Now Comes the Night

by P. G. Forte

  But, all at once, Damian did and he couldn’t help but smile at the irony. “Quite the contrary.” Maybe it was due to the rain having darkened the other man’s hair to a shade closer to its natural color. Maybe it was the slightly crestfallen look he now wore. Replacing his earlier cocky self-assurance, his current expression gave him the appearance of a much younger, much less confident man. Or maybe it was nothing so mysterious. Perhaps it was due to nothing more than the fact that Damian finally had a timeframe in which to place the boy. “As it happens, I remember you very well, Paul.”

  “Well, all right then.” Triumph gleamed in Paul’s blue eyes as he returned Damian’s smile and moved a half-step closer. “I told you we’d see each other again, didn’t I?”

  “Sí, Pablito. I believe you did.”

  “Ohhh.” A low moan broke from Paul’s lips. For a moment it seemed as though his knees were about to give out. “Sí,” he repeated the word in throaty tones. “Oh, God, yes. I’d almost forgotten how sexy you sound when you start speaking Spanish.”

  Damian chuckled. “What is it about you Americans that you find all foreign tongues so alluring?”

  Paul shook his head. His eyes were dark with heat, his gaze focused on Damian’s mouth. “No. Not all tongues. Just yours.”

  Damian stood his ground—though it took more of an effort than he would have expected not to back up. He was shocked to find that his breathing had grown just the slightest bit unsteady. Paul’s words and the look in his eyes were stirring up a surprising surge of heat. Sí. Sí. Look at me like that. Look at me just like that. It had been so long, so very long since anyone had.

  Damian couldn’t stop himself from remembering how delicious this man had tasted, couldn’t stop himself from wanting to taste him again. And not just his blood, either, but his mouth, his lips, his tongue…

  Oh, this was not good. For a moment, Damian revisited his earlier assumption that Paul was a lesser evil. Perhaps he’d been wrong about that too. There was no hiding the fact that Paul retained far too clear a memory of their time together. The death of a single, stray vampire—even had it been one of Conrad’s favorites—while lamentable, to be sure, would still have been much easier to explain away than this evidence that Damian had disobeyed a direct order. “So you’re living here now, are you, Paul?” What were the odds?

  Paul nodded. “Yeah. You?”

  “I’m not yet certain.” Damian sighed. They’d barely gotten settled in their new home—a home he loved and had pushed Conrad into purchasing because it reminded him so much of Conrad’s primary residence in San Francisco. It had been foolish to hope that the similarity in the two structures would be enough to prompt Conrad into taking Damian back to California with him when their stay here was ended but, apparently, foolish hopes were the only ones Damian had left. He couldn’t very well insist on their relocating again already without giving up on that hope, without claiming to have made a critical error in choosing this town in the first place. Or without sufficient groveling. He was really going to hate that.

  On the other hand, what choice did he have? This was far too small a town to hope he could avoid running into Paul again and again…and it didn’t seem likely the boy had grown any less stubbornly persistent with the passing of a few years. “You really haven’t changed very much at all, have you? Other than the hair and the makeup and the clothes…” Nothing that would distract Conrad from the truth for very long. Nothing that would suggest to Damian that he was facing anything other than an unmitigated disaster.

  Paul bit his lip and smiled flirtatiously. “Oh, now, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve actually changed quite a lot. We could talk about how much, but don’t you think it’d be better if I showed you?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Damian cast a quick glance up and down the block, relieved to see it was still deserted. Good. A quick bite, a double shot of venom, and at least Paul would remember nothing of tonight’s encounter. It was a shame he’d have to leave the boy lying unconscious out here in the rain, but better that than any of the alternatives he could think of.

  Paul’s smile dimmed. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be like that. At least come back to the bar with me and let me buy you a drink.”

  “Like this?” Damian shook his head. “I doubt the bartender would appreciate our dripping water all over the place.”

