“Let’s leave Tate and Alex alone for a minute, okay?” Tish said, attempting to herd her pack mates out of the room.
“No. Wait!” Tate cried out, reaching toward the pack as they began to move off. “I just wanted to say I’m really, really sorry about hurting you, Peter. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that Alex was being so mysterious about wanting me out of the way on the first night of the full moon and I was curious as to why. I figured no one would notice a cat, so I snuck down here to see what was going on. Though, in all fairness, you tried to eat me first.”
It was Peter’s turn to make a face. “Sorry about that. You know how it goes. Instinct takes over and all that.”
Tate nodded. “I do. I do, really.”
“What are you?” Alex asked slowly. This was all becoming too much. Between the invasion of werewolves, Victor’s attempts to gain control over him again, and the revelations of the evening, Alex could feel all his walls starting to go up again. I can’t deal with this right now.
Tate’s face fell. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you. I’ve never met anyone like me before. My parents adopted me as a baby; no one knows anything about where I came from. I was always athletic and acrobatic but I never knew I was anything other than human until I… I took a fall from a great height. I turned into a cat before I hit the ground. I didn’t even know there was really any such thing as a supernatural creature until I met you guys.”
Suddenly, Tate’s ready acceptance of Alex and his friends made a lot more sense.
“You can just change into a cat at will? Any cat?” Nick looked impressed.
Tate nodded at him but turned to face Alex. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I was planning to tell you. I’ve just never told anyone before. I could see that you were accepting of Nick and the others, but you weren’t, well, you know, sleeping with them, so I was afraid of your reaction.”
“Okay,” Nick said abruptly. He looked like he wanted to shove his fingers in his ears and hum loudly. “This doesn’t seem to be a public conversation. Um, we’ll just be….” He made a vague gesture over his shoulder toward the front door.
“Getting the food out of the car,” Duncan said. “Probably cold now.”
“We can reheat it,” Tish said repressively, shooing the rest of her group out the door.
“Everyone just stop!” Alex threw his hands up in the air sharply, closing his eyes briefly for a moment before pinning Tish with his glare. “You knew about this?”
Tish had the grace to look apologetic. “He smelled different. I confronted him with it a few days ago and he told me he wanted to tell you, that he was just waiting for the right moment.”
Alex took a deep breath before speaking. “I want all of you to leave right now.”
“Alex, please.” Tate took a step toward him but Alex backed up and crossed his arms in front of his chest, still tightly clutching the hammer.
“No, I mean it, Tate. I need some time alone to process all of this. I need you guys to leave now. All of you.”
“What about Victor?” Tate asked. Alex hated the wounded look on his face, but he steeled himself against it.
“He won’t come back tonight. Just get the fuck out. Now.” He’d never been so angry in his entire existence. With Victor gone, there was no one to release his rage on but his friends.
“But what about our things?” Peter asked, glancing around as though bellboys might bring their suitcases forward any moment now.
Alex gritted his teeth and tried not to snarl. “I’m not asking you to go away forever, Peter. Just right now.” He tossed the hammer with force into the living room, where it bounced along the floor and under the couch.
“Come on, guys. Let’s leave Alex alone,” Nick said, taking Peter by the arm and nodding his head toward the door. He glanced at Duncan, who stepped forward to help Julie to her feet. He carefully removed the Glock from her hand. She allowed him to steer her unresistingly toward the open door.
“But my shoes,” Peter protested as Nick hustled him away.
Nick’s voice drifted back toward the living room as they stepped out into the night air. “So you knew about this, Tish? And you didn’t tell me? What am I, pack leader in name only?”
Tish’s reply was lost to the crunch of gravel underfoot.
Tate stood in the foyer, unwilling to go. “Alex,” he tried again.
“I can’t talk to you right now.” Alex made a slashing motion with his hand, cutting off Tate’s words.
“But—” Tate began in protest, only to have Alex interrupt.
