by Jana Downs
“Tired of Alex already?” Allasandro asked in confusion.
“Nah,” Dageus said with a grin. “We’re looking for a playmate for my father.”
* * * *
Holy Shit. He consciously ogled the prime male flesh as it came through the door. If beautiful was a stock option, this theater had bought every share available to create a surplus. The dancers were stretching on stage before they split off into their individual practice groups. The members of the symphony were queuing up their instruments in their section and the singers were humming warm-ups in the wings. All of them were drop-dead gorgeous. The worst part was that most of these people weren’t even in the Entertainer line itself but of other lines or human potentials who were auditioning for a spot in the exclusive group. Male and female alike looked bred for this place, which only made Ally feel more out of place, if that was possible.
He was a warrior, but the only grace he possessed was when he danced with a weapon. He couldn’t dance, despite being an attention whore. And he tended to swagger when he walked instead of gliding. Forget beautiful, he didn’t have that ethereal quality. Upon first glance, he was handsome enough, firm jaw, average lips, not too big of a nose, and subtle ears. He knew that the only reason he got all the tail he did was because he had an inexplicable charm about him. He just “got” people, and they responded to him on a visceral level that even he didn’t understand. These people were like beautiful, unapproachable statues.
He was supposed to be scoping out possible candidates for Damian per Kal’s instruction. His buddy may be Dageus with the Ravyns, but in this place he was Kal. His whole demeanor shifted when he hit the doors of La Petite Morte, which was a weird name for the place if anyone asked Allasandro.
Focus. He was supposed to be getting a list together so Dageus could implement operation get-Damian-a-boyfriend. He thought some physical passion would manifest Damian some Entertainer passion, which also sounded hokey to Allasandro, but it wasn’t really his business. Yet…he couldn’t seem to get Damian out of his head. Over the past forty-eight hours, he’d been thinking about Dageus’s father almost constantly. Which was insane considering he didn’t even really like the guy…did he? He sighed heavily and pushed his back harder against the plush theater seat.
He’d had to stop himself from asking Kal to hook him up with Damian. The only thing that had stopped him was an odd insecurity that he’d never experienced before. “I see you have quite the clumsy friend, Kalel.” Those were the first words Damian had ever spoken about him. They’d made him feel self-conscious then, doubly so now. Gods knew the man probably wanted nothing to do with him. Hell, he didn’t even know Ally existed as anything other than him being Kal’s “clumsy friend.”
“Why the long face, Ravyn?” A clipped British accent interrupted his dismal thoughts.
Ally’s eyes widened. Damn. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. “Uh…nothing,” he said quickly, a light blush forming in his cheeks. Damian plopped down in the chair beside him, a large leather notebook in his lap.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” the vampire giant observed, opening up the monstrosity in his lap and flipping to the next clean page of—good gods, is that a spreadsheet? Yuck.
“Don’t you enjoy the performances?” Damian asked, bringing Ally’s mind away from the papers. “You’re lucky Santiago and Alex let you in here. These sessions are typically closed to outsiders.” The term “outsider” stung for some reason. Perhaps it was his previous comparison to the group of theater people where he found himself lacking that made him wince at the word.
“Ravyns stick together,” he stated, crossing his well-muscled arms over an equally well-muscled chest. This made Damian’s dark eyes twinkle with amusement.
“No need to get defensive. I don’t mind you being here. Personally, I appreciate the company. With everyone else divided up, it gets a bit lonely sitting in the seats and doing paperwork. I could do it in the office, but then I’d miss the music and the view.” He started scribbling in the margins of one spreadsheet as he spoke. “You’re Kal’s friend, Allasandro, correct? The one that came with him to the airport?” Again Ally nodded. “I apologize for my abrupt manner. I was quite anxious to converse with my son. I didn’t expect him to bring company.”
He really liked the way the guy talked. It was formal, and the accent was sexy as hell. Allasandro opened his mouth to tell him not to worry about it, but a curt voice interrupted his reply.
