by Amy Fecteau
“Sunshine.” Quin laid his forehead against Matheus, looking into his eyes. “If you want me to stop, you have to tell me now.”
A desperate edge shone off his words. Matheus knew that Quin struggled to speak with any sort of coherency. He knew because he recognized his feelings in the expression on Quin’s face; pushed to the brink of insanity, and so, so ready to jump.
Matheus didn’t think he could speak, and couldn’t move his head with Quin’s hand gripping his throat. Instead, he hooked his fingers into Quin’s belt loops, closing the final gap between them. He felt Quin’s hard length against his own, and knew that Quin felt him in return. Matheus rocked his hips, lips curving into a smile at Quin’s quick intake of breath.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” Quin said, voice somewhat strangled.
Smart man, Matheus mouthed.
Quin kissed him, and pulled back. He smiled. Something evil lurked in that smile.
Matheus couldn’t wait to find out what.
re you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I should have gone slower.”
“I said, I’m fine.”
“I assumed you and Alistair―”
“No. Other way round.”
“It’ll be better next time.”
“It was fine. It felt good.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“For fuck’s sake, Quin, if I knew you were going to be such a woman afterwards, I wouldn’t have let you do it in the first place!” Matheus said. He sat up, feeling around the edge of the sheet for his boxers. He knew now what Heaven had brought in the white bundle. If he still blushed, he’d be able to heat all of New England with his face. Not that he, and certain parts of his anatomy, didn’t appreciate the thought. But Matheus didn’t want to think about Heaven thinking about… that.
“Hey,” said Quin, placing a hand on Matheus’s back. “Lie down.”
“The floor is hard.”
Quin held Matheus’s shoulders, turning him around and pulling him downward, until he draped over him like a large, squishy blanket.
“Are you even comfortable?” Matheus asked, his head resting on Quin’s shoulder. He nipped at the smooth skin, then tilted his head, burying his nose into Quin’s neck. He inhaled deeply.
“Sure,” said Quin.
“I’m not.” Matheus wiggled. He nipped at Quin again, because, well, because he liked to, and did he need a reason beyond that? “Congrats on the whole zero percent body fat thing you have, but as a pillow, you are somewhat lacking.”
Quin stroked a long, lazy pattern over Matheus’s back. “Most people are content after orgasms. I realize you’re dedicated to your misanthropy, but there are times when you can just be happy.”
“I am happy,” said Matheus. “This is happy grumpiness.”
Wrapping his arms around Matheus’s waist, Quin rolled them both onto their sides. They shifted, arranging their limbs into comfortable positions, a human jigsaw puzzle. Matheus rested his head on Quin’s biceps, tracing fingers mapped the scars covering his chest. Quin’s hand kneaded his hip, his thigh rubbing along the valley of Matheus’s pelvic bone.
“Better?” Quin asked.
“Floor’s still cold.” Matheus touched Quin’s cheek, his nose, and his lips. “Are you really you?”
“I have my memories,” said Quin. “It’s 2013. I met you… five? Four. Four months ago, then turned you in that alley off Fortney Street. Your father is Carsten Schneider, a fact you kept from me.” Quin poked Matheus in the stomach. “You have a stepsister named Fletcher. You like lemurs because they have stripy tails. You’re afraid of bugs and dirt and any kind of emotion beside anger. Your first language is German, but sarcasm is your primary mode of communication. You are stubborn, amazingly, annoyingly stubborn, and have issues with contr―”
“Okay,” said Matheus, clapping a hand over Quin’s mouth. “Jesus, I got it.”
Quin kissed Matheus’s palm, then pulled the hand away from his mouth.
“I didn’t want you to have any doubts.” He tangled their fingers together, holding their clasped hands to his chest.
“Right.” Matheus frowned. “I’m still mad at you, by the way. I thought I would tell you now, just to have it on the official record.”
The hand behind Matheus’s head slashed through the air. “You are always mad at me. Write out a list of your grievances so that I can ignore it at my leisure.”
Matheus didn’t want to laugh at that, but laughter found its way out despite the best intentions of mice and men.
“You are happy,” said Quin.
“I told you,” said Matheus, grinning. He didn’t seem to be able to stop.
“You are gorgeous when you smile.” Quin cupped Matheus’s cheek, a thumb skimming his lower lip.