“Don’t you get it?” Alex snapped. “A former lover tried to take complete control over my life tonight, while simultaneously revealing that he had a hand in my parents’ deaths. My new lover has completely lied to me about who and what he is. Just get the fuck out. Now!”
“Okay. Okay.” Tate took a deep, gulping breath. He turned away, every line in his body radiating his distress. He paused at the open door, the night breeze ruffling his hair. “I just want you to know I’m really sorry, okay?”
Alex let him go without saying another word. He waited until he heard Tate step off the porch and then he moved swiftly to the door, shutting it with enough force to rattle the glass pane in the upper portion. He was suddenly aware of how cold he was, and he went back into the living room and collected his sweater from where he’d left it on the couch. The heavy, cable-knit sweater was soft and slightly scratchy against his skin. It didn’t feel like he had on enough clothes. It felt as though he’d never be warm again.
The silence in the house was deafening. He’d never been so glad to be completely alone in his life. He stormed into the kitchen and pulled out a new bottle of Shiraz, jabbing the corkscrew into the neck with a vicious stab and pouring himself a large glass. As an afterthought, he poked around in the freezer and discovered a bag of tater tots. He prepared them according to the directions while he lightly grilled the last steak and then soused them all with hot sauce. He collected his plate and the wine and headed back to the living room.
Later that evening, after he’d consumed the better part of the bottle of wine, he mounted the stairs and walked slowly down the hallway toward the room that held the coffin. The door was unlocked; he’d forgotten to lock it after he and Tate had left the room earlier in the evening. Was it really just a few hours ago that he’d been there last? So much had happened since then.
He stood looking around the room with one hand on the doorknob, the light of the hallway shining on the gleaming patina of wood. He didn’t like it, but he knew now what he had to do.
Chapter 10
THE following morning, Alex dragged himself into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker. He viewed the mess he’d left the night before with a jaundiced eye. While waiting on the coffee, he rinsed out the empty wine bottle and placed it in the recycle bin. The bloody Styrofoam container from the meat had attracted ants, so after rinsing it, Alex carried it outside to put it in the trash can.
The little brown tabby was sitting on the porch, looking bedraggled from the previous night’s dampness. Alex froze when he saw the cat. He felt his mouth tighten but said nothing as he sidestepped around the tom toward the can. He placed the trash within and turned to look at the cat.
Tate, in his persona of EPT, opened his mouth in a silent meow.
“Very touching, to be sure,” Alex said dryly. “Do you pull that one on all the neighbors?”
The cat rolled on his side and began rubbing his face on the wooden deck.
“See if I ever feed you again,” Alex said. He could feel his resolve crumbling, though. “Oh, all right,” he said when the tom stood up and began to twine himself around Alex’s legs. “For fuck’s sake, come inside where we can talk.”
Two steps into the kitchen and the cat rose up on his hind legs to become Tate again.
“Neat trick,” Alex said. “Any others you’d care to share with me?” It suddenly occurred to him now why Tate had been reluctant for Alex to trap th
e tom for potential neutering, and he had to fight not to reveal his amusement. He was mad at Tate, damn it.
Tate, the corners of his mouth pulled down in unhappiness, said nothing as he shook his head.
“Well?” Alex poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to take a sip, as he watched Tate from over the brim of his cup. “Did you stay outside all night?”
Tate sighed. “You said Victor wouldn’t return, but I didn’t know that, okay? I was worried about you. You should have let me kill him, you know. He’s just going to pose a risk to you until he’s been permanently dealt with one way or another.”
“There are serious consequences for killing another vampire,” Alex said. “I would’ve had to justify my actions before the Council, and those things are more political than you could imagine. My decision to leave the Life could be viewed as a threat to many people and there are plenty who would have thought Victor was right to try and force me back into it. I’m more worried about the others.” Nick’s group would be vulnerable to a vampire attack against them at any time other than during a change. Not to mention Victor could still make good on his threat to reveal Nick and Peter’s secret. There was Julie to consider as well. Alex wondered if there was anyone he could ask to help him protect a group of werewolves. Not likely.
