The Necromancer's Dance (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer Book 1)

by SJ Himes

  “Leannán,” Simeon purred, and Angel grinned. Simeon stopped on the edge of the bed, eyeing Angel, lust and need and a depth of emotion that made his heart race. “Love, soulmate, beloved.”

  “And what does a Leannán do, exactly?” Angel toed off his socks, hands going to his waistband as he stripped himself quickly, clothes ending up back on the floor twice in less than twelve hours. They had nowhere to be for the rest of the day—most of the bloodclan slept during the day, despite the treated windows, and the first thing Angel wanted was to see Bridgerton and his entourage—but they slumbered, and even Angel was cautious of waking sleeping undead. There was some sort of gala tonight—why they couldn’t just call it a party was beyond Angel—and that would be his best chance to see the new vampires in town.

  “A vampire’s lover in general or my Leannán in particular, a ghra?” Simeon asked, whispering as he climbed the bed, catching Angel by an ankle and holding him still.

  “Yours… what does your lover do?” Angel gasped when Simeon bent down and kissed the arch of his foot, nipping, making his leg jerk in Simeon’s strong grasp. Angel moaned when Simeon repeated the process but on his ankle, then the back of his lower leg.

  “My lover, my soulmate…. if he would be my mate… would let me treasure him,” Simeon whispered, and his eyes began to glow, emerald green flames that burned as embers in a banked fire. “My Leannán would let me cherish every moment he gifted me, every smile, every taste of his lips…” Simeon crept up the bed, spreading Angel’s legs, encouraging him to wrap them around his lean waist. Angel pulled him closer, their hard cocks, one cool the other burning with heat, sliding over each other, making them both groan.

  Simeon lowered himself atop Angel, who opened his mouth in welcome when a questing tongue tasted his lips. Angel undulated his hips, causing a rapidly heating, rock-hard cock to slip between his ass cheeks and glide over his hole. Simeon growled, and took the kiss deeper, feeding the rising passion between them. No thoughts left for words now, just them and the need to connect, to be as close as they could possibly be.

  Angel rolled his hips again and again, and Simeon shuddered with need, growls reverberating through his torso while Angel kept up the torture. He wanted, needed, had to have Simeon inside of him, and this fire burning between them was too new for it to be tempered by patience.

  Angel bit Simeon’s lower lip, making Simeon jerk in his arms, and Simeon reared up, kneeling on the bed, fangs lowered completely and eyes wild and glowing. Hands gripped his knees, opening his legs, holding him still. Simeon bared his fangs, cock standing proud and flushed, leaking a clear line of fluid from the tip that dripped down the inside of Angel’s thigh. Simeon reached out and took Angel in hand, stroking him, ownership in every flick of his wrist. Angel gasped, and lifted his hips, arching into the hand that worked him without mercy. Simeon’s other hand slid down the back of his leg, fingers seeking out his ass, slipping between his cheeks and going straight for his hole, blunt fingertips rubbing over the puckered flesh. Angel stilled, eyes wide, mouth open, lungs unable to work as Simeon did it again, stroking his cock in time to the slow, steady and very proprietary touch over his hole.

  Simeon chuckled, a cruel sound that made Angel shiver. Angel reached out, frantic to pull Simeon down on top of him, in him, to get Simeon to hold him down and fuck him senseless. Simeon dodged his desperate hands, and leaned over, hand searching in the blankets. Angel heaved a fast breath in relief when Simeon’s hand came up with the bottle of lube.

  “Please,” Angel gasped out, arching his hips, reaching for his own cock, desperate for a tight grip on his aching flesh. “Make me feel like I’m yours. Hold me down, I need to feel it.”

  He was losing his mind, he had to be. He’d never begged in his life.

  Simeon must have seen something in his expression or heard it in his voice that spoke to the depth of his need, since he was soon covered by hard muscles and long limbs, Simeon’s weight pushing him down, legs wider. He locked them about his lover’s lean waist, hooking his heels and lifting his hips. There was no finesse, no cautious and careful preparation; in the barest of thoughts, Simeon was inside of him, stealing his breath and will. Hot and cold collided, and he shook, overwhelmed.

  Simeon captured his mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and harsh lips, his hips rocking. Angel cried out, reduced to wordless sobs. Simeon moved, each thrust inside ruthless and deep, ever so fucking deep, leaving Angel no place to escape in his mind as Simeon systematically reduced him to aching, whimpering passion.

