Tate shimmied out of his jeans, letting them drop to the floor and stepping out of them. He tossed something in Alex’s direction; only Alex’s quick reflexes allowed him to catch it before it hit him in the chest.
It was a small bottle of lube.
Alex looked back at Tate, still wearing his shirt and sweater, slowly palming his cock. “You’re going to fuck me now. Against the coffin. Into the middle of next week.”
The sound of Tate’s husky voice telling Alex what to do caused him to drop his hand to his groin and cup his cock through his jeans. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Tate walked across to the coffin, the gleaming wood rich and warm in the light of the lamp. He placed both palms on the open lip and leaned over them, parking his legs wide apart and pushing out his ass in invitation. When he turned his head to look over his shoulder at Alex, his expression was feral with need. “Come on, Alex. Fuck me. Right here. Right now.”
Alex’s hands fumbled uncharacteristically at his fly. Tate’s chuckle went right through him on some visceral level, and when he looked over at him, Tate arched his lower back and presented his ass enticingly.
Alex would have shrugged out of his jeans but Tate stopped him. “No. Just like that. Just your cock hanging out.”
Alex closed the distance between them until he had his hands on Tate’s hip bones and his cock was nudging up Tate’s crack. He pushed the lube into his hip pocket to free both hands in order to pull Tate against him. “Fuck, Tate,” he growled.
“That’s the general idea.” Tate laughed, pushing his ass back against Alex. “Condoms are in my breast pocket.”
Alex had to fold himself over Tate to reach up under his sweater and find the breast pocket on his shirt. Fishing the condom out took a little finesse and some grinding up against Tate. He held the packet in his teeth as he tore it open, releasing Tate just long enough to roll the condom over his cock.
He tugged at the bottle of lube, struggling to free it from his pocket. Hastily, he lubed up his fingers and began tracing Tate’s hole. The bottle fell unnoticed to the floor.
“I don’t want slow and gentle.” Tate’s voice sounded dangerous and hungry as he braced his arms and thrust back against Alex. “I want your cock in me now. I want it up the ass hard while you’re biting me. Come on, Alex. Give it to me.”
Without a word, Alex used his lubed hand to coat his cock. With one hand on Tate’s shoulder, he held his cock steady and lined it up with Tate’s hole. He watched in concentrated fascination as the tip of his cock pushed at Tate’s opening. Carefully he began pushing in, gasping at the way Tate gripped him.
Tight. So tight. He could feel Tate’s muscle clench around him before relaxing and letting him ease all the way in with one long, slow push. Tate shuddered underneath him and arched his back, leaning down on his hands once more. When Alex didn’t move, Tate began to rock a little against him. “Come on, Alex. I need you. I need this.”
Alex pulled out until just the head of his cock remained within and pushed back in again. Tate’s heartfelt groan told him it was the right move, and he started up a steady pumping rhythm. With each push in, he could feel his balls press into Tate’s ass. Tate groaned with every push forward, and the sound of his voice egged Alex on. He gripped down on Tate’s shoulder so hard that he suspected there would be a bruise even through the sweater. He began to pound in earnest, the age-old sound of skin against skin and the noises Tate made increasing his excitement. He shifted both hands to Tate’s hips so he could hang on and thrust at the same time.
One moment it seemed like he could keep going forever; the next, he was riding the wave of his orgasm as it crested and crashed over him. He stood still and shuddered, even as he felt Tate clench his asshole around him. He leaned forward until he could rest his forehead on Tate’s back; the rough, woolen sweater tickled his nose. He lay that way for a long moment, until his breathing slowed.
Still in that same position, he reached around underneath Tate and found his cock hard and aching with want, leaking at the tip. Tate gave a sharp intake of air when Alex took him in hand. He felt his own cock pulse deep within Tate as he began to pump Tate’s shaft.
It didn’t take long before he felt Tate shudder and warm fluid spurted over his hand. It was a deeply satisfying moment, knowing that he’d brought Tate to this point once more.