“What about your parents then?” Tate asked.
The memory of Victor’s role in his parents’ deaths felt like a freshly stabbed wound. Alex felt his face go flat and blank. “Well, that’s one nice thing about being a vampire. I have a long time to plan what I want to do about that.”
Tate risked a small smile.
“What did you do?” Alex asked, suddenly making the intuitive leap. “To the person who pushed you off the building? You know—the guy who hated cats.”
Tate blinked. His face took on a sleepy-lidded, self-satisfied expression. “I ate him.”
Alex didn’t know whether he was kidding or not but it didn’t matter. He laughed anyway.
Tate smiled as well but sobered up quickly. “Are we okay?” he asked in a small voice.
Alex sighed and put down his mug. “You know I don’t object to you being a supernatural being, right? I mean, it explains a hell of a lot about you.”
“Like my being so cool with your werewolf friends,” Tate said lightly.
“And so good with your tongue.”
Tate’s eyes flew open wide and he burst out laughing. His humor faded when Alex didn’t join in.
“But,” Alex continued when Tate’s mirth was under control again, “I’m really bugged by you not being straight with me. You could have said something when you admitted that you knew I was a vampire.”
Tate nodded. “You’re right. I could have. I should have. All I can say in my defense is that I have never told anyone about me in my entire life.”
“What about your parents?” Alex raised an eyebrow.
Tate’s face fell and he looked down at his feet, damp curls falling forward to shield his face. “After the first time I transformed, I went a little crazy. I spent a lot of time in an animal form. When I was human, I could see that my parents were afraid of me. Hell, I was afraid of me! I left before I accidentally hurt them.”
“How long ago was that?” Alex asked slowly.
Tate took a deep breath and looked up again. “A long time ago. I’ll probably live as long as you will, Alex. I must admit, that’s part of your attraction. Knowing that in you, I’ve met my match. You’re just as dangerous as I am. It doesn’t hurt that you have a body meant for sex.” Tate broke off with a wry smile. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I wanted you and I couldn’t think straight in your presence. I’m sorry.”
It was hard to stay mad at someone who presented that kind of argument.
“Yeah, well, just don’t do it again,” Alex said, aware of how lame he sounded.
Tate’s face lit up with his delightful smile but he still hesitated to come forward until Alex reached for him. They met in an almost painful embrace. Alex wound his hand into Tate’s thick hair and pulled his head close for a bruising kiss, his emotions mixed up and angry still. Tate accepted all that Alex demanded, opening his mouth up willingly to the brutal assault until Alex relented and softened. Their tongues met in a gentle slide until they separated, Tate brushing Alex’s lips with feather-light touches.
“What are we going to do about Victor?” Tate asked when they parted, worry furrowing his forehead. “He’s not done with you, you know that. In fact, I suspect he’ll come back even uglier than before.”
Alex nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that all night,” he admitted. “I’ve put everyone at risk. In fact, you don’t have to hang around, you know. He doesn’t know your real identity. You could just stop seeing me and you’d be safe.”
Tate raised an eyebrow, tilted his head sideways, and squinted at him, pursing his lips as he did so. “Nice try, bucko. Unless, of course, you don’t want me here.”
“I do.” He’d never wanted anything more. He had to give Tate the option of leaving though.
Tate’s grin contained a measure of relief, which told Alex everything he needed to know.
“Well, then, no more talk about me leaving. We’re in this together. I assume you have a plan?”
“Yes,” Alex said decisively. “One you can help me with, as a matter of fact.”
“Cool. Lay on, Macduff.” Tate waved his hand in the general direction of the rest of the house with a little flourish.