  Hands scored Simeon’s shoulders, Angel searching for a lifeline, but he had no moment to catch his breath, no second to gather himself and do more than feel—Simeon took him over, wholly and totally, left no part of his body untouched by his masterful hands and obliterating rhythm of his hips. The thick cock spearing him, impaling him and holding him down moved relentlessly, and Angel cried out with each thrust and withdrawal. He felt stretched thin, ready to snap and burst into a thousand pieces of raw pleasure and sweet aches.

  “So tight around me,” Simeon whispered in his ear, his big hands now wrapped under Angel’s shoulders, holding him in place as he increased the pace of their fucking. “Hot and tight, you fit me perfectly. So perfect, my Leannán.”

  Every shiver, every tingle, and buzz along his nervous system began to coalesce, to slowly pull in from his extremities and gather in his center, rumbling down his spine to settle heavy and expectant in his groin. Angel whined, and he bit the hard, wide shoulder above him when he came with a deep shudder.

  His body clamped down on Simeon, who thrust harder, shoving them both across the bed, sheets tearing beneath clawed fingers. Angel tasted the tang of mint and chocolate and cool sweet spices across his tongue, and Simeon lifted his head, screaming out his release, cordons in his neck standing out in relief and fangs bared. Angel came again, and his head fell back, exposing his own neck, Simeon’s blood running from his lips. He could feel Simeon shuddering atop him, the strange and welcome coolness in his depths signaling his lover’s release, making him gasp with each heavy pulse into his core.

  Simeon’s cry still echoed about the room, pinging in his ears, the last thing Angel heard before darkness swept over his eyes and a sudden and unexpected wave of pleasure chased him into oblivion.

  He rarely slept after sex. In fact, he could say honestly he had no idea when the last time was that he passed out after having an orgasm—though the first time with Simeon made him do the same. Whether it was having sex with a vampire, or having sex with Simeon that made him pass out he had no idea, though he had a feeling it was more about the man than the supernatural creature.

  Angel sat up, the covers falling from his chest. A swipe of his tongue across his lower lip confirmed his blurry memory of biting Simeon so hard the vamp bled. The surface of his tongue bloomed with a chocolate sweetness, a cool hint of mint chasing the taste down his throat. Angel blew out a shaky breath, and looked at the clock beside the bed. But for the blood still on his lips, he was clean, no lube or spunk in sight. It was just after sunset, though he couldn’t see out the windows—they were all obscured by thick red curtains, and a single light from across the room let him see he was alone.

  “I’d like to wake up next to him just once,” Angel muttered as he slid from the bed, grabbing the sheet as he went, wrapping it around his hips and gathering the excess around his arm like a badly done toga.

  The door opened, and Angel stopped, as startled as the human in the doorway.

  “Um, what the fuck?” Angel said, annoyed someone would just waltz into a bedroom without knocking. There was no reason for bad fucking manners—and the excuse he could see hovering on parted, pouty lips on the presumed blood donor wasn’t going to stand up under his doubt. “Ever heard of knocking?”

  The human man stepped over the threshold, bowing in the half-light from the single lamp. Angel saw shiny, pale silver marks along the sides of his neck, and it clicked for him what, not who, this person wa
s—blood servant. The man’s words next confirmed it. “Elder Simeon is attending to the Master, but bid me to come assist you. Your clothes have been laundered, though Elder Simeon has sent new apparel from the clan tailor for you to wear tonight at the gala.”

  “He did what? I’m going to the party thing? Oh, wait… fuck. What the hell is going on?” Angel gaped. This wasn’t some rags-to-riches bullshit movie trope—he had his own clothes, and no one was dressing him. “Why does no one call it a damn party like normal people and why can’t I wear my own clothes?”

  “It is a formal black tie event, sir. Elder Simeon left you a note, I believe?” the blood servant didn’t seem at all phased by Angel’s bad mood, though not surprising as he made a living from feeding vampires from his jugular. Not much rattled people crazy enough to do that on a daily basis. Angel glared, but went looking for a note. He found it on Simeon’s pillow, the handwriting elegant and reminiscent of ages past.