Tate leaned into his forearm and chuckled, which changed to a groan when Alex pulled out.
“You’re laughing again,” Alex complained. “You’re going to give me a complex.” He removed the condom and, not finding any place to dispose of it, let it fall to the floor before tucking himself back in.
Tate surprised him by turning to grab his hand, licking his own come off of Alex’s fingers with a sleepy-lidded smile that twisted something deep inside of Alex’s chest.
“I’m hungry,” Tate said with a prodigious yawn as he released Alex’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and go downstairs. I need something to eat.”
They dressed and took turns in the bathroom, appearing on the landing smelling more of soap and less of sex. Alex followed Tate down the stairs quietly. He was surprised that Tate could even walk and felt a small spurt of smug satisfaction when Tate reached out for the wall for support as he descended the stairs. They met Nick in the foyer.
“There you are,” he said, relief tingeing his voice. “I was just thinking about dinner.”
Tish entered the foyer from the living room with Duncan close behind. From the living room, Alex could hear the sound of some sporting event on the television.
“Yeah,” Duncan said. “What about dinner? We’re out of cow.”
“And ice cream.” Tish’s smile was highly amused as she took in Alex and Tate’s appearance. She tipped her head toward Nick and Duncan. “Peter’s taking a nap upstairs. Why don’t you boys come with me into town for some food?”
“Here.” Tate pulled a wad of papers out of his jeans pocket, teasing out a twenty-dollar bill from receipts and some crumpled-up Post-it notes he’d written to himself. “Let me contribute to some Chinese takeout.”
Nick looked at the offered twenty as though he’d never seen such a thing before. Slowly he accepted it from Tate’s hand. “No fair making me drool,” he said with a little glance at Tate. To Alex’s amusement, he licked his lips and swallowed hard. Tate just grinned.
“Beat it.” Tate made the appropriate gestures. “I’m starving, and you guys have emptied the house of all food, I’m sure. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get back with the dinner. Be sure you bring back plenty of egg rolls and at least one order of General Tso’s Chicken.”
“I’ll call it in.” Tish had taken out her cell phone and headed toward the door, giving Duncan a sharp look in passing. He sighed and handed Alex the television remote. Nick gave a sketchy salute with a single finger over his shoulder as the pack left the house.
“Nothing says I can’t have a snack in the meantime.” Tate moved with purpose toward the kitchen. He opened the fridge, frowning at the meager contents as the light from within lit up his features. “Didn’t you guys just go to the store yesterday? How does Nick keep everyone fed?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alex tried not to let the worry sneak into his voice, but it was hard. Was it his imagination, or did Tate look paler than usual?
“I’m fine,” Tate said, using his foot to shut the fridge door because his hands were full. Alex watched in amusement as Tate slapped together slices of meat and cheese and rolled them up, eating them with the enthusiasm of a longshoreman. “What?” Tate asked, chasing a piece of ham that threatened to fall out of his makeshift sandwich and tucking it away in the corner of his mouth. “I’m hungry; so sue me.”
He was popping the lid on a can of soda to wash down the food when his cell phone rang. “Shit,” Tate said vehemently, with uncharacteristic anger. He apologized to Alex with his eyes as he answered the phone.
“Yes, this is Dr. Edwards,” he said. A
lex watched as tension and then resignation set in. “Slow down, Mrs. Dinwiddie. Take a deep breath. Well, now, if it’s really bad, he should go to the emergency clinic in town.” Tate paused, listening intently to the client on the other end of the phone. He made eye contact with Alex before suppressing a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “Let me come down and take a look at him. But if he’s really bad, we’ll have to send him in to the clinic. They’ve got an oxygen chamber.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” He disconnected the call.
“I’ve got to go,” he said unnecessarily. “I’ve got a cat with asthma in a crisis. He’s done this before and he usually responds to a dose of albuterol and steroids, but I need to assess his condition and see if he needs to go to the emergency clinic this time. If he’s in trouble, I’ll send him straight on and be back in time for dinner. If he’s not too bad, I’ll give him a shot and see what he does. I’ll call if it looks like I won’t be coming back right way.”