To his credit, Tate said nothing when Alex led the way upstairs to the coffin room. By daylight, the sight of the coffin sitting in the middle of the room seemed incongruous and out of place. It is out of place, Alex thought.
He turned to Tate. “I need your help moving this. I need to get it out of the house.”
Tate nodded, as though he’d expected something like this. “You think we can handle it? Just the two of us?”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t have a tiger in your tank?” Alex’s comment was dry.
Tate flushed. “Okay. You’re right. I’m stronger than I look. So are you, for that matter. But I thought…?” He trailed off.
Alex shrugged. “We should be able to manage it. I don’t want to wait for anyone else to help.”
Tate nodded again and waited for Alex to head to the far end of the coffin to pick it up.
It took them longer than Alex had bargained on to get the coffin out of the house. Not only was it heavy, but its length made it awkward to navigate through doors and down the staircase. At several junctures, they had to back up and reposition to get around a corner, turning the coffin up on its end and walking it like a refrigerator around the upper landing of the staircase. When trying to make the corner down the stairs, Alex managed to smash some fingers painfully against the banister. Good thing, too, that he had lots of spackling material, because he was going to have to repair the gash in the wall they created. It would have been easier with more people, but Alex was determined to get it out of the house as soon as possible.
“What now?” Tate asked, panting slightly as they set the coffin down a good distance from the house in the backyard. “Have you got someplace you can put it in storage? You said no one could steal it from you, right?”
The grass was damp with melting frost. The sky was cold and gray, and the air was heavy with fog, infiltrating the forest around them with a shroud of mist. Tate wasn’t wearing a jacket and he looked cold as he hunched up against the clammy atmosphere. The tips of his ears and nose were pink, and Alex resisted the urge to kiss him.
“They could still steal the coffin and then come after me. Or threaten one of you guys in order to make me reveal its location and help them use it. The problem is the coffin itself. Wait here.” He headed back toward the house, stopping inside just long enough to grab his camera from his desk and his coat before going to the shed out back.
The gas can swung from his hand as he returned to where Tate was waiting beside the coffin.
> Tate’s eyes grew large. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “You’re not serious, are you? You can’t do that, Alex! Isn’t the coffin the source of your strength? Your life?” He reached out as though to stop Alex from carrying out his intended action.
“No.” Alex shook his head slowly. “I don’t need the coffin. It killed my parents. It’s holding me hostage to a way of life I no longer want. I need to be rid of it, Tate.”
He unscrewed the top of the gas can and tossed it to the ground. He hesitated as he looked down at the red can in his hands. When he looked up, Tate was staring at him in concern, the wind playing lightly with the hair over his forehead.
“I don’t really know what this will do to me. No one’s ever done this before—not that I know of. I do know I don’t need it to live. Maybe I won’t be as pretty.” Alex grinned a little self-consciously. “Maybe I’ll age a little more rapidly or not heal as quickly or not be as strong.”
“You think I care about those things?” Tate’s voice was sharp. “I’m more worried about what it will do to you when you sever a connection that has been passed down through generations to you. I’m more worried about what the reaction of your people might be.”
There was that. He was probably going to be shunned. “They won’t be happy,” he admitted. “But my leaving the Life in the first place set me on the road to being an outcast. Well, that and having werewolves as friends.” He grinned, suddenly feeling freer than he had in centuries. This was who he was now, and nothing could change that.
“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” Tate grinned back at him.
“Yes,” Alex said with determination, swinging the can and dousing the side of the coffin with gasoline. He walked around the entire coffin, soaking its surface, until he was almost out of gas. He created a small trail away from the coffin with the fuel.
“What can I do?” Tate asked, when Alex returned to his side and set the can down.
Alex pulled the camera out of his coat pocket and handed it to him. “Videotape it. I want it clear that it’s my coffin that’s being destroyed. I’ll send a copy to Victor. Hell, I’ll post it on the Internet if necessary.”
Crying for the Moon Page 20