  Bridgerton will be at dinner tonight before the midnight gala welcoming him to the clan. The gala will be the only opportunity to meet all the new additions before Bridgerton moves to his new accommodations. His people will be there. This is our best chance to see if Bridgerton or his people are Deimos.

  “I guess I’m going to a party,” Angel groused, looking down at the sheet around his waist. Angel sighed and gave the blood servant a tight smile. “Where’s my new clothes at?”

  The servant bowed again, saying, “I shall fetch them immediately, sir. Dinner is in less than an hour.”

  The blood servant left, and Angel crumpled the note, summoning a burst of hellfire and burning it to ash in his hand. If he had his way, the vampire known as Deimos would be ash himself soon. All Angel needed to do was find him. He let the faint breeze from the central heating system blow the remnants away, and he headed for the bathroom, dropping the sheet as he went.

  The last time he was in clothing this fancy, he was burying his whole family. Angel fussed with the black silk tie, not enjoying the stranglehold it had on his neck. The black tuxedo and pristine, snow-white shirt and black trousers were so finely tailored he was afraid to breathe and rip some seams.

  Shaven, dressed to kill, and hungry, Angel waited impatiently for his date to arrive, feeling foolish and excited all at once. Here he was, planning on attending a damn ball in order to identify and kill a murderer, and he was nervous about Simeon’s reaction to how he looked.

  There was no point in thinking he would bother catching Deimos and handing him over to either the police or the Master. The police were clearly not to be trusted, and the Master may find his hand stayed by the identity of the killer, depending on who Deimos turned out to be. There was no doubt in Angel that Deimos was here, now, in the Tower. Too many changes in the last week that were all connected and true coincidences really weren’t all that common. Especially not in his world.

  The door opened, and Angel forgot how to breathe. Simeon walked in and took his hand, staring down at him with an affectionate smile on his lush lips, and his green eyes were lit up, shone off to advantage by the rich hues of his smoky gray tuxedo and jewel-toned tie. His auburn hair was swept back in a high, smooth wave that showed off his high cheekbones and even complimented the woad-colored tattoo peeking over the back of his collar on his muscular neck. A diamond tie-pin glimmered, and the single gold ring on Simeon’s third finger glowed with a deep, large emerald.

  Angel meshed his fingers with Simeon’s, and they stared at each other in awe. Simeon hummed his approval, leaning down and gently biting Angel’s jaw before kissing away the slight sting, moving his lips around to Angel’s mouth and kissing him softly. Angel moaned, head tipped back, and arched into Simeon’s arms, rubbing his front all along the vampire’s, needing more contact.

  “Can we just stay here? Let’s do that,” Angel breathed out, as Simeon rumbled out a laugh and hugged him tightly. “You can sniff out a killer from here, yeah?”

  “I shall be scenting them all discretely tonight, my love, no fear on that. If I can scent the killer, I will immediately tell you. Though we have a place to be, Leannán. I wish I could remain here and show you just how much I adore how handsome you are in that tuxedo,” Simeon kissed him again, a firm press of lips that made his hurt, but Angel wanted another. He liked hard, firm kisses, and Simeon knew it. “Come, my love, we have people to impress and hopefully, someone to kill.”

  “Gives a new meaning to the expression, ‘dressed to kill’,” Angel laughed out, accepting Simeon’s arm as his lover lead them out into the hall.

  “I believe that was the original meaning, a ghra,” Simeon replied, chuckling.

  “Shush, don’t ruin this for me,” Angel chided and surprised himself by blushing when Simeon brought their joined hands up and kissed the back of Angel’s knuckles.

  The ride down in the elevator was odd, as there were double the guards present, cramping the space. The guards wore tuxes too, both vampires and humans on duty. The only way to distinguish between the two species was that while they were all huge, only the vampires moved with an innate grace that no human could pull off. Armed, and intimidating, Angel gave the guards he encountered a cheeky grin, making them alternately flinch, glare, or ignore him.

  The elevator dropped them off on the ground floor of the Tower. The casino was on this floor, along with several conference rooms, private rooms for a myriad of purposes, and a large, grand ballroom replete with a stage for live music, a DJ booth, balconies along the walls, and open bars on each wall. Tables ran along the outside of the dance floor, and Simeon led him through the milling throng of humans and supernats. Angel recognized local celebrities from the news and papers, some football players, the mayor of Boston and even a few senators. Wealth dripped from the crowd in copious waves of gems and silk, luxurious fabrics and designer clothing. Waiters prowled around the room, serving flutes of champagne and crystal glasses of hard liquor. The ceiling above was lit up by three large chandeliers, blazing like miniature suns.