“You know, I only understood part of that, but I can wait for the full explanation later. Go, go.” Alex waved him off. “It sounds urgent.”
Tate flashed a quick grin and stepped forward to claim a kiss before hurrying out the back door. The house felt empty in his absence.
That was foolish. Alex had spent much of his adult life alone and he knew how to entertain himself. In fact, he could take advantage of the relative emptiness of the house and catch up on some things that needed doing. He glanced at his watch. It would be at least forty minutes before he could expect Nick and the others to return. Maybe longer. If nothing else, he could clean the room upstairs.
SCARCELY ten minutes had passed when Alex heard a car coming down the driveway. He reflexively glanced at his watch, even though he knew it couldn’t be Nick and the others. Perhaps Tate had forgotten something. He went to the front door to see.
It was Julie. She got out of the minivan and moved with a determined stride toward the porch, where Alex waited for her. The wind picked up several long strands of hair and draped them across her face. She pushed them aside with one hand as she tightly gripped her shoulder bag with the other. She halted at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Alex.
“I’m here to see my brother.”
Alex had to give her credit; she had more courage and determination than most humans he’d met. He thought that once he’d revealed he was a vampire, he would have seen the last of her. Wordlessly, he stepped aside to indicate the front door. Julie moved past him with dignity and waited just inside for Alex to come in and close the door behind him.
“Peter’s upstairs.” He hoped Nick would bring back enough food for an extra guest and almost laughed aloud at the thought. Since when had he begun to worry about his hosting skills?
Julie looked around uneasily at the quiet house. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Nick and the others went on a food run.” Julie’s pupils widened, and this time Alex snorted aloud. “Chinese. Food, that is; not people.” He grinned when Julie gave a nervous little laugh. “Tate had an emergency, but everyone should be back in a bit.”
Julie just stood looking at him. He could sense her escalating tension in the stiffness of her posture, and as he listened, he could pick up the thready pulsing of her adrenaline-fueled heart.
“Julie,” he said into the thunderous silence.
Her hand tightened around the strap of her shoulder bag. He could see her knuckles turn white. “Yes?” Her voice was admirably calm.
“You’re not my type.” Alex flashed a grin at her and drifted nonchalantly into the living room. He heard Julie’s breath release in a rush as she started up the stairs.
After the bedroom door closed, Alex wandered around restlessly before sitting down at the computer to pay some bills online. Julie and Peter didn’t come downstairs, so when he was done, he decided to clean up the small mess that Tate had left in the kitchen in his hurry to take his emergency call. Alex carried the plate to the trash can on the porch, dumping the remnants of food into the can. The sun had gone down; the rain-fresh air smelled sweet and clean but carried with it the promise of frost.
A small whisper of sound made him look up and peer out into the darkness of the yard. “EPT?” he called out. He waited, listening hard, but no plain-faced tomcat came forward to demand food. Probably the damned raccoon, he thought. The night seemed as though it were holding its breath, and the chill air set up goose bumps on his bare arms. He felt a little shiver rush over him as he hurried back into the house.
The light in the kitchen seemed too bright to him. No doubt a residual side effect of having slept in the coffin. He washed the plate and put it in the dish rack beside the sink, switched off the overhead lights, and headed back to the living room, where he’d left his sweater earlier.
The yellow glow of the small table lamp was soothing to his eyes when he entered the room. He moved over to the fireplace, debating whether he was really justified in lighting a fire this evening, when the voice behind him made him jump.
“Miss me?” Victor said.
