuki,” Ryuhei muttered.
“Sorry.” Gavin smiled sheepishly. “I’ll get that word right someday.”
“May the Gods be so kind to me.” Ryuhei snapped his fan shut and turned to go back up the stairs to the theater. “Good night.”
Kiyoshi almost called after him, but pressed a hand to his mouth to keep the cry in. Maybe this news of the Chinese assassin would help Ryu-san to forget his earlier suspicions, or at least distract him for a while. It was better than trying to convince the emotional actor that Kiyoshi had no other lovers or secret engagements. Though the truth would easily explain away all doubts.
The vampire looked away from the theater. He could never share his secret with Ryuhei.
“He’s quite a character, your friend is,” Gavin said after a moment. “The man who was supposed to be helping me on this serial as a Japanese translator said there was some kind of scandal with one of the actors back in Japan. Is that true? Was it your friend? He seems the type to attract a ruckus.”
Kiyoshi gave the reporter a hard look. “The only scandal is that so many have failed to appreciate Nakamura-san’s talents. He is an incredible actor and it breaks my heart to see him have to play in rural theaters to meager audiences. I only hope that the American audience will come to the performances and give him the full respect he deserves. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With that Kiyoshi turned and hurried up the theater steps.
The young actor moved up the steps so fast, Carl Gavin barely had a chance to call out after him. “Thank you,” he shouted as the theater doors silently closed behind the boy.
“Oh hell, what was his name?” Gavin sighed. He pulled out a palm-sized bound notebook from inside his coat and tried to jot down as many notes as he could before forgetting any details. The older one was Nakamura—Gavin scribbled the name down as he sounded it out. His translator would probably still give him hell over the spelling, Gavin guessed.
“Ah, well.” He sighed again, tucking the notebook away. Spelling of Japanese words aside, this theater troupe seemed an interesting bunch. Especially the young man from just now.
The boy’s stares were peculiar, to say the least. Carl was almost sure he’d felt a little nudge on his shoulder each time the young actor glared at him. Who was that boy? He didn’t look much older than Gavin’s nephew, who was still in one of those fancy secondary schools in Massachusetts, but here he was performing in a bona fide theater troupe.
“Hmm. More questions for next time,” he told himself before heading down the street.
Chapter Five
Distracted by the annoying reporter, Kiyoshi was a bit too preoccupied to sense Ryuhei’s presence until the familiar deep voice reached out of the shadowy lobby to caress the back of his neck like a feathery kiss.
“Did you mean it, Kiyo-kun? What you said to that reporter about me?”
Kiyoshi stepped forward and took hold of Ryuhei’s hand. “Of course I did. I told you the first time we met that I found your talent amazing.” He stroked his mortal lover’s cheek with his fingertips, studying the nuances of the faint light coming from the door leading upstairs as the soft glow danced over those high cheekbones and sparkled in the teardrops forming at the corners of Ryuhei’s eyes. “You deserve so much more than this life has given you, Ryu-san,” he whispered before pulling Ryuhei to him for a lingering kiss.
Their lips slowly parted and Ryuhei murmured, “Still such a silly boy.” He pressed his cheek against Kiyoshi’s, slipping his arms around the other’s waist. “I don’t deserve anything near as wonderful as this.”
“Ryu-san.” Kiyoshi ran his fingers gently along the nape of the man’s neck. Sinking into the embrace, Ryuhei pressed closer and their shadows became one solid black form on the theater’s wooden floor. Soon their lips found each other’s once more, the warmth and sweetness of Ryuhei’s taste filling Kiyoshi.
A loud bang echoed through the empty lobby as the front door was flung open. Ryuhei gave a start and clutched Kiyoshi against his chest.
Three men stormed through the doorway, the one in front boldly holding a hatchet at the ready as though he meant to use it at any given moment. Kiyoshi’s sensitive nostrils picked up the dull, rusty scent of old blood on the sharp blade.
Though smaller than the two goons flanking his sides, this man carried himself with an aggressive posture, his body tense and ready to lash out. With his eyebrows scrunched close to his eyes and a scowl on his lips, his narrow face was set in an expression of contempt.