“There you are!” Santiago’s ever-calm voice was laced with a dose of calculated frustration. The ancient vampire and Alex and Damian’s grandsire never expressed anything without thinking about it first. He was the most inhuman out of them all, his “otherness” so sharp that it created a crack in time when he traveled via teleportation. “I’ve been looking everywhere,” he added.
Damian’s deep-blue eyes narrowed. “I sit in this seat every time I come to the theater, Grandsire. You obviously weren’t looking very hard.” He looked annoyed at the interruption. Could it be that he had actually wanted to talk with Allasandro? No. He probably just didn’t want to be bothered with any official business.
Santiago let a slow grin spread across his face. “I wasn’t. I needed to speak to you about the fundraiser for the Children First charity that is to take place at the end of the month.” Allasandro watched as Damian seemed to relax, leaning against the back of his seat.
“What about it?”
“Victor has strained his voice, and we need a replacement.”
Damian immediately flipped to another section of his massive binder and started thumbing through the papers with inhuman speed, his eyes scanning quickly. “Okay. I’ll call the printers and have them make corrections to the advertisements and invitations. Who do you have in mind for a replacement?” Allasandro tried not to squirm. Damn. The man looked hot when he got down to business. Santiago’s reptilian grin widened.
“You, of course.”
Damian’s pen froze. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Damian. Your voice is superior to any vocalist in the company, and we don’t have time for additional auditions.”
“Second best is all right with me.”
“Not in the Entertainer line, it’s not,” Santiago snapped.
“I haven’t sung in months,” Damian protested.
“You’ve been singing for five hundred years. With a little practice you’ll be in top performing shape once again. Besides, what sort of excuse is that? Kal hadn’t danced in six years, and yet he is one of the best after only a few months’ practice.”
“I don’t want to sing,” Damian stated flatly. His lips turned down in a sharp frown. He looked just like the unhappy mob boss in Ally’s fantasy.
“You are an Entertainer.” Santiago’s voice had taken on a dangerous cadence. “You will do as you are meant to do and be as you are meant to be. This family needs you to fulfill your duty and the original reason for your induction into this family to begin with.” Damian winced. “You can no longer hide from it if you want to remain an active part of it.”
“That’s unfair to say, Grandsire,” he mumbled. “You said yourself that there is no love in my voice anymore. I’m not the best any longer.”
Santiago snorted and waved a hand in dismissal. “You are the best, Damian. You just need something to focus on to reignite the passion you seem to reserve for your…spreadsheets.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. It looked like Ally wasn’t the only one who thought they were gross. “You need someone to give your energy to. Someone good-looking. Hmmm…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “You need a partner.”
It was Damian’s turn to snort. “And who do you propose to be that partner? Everyone else in the theater has a job. Someone else’s performance would suffer if you catered to mine.”
“Not necessarily,” Santiago said slyly. “There is one person who comes to the theater who has no job as of yet.”
“Who?” Damian wondered. Allasandro’s stomach did a flip-flop.
He knew who. Santiago’s elegant pointer finger landed on him. Allasandro’s heart fell down to his flip-flopping stomach. Oh shit.
Chapter Five
“Oh. My. God,” Kal exclaimed as Santiago made his announcement from the middle of the stage. Damian looked livid. Ally-cat was now Damian’s personal muse and music partner until the end of the month, and though the arrangement wasn’t exactly the love match Kal had envisioned, it was still useable. Spending all that time with Damian, Ally would have to pick up some inside knowledge of what sort of man Damian preferred. Kal beamed. He liked playing matchmaker.
“What is that look for, ma petite?” Familiar arms wrapped around his waist from behind and an equally familiar voice whispered huskily in his ear. His soon-to-be husband Alex’s touch was as familiar to him as his own.
“Damian has to sing to Ally-cat for the next month in preparation for the charity performance,” Kal whispered back excitedly. He leaned into his lover, knowing those bright blue eyes were twinkling with mirth.
“But your Ally-cat, he is a ladies’ man, no?” Alex asked, nuzzling Kal’s neck. Kal shivered.