Alex turned sharply to see Victor standing there, a smugly superior smile on his handsome features. His hair was so blond it was almost white, and he’d taken to wearing it slicked back off his forehead and long at the collar since Alex had seen him last. He was dressed in a black turtleneck over black jeans, wearing a long, dark leather coat that on anyone else would have pinged Alex’s fashion-appreciation meter. As it was, he couldn’t help but think that Nick would have carried off the outfit with more grace because it would have seemed less like a costume on him. He could also hear Tate’s voice, asking in all seriousness, “So, was it your intention to make yourself look like Draco Malfoy?”
A small laugh escaped his lips. He could see that his amusement surprised Victor. His dark eyes narrowed into slits and Alex remembered that Victor didn’t like the thought of someone making fun of him.
“So,” he said, lifting his chin a little and hoping that his tension didn’t show. “How’d you get in?”
“Oh, come now, Alexei,” Victor openly mocked. “You know better than to pay heed to that old wives’ tale. A vampire doesn’t have to wait to be invited in order to come into your home.”
“No.” Alex let the dryness edge into his tone, even as his teeth began to elongate. “But it is considered polite.”
Victor laughed without humor. “We’ve known each other too long for such formalities. You’d have me, of all people, knock on the front door and wait to be let in, when the place is positively crawling with werewolves?” He curled his lip so that one sharp canine gleamed in the lamplight.
“My friends are always welcome here,” Alex said, placing slight emphasis on the word friends. He realized uneasily that Victor must have been watching the house from somewhere nearby.
He was unprepared for how quickly Victor moved, and his mind registered almost unconsciously that Victor was nearly all vampire now; hardly any of his humanity remained. Alex suspected that Victor had not only lost his reflection, but that any sunlight at all was poison to him now, and Alex wondered how many hundreds of people he’d killed to achieve that state.
Victor was on him in a blink of an eye, moving so rapidly it seemed as though he had transported through space and time. Suddenly he was there, right up in Alex’s face between one breath and the next with no apparent movement, save the swing of his leather coat.
“Vampires don’t have friends, Alexei. At least, the smart ones don’t.” Victor tipped his head sideways slightly and bared his teeth in an expression just this side of insulting.
“You always said you were smarter than me,” Alex said, meeting Victor’s eye without flinching.
To his surprise, Victor laughed and took a step back. “Well, well, looks like little Alexei has found some fangs after all. How very interesting.”
“What do you want, Victor?”
“What do I want? I would think that would be patently obvious. I want you to come back to me. You know
where you belong, Alexei, and this isn’t it.” He made a dismissive gesture at the room, encompassing the house and the life Alex had tried to create for himself.
“Listen to yourself. You sound like a fucking cliché from a bad movie of the week. Why don’t you put on a Dracula accent while you’re at it?”
“Where have you learned such coarseness, my dear? Oh. Right. It must be the company you’ve been keeping.”
Alex laughed, sincerely amused now. “Who writes your dialog?”
The blow landed across his cheek so abruptly that it didn’t even sting at first. Alex sucked in his breath sharply, feeling the heat that the imprint of Victor’s hand left behind. A cold rage began to sing in his veins. Carefully, aware that he was a hair’s breadth away from losing his temper altogether, he spoke with surprising evenness. “Go back to New York, Victor. Get the fuck out of my house. Don’t come back.”
“You misunderstand me. I’m not leaving. I’m staying here, with you.” His smile was so inappropriate that it made the hair on the back of Alex’s neck rise.
“Alex?” Peter spoke from the bottom of the stairs. “Is everything all right?”
He was wearing a shirt left untucked and jeans with holes in the knees, standing with one hand on the banister. He looked worried and vulnerable standing there with his bare feet, despite the fact Alex could see that in his other hand, Peter clutched a hammer. He must have snagged it from the spare room upstairs. That small act made him love Peter and fear for his safety at the same time.
“Stay out of this, Peter,” he snarled. “This is between Victor and me.”
“Yes. Stay out of this, Peter,” Victor said condescendingly. “If you know what’s good for you. If I were you, I’d go upstairs and pack my bags. Or just leave. While you still can.”
Crying for the Moon Page 18