“Hey!” the man growled. He pointed to Kiyoshi and Ryuhei with the blade of the hatchet. “You two.”
Ryuhei’s heart pounded loud enough for Kiyoshi to hear. “You rude little bastard,” he shouted indignantly, masking his fear well. “Get out of this theater.”
“Don’t speak that Jap shit to me,” the man spat in accented English as he strode forward. He seized Ryuhei by the collar of his kimono and brandished the hatchet. “You’ll show me some respect and show it now,” he sneered before flinging Ryuhei backwards.
Kiyoshi caught him, too stunned to do more. That man—there was something oddly familiar about him. A scent. The scent he’d picked up earlier—the faint intoxicating scent of the one called the Poisoned Dragon.
“Gods!” Ryuhei made a strangled little sound in the back of his throat and pressed back against Kiyoshi. “This must be that Chinese assassin.”
“He’s not,” Kiyoshi whispered. But, oh, how the Dragon’s essence clung to this one… He opened his senses to the man and picked up the distinct scent of the Dragon. Wine, opium, perspiration, semen… The scent of sex. Kiyoshi’s mouth began to water.
Oblivious to Kiyoshi’s thoughts, Ryuhei retorted in English to the Chinese, “A hoodlum doesn’t deserve to kiss my ass, let alone get any respect from us.”
The two other thugs chuckled until their leader gave them a glare, his eyes bulging from their sockets. “Shut the fuck up, you idiots.”
Their chortles quickly changing into coughs, the men looked away and mumbled, “Sorry, Chao.”
“Chao. Ha! Your name should be Coward the way you’ve barged in here and harassed two performers of the arts.” That seemed to be the end of Ryuhei’s outburst. He shrank back a little into Kiyoshi as the Chinese man moved forward, hatchet poised to strike.
Though no one could ever get away with calling Ryu-san a warrior of any kind, Ryuhei couldn’t be called a coward either. Kiyoshi felt the actor tense in expectation of another shove or blow, but he made no move to run away.
“This is our part of town,” Chao roared. “And the Wongs say how things are run around here. I say it.”
“Then what do you want?” Kiyoshi demanded. “We have a contract to perform here for the next few weeks. It was signed by the head of your Six Companies.”
Chao smirked and Kiyoshi wanted very much to rip into the smug bastard’s throat and drain him dry.
“Those old men don’t know shit. This is Wong territory and I represent the Wongs. I want compensation for having to smell you Jap lapdogs every day when I walk by.”
Ryuhei gasped. “Why you insolent little—”
“How much,” Kiyoshi interrupted, taking a tighter hold on Ryuhei’s arm. “How much will it cost us to help you better tolerate our presence in your precious territory?”
Chao smirked again and handed the hatchet to one of his men before hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his western-style vest. “Well, it’
s good to see there’s at least one smart Jap in the world.”
“Bastards,” Ryuhei puffed. “Of course money would be enough to make lowlifes like you happy.”
Chao gave the actor a long, thoroughly dirty look. “If anyone here knows how far a few coins can go, it would be you shits.” He sneered. “The whole world knows kabuki actors are only whores with dicks.”
All three gangsters laughed, Chao the loudest of all. “So, were both of you getting ready to work the streets before we barged in, or just practicing?” he mocked.
Ryuhei started to tremble again, this time from anger. “Throw some money at the little prick and let’s see if he chokes on the coins,” he hissed in Kiyoshi’s ear.
A feral growl rumbled deep within Kiyoshi’s chest. “A better idea would be to break their worthless necks.” He was already moving forward, fangs distending within his mouth as every predatory instinct in his body caught fire.
Ryuhei grabbed at Kiyoshi’s shoulders. “You can’t fight these men, they’ll kill you. Stop.” The actor’s frightened plea cut through the haze of bloodlust consuming Kiyoshi’s reasoning.
Pausing, the vampire glanced down at the hands clutching the folds of his garments. Ryuhei’s hands—graceful and long-fingered. But mortal. With one flick of his wrist, he could break those brittle human bones trying to hold him back or shove away this man without any effort at all.