“Well, yeah, but he can be my little spy. I can get him to tell me exactly what Damian wants in a guy, and that way I can pick out the perfect man.”
Alex chuckled. “You haven’t been back six months, and you are already trying to make people as happy as you are with me. Oh, ma petite, you amuse me.”
* * * *
Allasandro shifted uncomfortably. Damn. This seemed like a big deal to everyone. He flicked his gaze at Damian who looked ready to use to his considerable bulk to rip everyone apart. Allasandro shivered. That look was…hot. He shook his head to clear it. No, no, no. I like girls. I really like girls. I swear I do. What the hell am I looking at him for?
“I’m sorry about this. You can always tell him to bugger off.” Damian was suddenly beside him, causing him to jump. His deep-blue eyes were filled with fire. Allasandro swallowed.
“I don’t mind,” he said softly. Damian nodded.
“So long as you’re sure.”
“All right, everyone please proceed to your individual groups for practice. We’ve only got a month, and some of you are not up to par. We’ll have individual practice for the next hour and a half and then meet back here to bring it all together.” Santiago’s voice interrupted their exchange. He pinned them with a glare. He didn’t appreciate them talking while he was talking. He was the head of the line after all. “Damian and Allasandro, you two use Studio B4. I’ll join you shortly after warm-ups. Start with Puccini and that piece by Bocelli that I put in your binder.” He turned his back to them once again and started giving individual instruction to the rest of the groups. It was amazing how well Santiago ran the studio. Alex may be Master of the City and the playwright, but it was clear who ran the technical section of La Petite Morte’s empire.
“Come on,” Damian commanded, grabbing Allasandro’s hand and dragging him off the stage.
Christ. What have I gotten myself into?
The studio was not what Allasandro had been expecting. He’d expected the polished wood floors that looked like honey, mirrored walls, and echoing voices like what they had in the dancers’ studio. What he got was soft gray carpeted floors and lighter gray walls that had odd-looking rectangle-shaped sound absorbers at regular intervals.
“Sit,” Damian instructed, pointing his long index finger at a comfortable-looking yellow chair which was the only spot of color in the whole room.
“Are we going to talk in more than clipped sentences? Because, for real, you are gettin’ on my last nerves with this ordering crap. Tony doesn’t even bark as much as you do,” Ally grumbled, annoyed. Damian sighed.
“I’m being a bit domineering, aren’t I?” He closed his eyes and seemed to count backward from ten. “I apologize. I just hate when Santiago accuses me of being a poor member of this family. I work very hard to keep the company financially stable, and just because I don’t feel like belting out Don Giovanni like a fledgling doesn’t mean I’ve lost the passion for opera. I just prefer to watch now.”
“Why don’t you tell him that?” Allasandro asked. His curiosity was piqued. Damian snorted.
“He wouldn’t understand. None of them would. That’s why my son fits so well with the family. They think they must express themselves with singing, dancing, and any other form of entertainment you can think of. It’s what we are. What we were bred and born to do. I’m tired of singing for myself. And no one in this whole company understands that.” He met Allasandro’s golden eyes and gave a long sigh. He had pain and no small amount of tiredness in his gaze. “Santiago said when I was first made that the thing that separated Entertainers from the rest of the world was that they are their art. We do not entertain because we want to but because we have to. They don’t understand because they can’t stop.”
“And you can stop?” Allasandro asked, enchanted. He wasn’t usually so deep, but the depth of emotion behind Damian’s soft words pulled at him.
“No,” Damian said unexpectedly. “I am an Entertainer. I cannot stop desiring that. Nor can I stop the music inside me.”
“Then what is the problem? Why can’t you sing?” Ally wondered.
“Because singing for myself is not enough for me anymore.” Damian was suddenly very close. Close enough that Ally could smell the unique, clean scent of his body. He froze, his body reacting to Damian’s presence. “I appreciate you trying to help. It’s useless, but thank you.” Ally had to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around Damian’s thick neck and dragging his mouth down to kiss.