  “What?” Paul blinked in surprise then glanced up at the sky, as if he only now had noticed it was raining. “Oh.” When his gaze again met Damian’s his eyes were stormy with heat. The look within them was twice as determined as before. “You’re right. So maybe what you should do is come back to my apartment with me instead. That way, we can both get out of these wet clothes while we get…reacquainted.” He glided another step closer as he spoke. This time, Damian took a step back in response, the action so instinctive, so automatic, that he didn’t even notice until his back made contact with one of the wrought iron fences that edged the sidewalk. “Please?”

  Damian’s head reeled when he realized what he’d done. He’d given up his advantage. He’d backed down. And to a human! The shock sent a thrill of desire rocketing through him. Heat flared, low and deep, and his cock hardened. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this way. He only knew it had been entirely too long.

  Paul edged even closer, caging him in. His erection nudged Damian’s, bringing another surprising blast of heat. Satisfaction blazed in Paul’s eyes. His cocky smile returned. “Is that a yes I’m feeling?”

  Damian considered the matter. “Perhaps it is,” he replied, after regaining a little of his common sense. Or so he told himself. “I’m sure we’d both find your apartment much more comfortable.” Why not take the boy up on his offer? Damian could hardly find himself in any more trouble with Conrad than he was in already. And, afterwards, he could wipe Paul’s mind just as easily in his apartment as he could here. More easily, probably.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time they’d arrived at their destination Paul’s mind was just about the last part of him in which Damian was interested. The minute the apartment door closed behind them, they came together in a clash of hot mouths and groping hands—and stumbling footsteps that ended with Damian’s back connecting with the door. Paul pressed closer. Damian made no effort to resist. All those lovely hard muscles, aligning so perfectly with his own, was just what he had been imagining ever since he’d first laid eyes on Paul in the bar tonight. They were just what he wanted to feel right now. What he needed to feel. It really had been much too long. If Conrad would only…

  But no, Damian would not allow himself to think about that tonight. With Paul’s lips hard and insistent on his, devouring his mouth with one bruising kiss after another, it was easy not to think too much. Damian tasted tequila, some sort of fruit juice and Paul himself. It was an intoxicating combination.

  Here was another way in which young Paul had not changed with the passing of a few years. Damian remembered the boy’s enthusiasm very well and he was enjoying it every bit as much now as he had on the night they’d first met.

  But not yet as much as he was planning to.

  This was a part of himself Damian had kept locked securely away for more years than he cared to remember. Tonight he was suddenly in the mood to let it out to play.

  It was Paul who finally broke contact, pulling away with a shattered groan, a desperate whisper. “Damian. Need you. Now.” His face was bleak with need. His breath was ragged, his eyes black with lust. When he fisted his hands at the neck of Damian’s shirt, as though he intended to rip it open, Damian stopped him. There were yet a few things Damian had rather not have to explain to Conrad, coming home with his clothes in tatters being chief among them at the moment.

  “Allow me,” Damian murmured, easily breaking Paul’s grasp on his shirt. Holding the boy by the forearms, he turned them both until it was Paul’s back against the door. The minute Damian released him, Paul reached for him again. Damian pressed him back in p
lace. “No. Stay there. Don’t move.”

  Paul subsided with a rebellious growl as Damian took a step back and began to strip off his shirt, but his eyes tracked his every move, just as Damian had anticipated.

  His shirt gone, Damian closed the distance between them once again and started to undo Paul’s shirt as well. Paul’s expression turned unexpectedly somber. He put out a hand and gingerly touched the scars on Damian’s shoulder. “How’d this happen?” he asked softly. “Were you in ’Nam or something?”

  Damian made a face. He rarely thought about the injury now. It was not something he chose to think about very often and nothing he ever wished to discuss. “It’s a long story.”

  “I want to hear it.”

  “No.”

  A frown creased Paul’s brow. He looked ready to argue, so Damian silenced him with a kiss. But the touch of the boy’s fingers, tracing over the scars on his shoulder startled him.