A chill ran through Kiyoshi and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. These weren’t his thoughts at all. He shook his head to dispel them and slowly noticed the sweet aftertaste of blood and power filling his mouth. This Chao person had brought with him the essence of the Poisoned Dragon, and in this tension-filled situation, Kiyoshi had almost let himself be intoxicated by it.
“Kiyoshi-kun?” Ryuhei whispered, and Kiyoshi glanced up to find his lover’s eyes full of worry and fear. “What’s wrong?”
The heat spread over Kiyoshi’s cheeks, his pulse pounding in his throat. He dropped his gaze quickly. “Here—” He reached into the sleeve of his haori and pulled out a drawstring pouch. Not bothering to count the gold coins inside, he tossed the pouch into the air. “Take it all.”
Chao captured the pouch with a wicked grin and jingled the coins inside. “Good.” He nodded. “That’s more like it.”
Giving his companions a smug look, Chao pocketed the money. “Let’s go,” he sneered. “These bitches have the rest of the night to work.”
Kiyoshi held back any kind of comment as the three gangsters stalked out of the theater, spitting on the floor and discarding their half-smoked cigarettes along the way, crushing them onto the clean, waxed floor. As soon as the last of the men slammed the door shut behind them, Ryuhei unlatched himself from Kiyoshi’s shoulders and collapsed onto the nearest, backless bench.
“T-t-those pricks,” he shouted in outrage. “They had no right. No right at all.” Ryuhei’s skin was blanched, the corners of his mouth drawn and his muscles tense. He abruptly stood as if he might go after those tong hoodlums, but then promptly flopped back onto the wooden bench.
“Thank the Gods they’re gone,” he spoke quietly as he wrung his trembling hands before him. “Did you see the look in their eyes? Pure murder. And you—” Ryuhei gasped at Kiyoshi. “Were you actually going to fight them?”
“I—” Kiyoshi started feebly, not even sure what he could or should say. But Ryuhei bolted up again, too nervous to stay seated for more than a few seconds, and headed straight to the backrooms of the playhouse.
“I need a drink,” Ryuhei whimpered. “Fuck that—I need several drinks…”
* * *
“They’ll probably be back, Kiyo-kun, then what will we do? You gave them your entire share of what we made from our last performance with that silly circus, didn’t you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle them.”
“But they’ll hurt you. They’re insane.” Ryuhei threw his arms up over his head, then started pacing the small bedroom he and Kiyoshi shared above the theater. He paused long enough to grab the bottle of sake he’d opened a short time earlier and began pacing anew, taking long swigs of the alcohol with every turn.
After the third pass he stopped dead and gestured to Kiyoshi with the bottle. “You really would have gone after that madman, wouldn’t you?”
Kiyoshi stared at the floor. “I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was so angry.”
“That’s not like you. Not at all.”
Kiyoshi glimpsed up through the hair falling across his eyes. He feared that Ryuhei knew what he was, despite the great care Kiyoshi had taken over the years they’d spent together. He sat cross-legged on the futon, his gaze drifting back down to his bent knees. “I couldn’t help it. That Chao reminded me too much of…someone. Someone who made my brother desert me.”
“A brother from a past you never tell me about.”
Kiyoshi refused to lift his head when a cold silence fell between them. He remained withdrawn until a familiar rustle of silk and the glimpse of Ryuhei dropping to his knees before the futon caught his attention.
“Don’t be foolishly heroic on my account, Kiyo-kun, please don’t,” Ryuhei pleaded, his soft tone begging forgiveness for his former harsh comment.
Kiyoshi finally looked up into the eyes that could be wide in awe like a child’s or narrowed like the fiercest shrew’s in a rage. “I won’t, Ryu. I promise.” He took his mortal lover’s hand and kissed each fingertip slowly, drawing one after the other into his mouth for a gentle suck, his blood heating with each sensuous sigh Ryuhei expelled in reply.
“I’ll keep you to that promise,” Ryuhei murmured, reaching up with his free hand to brush the loose strands of hair from Kiyoshi’s eyes. “For as long as I can.”