“Why is it useless?” Ally murmured breathlessly. He knew he was staring at Damian’s lips, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Because I don’t love you,” Damian said, turning away as the door opened to admit Santiago.
Ice water couldn’t have produced a more chilling reaction. Allasandro quickly made his way over to the chair and plopped down on its forgiving surface. He rubbed his chest tenderly. Why had that softly spoken sentence hurt so damn much?
“You haven’t even started your warm-ups yet? Shame on you, mio figlio,” Santiago chastised. He crossed to the discreetly placed studio equipment on the far wall. “Now, let us begin.”
Chapter Six
Damian sighed as the last vestiges of night began to flee from the rising sun. He shut the heavy drapes of his bedroom firmly and began to strip. He was methodical in his undressing. Everything in its place and a place for everything. His cufflinks went in his bedside crystal bowl, his tie went on the tie rack on his closet door, and his suit went back into the dry-cleaning bag that his assistant would pick up midmorning to take to get cleaned. The routine was a ritual that gave him comfort.
Naked, he padded over to his enormous canopied bed and slid beneath the cool white Egyptian cotton sheets. His brother preferred silk, but Damian found it to be too hot for his tastes. He lay there as he felt the familiar lethargy fill him as the sun rose, thinking about the night he’d had. It had been unique. Santiago had been the slave driver as always, but the eyes of the man who had watched him had neutralized his annoyance over the fact.
His son’s friend was not what he’d expected. He’d been warned about the arrogant pup. Warned that he was young and daring and reckless. He hadn’t expected Allasandro’s thoughtfulness or the lust he’d seen shimmering in his eyes as they’d spoken of things that Damian had found frankly uncomfortable emotionally. He’d been told that Allasandro had a love for women. All women. Any woman. Any time. Yet when he’d stared into his eyes, he saw a yearning for something that he shouldn’t have desired at all. It puzzled Damian. And nothing puzzled Damian anymore.
Allasandro was a beautiful boy. And just Damian’s type, too. He wasn’t tall and willowy like the dancers in the troupe. He was…firm. God he was firm. The muscles flexed underneath his tight clothes which showcased every muscle he had. His eyes were intense, and Damian found it all too easy to imagine them darkened with p
assion. His fangs began to elongate at the thought.
Once upon a time Damian would’ve definitely tried to seduce him. The reluctant lust in Allasandro’s eyes made Damian want to be the renowned bad boy he’d been before he’d taken up the mantle of father and family responsibility. He’d been quite the…what was the modern word for it? Player. Yes, he’d been a player. He’d seduced legions of men, and he hadn’t exactly been discriminating about it.
His hands found his cock underneath the sheets and began to work his uncut length expertly. Having had six hundred years of life, Damian had made masturbating an art form. The image that flickered in his mind was pretty Allasandro as he’d sat on the chair watching Damian warble through Che Gelida Manina. His golden eyes sparkled as he watched Damian begin to strip off his clothing. Yes. This was what stripping was meant to be.
“What a frozen little hand, let me warm it for you,” he sang in Italian as he worked his length.
His fantasy Allasandro grasped the firm flesh of his cock and began to pump, his eyes never leaving Damian’s. He unconsciously licked his lips as if hungering for a taste of the plum head.
Damian moaned. His hand working faster. Damn. He hadn’t been this aroused in a century or more. His son’s friend was going to become his favorite new fantasy toy. He grinned, and his fangs cut into his bottom lip. “You want this, warrior?” he growled tauntingly. He was completely caught up in his fantasy. “You want my hot cock?”
“Please, give it to me, sir. Please.” Allasandro’s voice was pitched low. “I won’t disobey you again. I promise.”
“I don’t reward bad behavior, little slut,” Damian gasped. He’d ordered the warrior to fight for him. To honor him by winning tournaments in his name. He’d failed. Lost to another warrior. He needed to be punished.
“Let me pleasure you, sir. Please. I’ll be so good you’ll forget that I was ever bad,” Allasandro pleaded.