  “Stop that,” Damian growled. It wasn’t that the scarred flesh was sensitive. On the contrary, the area was largely without feeling. Up until tonight no hand other than his own had ever explored the damage there. Very few people had ever even seen it. Over the last ten years he’d made a particular point of keeping it covered up, especially when Conrad was anywhere around.

  There was no way Conrad could have forgotten that night, any more than Damian ever would. But that didn’t mean Damian wanted to remind him of it, either. In fact, one of Damian’s greatest fears was that the sight of his scars might cause Conrad to remember, all too clearly, how furious he’d been with Damian the night he’d given them to him.

  Furious enough to permanently mark Damian in the most painful fashion possible. So furious that nothing else had mattered.

  Not even the centuries they’d spent together, as lovers, as friends, had been enough to save Damian from Conrad’s rage. Four hundred years, and on that night it had counted as nothing. Even now, Damian couldn’t be certain that Conrad had forgiven him—or that he ever truly could—for having driven him to such extremes.

  Thanks to the twins, Conrad needed him. That was only temporary, however. Not once in the eleven years since they’d been reunited had Conrad ever given any indication that he intended to keep Damian around for a minute longer than necessary. Damian could hope all he liked that things might change in the next few years, but only fools and dreamers put all their faith in empty wishes.

  “Tell me what happened to you,” Paul murmured, still fingering the ravaged flesh, ignoring Damian’s protests.

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  Biting back a snarl, Damian shoved Paul aside. “If you’re going to continue this discussion, I’m leaving.” No meal was worth this. No fuck was worth this. Nothing was worth this.

  “Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that.”

  Paul put out a hand to pull Damian back. Damian shrugged it off. “I mean it, Paul.”

  Paul heaved a tired-sounding sigh. “Okay, look, I’m sorry, all right? I won’t ask again. It’s just… I can’t help thinking, what if it had been worse, what if you’d died? I wouldn’t even have known! You’d be dead and…I might have spent my whole life wondering what had happened to you, looking for you, hoping we’d meet again.”

  Damian stared at the boy. “Have you really been spending that much time thinking about that night?” Obviously, Conrad had been right again. Damian really should have made sure the boy remembered nothing.

  Paul shrugged. “Not that much time, no. And it wasn’t the night so much. It was…you. You didn’t think I’d forget you that easily, did you?”

  “Foolish boy. That’s precisely what you ought to have done. What I told you to do. You should have gone on with your life.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I stayed a virgin for you,” Paul snapped, “or anything dumb like that, okay? So back the fuck off. I got on with my life just fine, thank you very much. It’s just…you were always there, you know? Somewhere in the back of my mind and…I didn’t want to forget.”

  Damian blew out a frustrated sigh. He reached for the boy, sank his fangs into his neck, and gave him a hefty taste of venom. This conversation was depressing him. Once again Paul was reminding Damian far too much of his younger self. Not that Damian could recall ever having been this naïve.

  “Holy fuck.” Paul’s voice shook, but he stood quietly after that, allowing Damian to peel the shirt away from his wet shoulders and down his arms. Damian had not been mistaken about his muscles. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. As the damp cloth was stripped away and cool air hit his skin, Paul shivered. Goosebumps raced across his flesh. His nipples pebbled. A shimmer of gold caught Damian’s eyes.

  “Where did these come from?” Damian asked, nodding at the gold rings that pierced Paul’s nipples.

  “San Francisco. Two summers ago. There was this guy I was with and we—” Paul broke off, groaning as Damian leaned in and teased one nipple with his tongue. “Oh, shit. Yeah. Like that. Do that again.”

  Damian was happy to oblige. The shiny bits of metal intrigued him. New fashions always did. Anything modern, innovative, different always seemed to call to him to try it. It was a trait Conrad had criticized him for often enough over the centuries. Anything too unusual, too likely to draw attention or look dated after a few decades, anything too close to unalterable was almost guaranteed to draw Conrad’s disapproval. Damian couldn’t imagine wanting to live like that. What was life without change, without taking a few risks now and again, without taking a few chances? An eternity of nothing ever ventured, nothing ever gained—what kind of existence would that be? How could his soul even survive it? And why should he try?