  The vampires were easy to pick from the crowd, as were the other supernats present. Angel was surprised to see several fae, the reclusive species rarely seen in metropolitan areas, but he saw, at least, three of them mingling in the crowd. The slightly pointed ears and the inhuman beauty were dead giveaways, as were the forest hues to their clothing. Werewolves, the hirsute behemoths along the walls, the least likely of wallflowers congregated together and everyone else gave them a wide berth. They were safe—it wasn’t a full moon for another week, so no one was going to rage out. Lesser known supernats moved through the crowd, and Angel couldn’t resist double glances at some of the more surprising guests.

  What got to Angel the most was the way Simeon moved through the milling crowd. The Elder moved as if there were no one else present, as if they were alone and the path clear before them. Total ownership of his space and purpose drew countless eyes to them as they walked across the grand space. As they approached, vampires bowed and backed away, murmuring greetings to their Elder. Humans looked nervous, or even frightened, all of them moving out of the way as well. Angel could see which were blood servants and which were guests, the bite scars and fresh scores on necks making the distinction obvious.

  Simeon took them to the top of the room, where a long, dark oak table with seating for at least twenty people stood, covered in candles and silver platters. Simeon took Angel straight to the head of the table, where Batiste stood, surrounded by a well-dressed crowd of vampires and humans, each vying for his attention. They parted before Simeon and Angel, and Angel soon found himself across from a tall, swarthy vampire, whose natural skin-tone resisted even the pallor of his vampiric nature. Dark, long hair tied back in a braid, with a short, neatly trimmed full beard, the other vampire looked to Angel as he imagined a pirate would back in the 1600s. There was even a jeweled earring in the vamp’s left ear, a tiny skull carved from a blue gem that dangled from the scarred lobe.

  “Necromancer Salvatore, may I present William Bridgerton, lately of
Atlanta, our newest clan member,” Batiste took Angel’s free hand, holding it in both of his larger, colder hands, and giving him a small dip of his head before turning to Bridgerton. “William, it is an honor to present to you Angelus Salvatore, Boston’s singular necromancer and the Leannán to my esteemed child, Elder Simeon. I believe you met Simeon the other night at dinner, yes?”

  Bridgerton’s eyes were locked on Angel, his full lips twisted into a mocking grin, more aggression than welcome in his eyes. Bridgerton gave Angel a brief nod of acknowledgment, then his eyes went to Simeon. “We met, yes. Very briefly before your Elder appeared to get important news and left us in a hurry. Can I assume it was about your beloved accepting your courtship, as I could swear no one mentioned that Angelus Salvatore was bonded to a member of this clan?”

  “I am standing right here,” Angel quipped, and gave a small zip of power to the hand in Batiste’s grip, making the Master let go of his hand. Angel gave Bridgerton a narrow glare, all but daring the old vamp to say something else. “My personal relationship is none of your business.”

  Shocked hissing and nervous shifting from the crowd around them told Angel he was treading on dangerous ground, but he wasn’t worried. He wanted to know if any one of the numerous vamps standing at Bridgerton’s back was Deimos—and as Simeon hadn’t reacted at all to Bridgerton, then that meant Bridgerton wasn’t their vamp.

  “Angel has recently accepted my courtship,” Simeon replied, and his hand gripped Angel’s harder for a brief second before relaxing.

  “I must offer my congratulations then,” Bridgerton said, and Angel caught a hint of accent in the older vamp’s voice. British, or something close. Bridgerton grabbed a drink from a passing servant, holding up the glass of what looked to be carbonated cranberry juice…until Angel’s nose twitched. Designer blood drink. Everyone who had a drink briefly toasted them, and Angel glowered at Bridgerton, ignoring the murmured compliments tossed in their direction. “It’s a shame you left when you did, Elder Simeon. I was about to declare my intent to challenge for a position as Elder of this clan when you left so early. But since you are here now,” Bridgerton smiled, predatory and grim, turning to Batiste and bowing, “I will be challenging for a position as Elder, Master Batiste.”