Kiyoshi trailed the tip of his tongue over the length of his lover’s small finger, letting his breath dry the faint moisture as he moved along. “Ryu-san.” He pouted, feeling his heart give a painful little spasm. “I won’t ever lea—” With the words leave you was how he would’ve liked to end his thought, though it might not necessarily be true. But Ryuhei’s hand glided across Kiyoshi’s chin, pressing two fingers against Kiyoshi’s lips to silence him.
“Shh, Kiyo-kun. That’s all I want for now.”
Leaning forward, Ryuhei moved his fingers away so their mouths could close over one another. They kissed slowly, Ryuhei tugging ever-so-gently yet demandingly on Kiyoshi’s lower lip. The taste of sake passed between them along with the heat of each other’s breath. Kiyoshi drank it all in, releasing his breath in a long puff as Ryu’s mouth pulled away.
Settling back on his knees, Ryuhei trailed his lips along the collar of Kiyoshi’s kimono. He used one hand to work open the part in the silk garment while making a path on the exposed, pale skin with more kisses. Hot and moist, his tongue flicked over the nipple on the right breast, and Kiyoshi curled forward to press his cheek against the top of Ryuhei’s head.
As he moved his mouth and tongue in drawing motions that seemed to suck the very breath from Kiyoshi’s shuddering body, Ryu-san undid the ties wrapped around Kiyoshi’s waist. Pulling the kimono open, he slipped his hand inside. His touch mimicked the same rhythmic motions of his tongue on the hardening length he discovered below the smooth, tensing abdomen.
Kiyoshi moaned and tugged Ryuhei with him as he lay back on the futon. His blood was racing, his vampire senses taking in the passion emanating from the man atop him—feeding off them—his own desire building quickly.
“Take me, Ryu. Love me.”
With a smile, Ryuhei sat up and selected one of the jars resting on the lacquered tray beside the bed. He unfastened the ties around his waist and let the kimono fall past his shoulders. With a tug, his fundoshi came undone and he took some of the salve from the jar to coat his cock.
They tumbled on the futon, their limbs and bodies intertwining as both men surrendered to their desires. Ryuhei entered Kiyoshi, filling him with all the wetness and heat of mortal love. And Kiyoshi rode him, moanin
g softly until they collapsed together, exhausted, and sleep claimed them.
* * *
A breeze drifted in from the window overlooking the futon and touched the bare skin on Ryuhei’s chest with its cool breath. The man stirred, groping for the warm sheets bundled around his waist and sighing happily as he slipped back under them. He turned onto his other side and reached out to pull Kiyo-kun close, wanting his lover’s warmth as well.
His hand found nothing but a cold, empty space beside him.
Ryuhei propped himself up on one elbow and frowned as he glanced around the empty room. The solitary little candle by the vanity burned feebly in the wind coming in from the open window. The pitcher of water next to the candle was still full.
“Kiyoshi.” Ryuhei sank back down on the futon. He stared up at the ceiling until his vision blurred and the tears streaked down from the edges of his eyes.
“So much for promises…”
Chapter Six
Carl turned up the collar on his coat against the night’s chill as he reached the end of the street. He glanced over his shoulder. The theater was long gone from view as he reached the bottom of the hilly road and shivered in the dense fog surrounding him. In fact, Chinatown itself had all but disappeared in the murky mixture of shadows and fog.
“Where the hell am I?” Carl tilted his cap back and scratched the top of his head. The hum of the ocean and the ringing echo of bells being struck on barges were a lot louder now, the same way the smell of salt and fish was a lot stronger.
Carl groaned. “How the hell did I end up near Fish Alley?” And in a seemingly deserted part of the wharf-side district, no less.
No candles or lamps burned in any window that he could make out. No people could be heard anywhere up or down the street. Just a few hours after getting his first writing assignment for the Register, it was already well on the way of becoming an official blunder. There was no chance in a million he was going to impress the paper’s editor with this kind of lackluster reporting and prove he could handle a serious story like the one about the Chinese tong wars. He’d offended the kabuki actors, misspelled half his notes, and was now lost somewhere near the edge of the city. Perfect.
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