  He’d never been one to play it safe. If he had, he could only imagine how differently his life might have turned out. In fact, if he’d ever been something even a little bit closer to what Conrad thought he ought to be, he would never have taken the risk of getting together with Conrad in the first place…

  But why, why, why was he thinking about him right now?

  Frustrated with himself, Damian blew out an angry breath and set his teeth to Paul’s nipple just hard enough to startle a gasp from the boy’s lips. “Damian… Shit, if you only knew how much I’ve thought about you, about that night, about what I’d do if I ever saw you again… Now that you’re here, I wanna fuck you so damn bad. Can I? Please say yes.”

  The question took Damian by surprise. In his experience, men generally took what they wanted, either willingly or not. Verbal persuasion might be employed if they met with enough resistance, but not always even then and otherwise, no.

  What shocked Damian the most was not being asked, but his reaction to Paul’s request. Initially, his chest had tightened at the thought. It had been a long time since he’d been taken in that way and he still remembered the events of that night all too clearly.

  In the shocking, painful aftermath, he’d sworn he’d never again make himself so vulnerable—a position he’d continued to maintain for well over a century. Even the past ten years, living with Conrad day-to-day, hadn’t convinced him otherwise. Tonight something was different, something had changed. He felt the unexpected stirring of a desire he’d long since given up on ever expecting to feel again.

  Was it to Paul himself Damian was reacting? Was there something so irresistible about the boy that Damian could not help but feel tempted? Or was it perhaps everything Paul was not that was attracting Damian’s interest? He wasn’t Conrad—that was true enough—but he also wasn’t another Lamia Invitus. He wasn’t another vampire. He was…safe.

  Safe had never been a trait Damian looked for in a partner, so why would it appeal to him now? On the other hand, maybe the why didn’t matter? Maybe that Damian could feel this way at all was reason enough to give into the surprising yearning, to explore this sudden need for another taste of something that had once been the source of so much pleasure…

  “Damian?” Paul slanted a quick kiss across Damian’s lips. “C’mon, baby. I’m dying here. Say so
mething. Please.”

  “Sí.” Damian nodded, smiling inwardly at the cautious surprise in Paul’s eyes. “Absolutamente.”

  “Okay, wait.” Paul frowned hesitantly. “That means… That means yes. Right?”

  “It means yes,” Damian agreed.

  It was shortly before dawn when Damian finally left Paul’s bed. Paul lay on his stomach, arms folded beneath his chin, moodily watching Damian as he dressed. Damian could feel the force of that solemn gaze as it followed his every move. It was as though Paul was attempting to memorize all of Damian’s features, committing each detail to memory. He didn’t speak, just chewed on his lip until, finally, when Damian was almost done, Paul cleared his throat and asked cautiously, “So do you…do you go there a lot? The bar, I mean.”

  Damian looked at him curiously. Paul dropped his gaze. His fingers plucked idly at the sheets. If he was attempting to look blasé, or nonchalant—as though he were only making small talk, as though the answer meant less than nothing to him—he was failing miserably.

  After a moment, Paul shrugged half-heartedly and continued speaking. “I mean…I go there pretty often myself, and…I’ve never seen you there before and I just… I thought, maybe…”

  Damian shook his head. “No, I’d never been there before.”

  “Oh. Okay, so, now that you have, do you think… I mean, was this like a one-time thing or, do you think you might, you know, go back there again sometime? Like…I dunno, maybe in the next couple of weeks or so?”

  Damian sighed. In some ways, he preferred the younger Paul, the one who asked for what he wanted and wasn’t too afraid to simply say, “When can I see you again?” over this Paul who hemmed and hawed and pretended to be indifferent. He crossed to the bed and sat, then lifted Paul’s chin between his fingers. He studied the boy’s face for a moment, the hopeful eyes, the worried frown, the failing struggle to appear cool, when he clearly was anything but. “Are you asking what the odds are that you might see me there again?”