“Is that why you claimed me?”
“No.” Quin closed his eyes, giving a tiny headshake. “I didn’t see you smile until afterward, remember? When I took you shopping.”
“When you dragged me shopping,” said Matheus.
“Speaking of which―”
“No.” Matheus waved his finger in Quin’s face. “Do not even think about finishing that thought. No.”
“But―”
“No.”
Quin closed his lips around Matheus’s finger, sucking, teeth grazing over sensitive skin.
Matheus choked, memories of the last hour taking the express route to his groin.
“Stop that,” he managed.
Quin drew the finger out of his mouth, with a contrite expression that Matheus believed for all of naught-point-naught seconds.
“You said you would tell me someday,” Matheus said. “I think I deserve to know.”
Quin sighed. “You aren’t going to like it.”
“I didn’t like being murdered either, but that didn’t seem to stop you.”
“I don’t―” Quin rolled onto his back. “It gets boring.”
“What?” Matheus curled around Quin’s side, resting his head on Quin’s chest. He played with the thick line of dark hair leading to Quin’s groin.
“Everything. Well, not everything. People. They’re always the same, always… boring. Be polite, don’t confront, that’s just the way things are.” Quin flapped a hand. “Paper dolls.”
“Are you talking about humans?” asked Matheus.
“Yes,” said Quin. “But we’re not much better. Obey the lord, keep your head down. Boring.”
“You know, I can’t imagine why people think of you as some kind of crazed psychopath.”
“Do you remember yelling at the cell phone salesman?”
Matheus frowned. “What?”
“In the mall. He asked you about a phone or something, and you just tore into him,” said Quin. “That’s when I decided to claim you.”
“You’re kidding.” Matheus propped himself up onto his elbow. “I throw a temper tantrum in public, and you think, ‘Hey, this is absolutely the person I want to be tied to for all of eternity’?”
“Yup.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Well,” said Quin. “I knew you wouldn’t be boring.”
“You are so nuts, the cashew farmers of America want you to be their new spokesman.”
“I wasn’t wrong.” Quin gave Matheus a lopsided smile. He reached up, brushing the hair away from Matheus’s face. “Haven’t you ever met someone who stuck in your mind? Someone you couldn’t shake loose? Someone who glowed so brightly, you thought you’d never miss the sun again?”
A weight settled into his chest, compressing his lungs. He rubbed the heel of his palm over the ache building behind his rib cage. The urge to run grew in the dark corners of his mind, fed by panic and fear. Matheus looked down at Quin, infuriating, intoxicating, nothing he had planned for, and everything he needed. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He took Quin’s hand, lacing their fingers together, dark olive and cream. He nodded once, and scooted downward, curling into him. Long, quiet mo
ments passed before he regained the ability to speak.
“So, that’s it then?” Matheus asked, his voice deliberately light. “You decided to create your own personal sex slave?”
“I just wanted you around,” said Quin. “To make things interesting. I didn’t plan for this, although I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. But you initiated everything.”
“Yeah, after you fucked with my head.”
“This won’t happen again if you don’t want it to.”
He tilted his head back, examining Quin’s expression. He knew Quin meant what he said. If he asked, he’d leave him alone, never bring up the subject again. Quin didn’t have a lot of limits, but he stuck to the few he did have.
“What, you wouldn’t even try?” Matheus asked. “Quitters never win, Quin.”
“Sunshine, you are exhausting. Why don’t you come up with a signal so that I know when you actually want me to stop and when you are just being you?”
“Right. I punch you in the face; that means I don’t like whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Subtle,” said Quin. “It must have taken you hours to come up with that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to bore you,” said Matheus. “You have to have some kind of challenge.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I know.”
Matheus wiggled closer. “Quin?”
“Mmm?”
“You said it’d be better next time,” Matheus said. “Prove it.”
pleasant haze filled Matheus’s mind. All thoughts quieted, all worries tucked away. He sprawled on his stomach, unconcerned with the temperature of the floor or the weight pressing against his back.
“Better?” Quin asked, his lips brushing Matheus’s ear.
“Mmm.”
“I’m not too heavy.”
“Uh-uh.”
“You’re not going to stay this complacent forever, are you?” Quin sounded both pleased and worried.
“Shush,” said Matheus, a smile curving across his lips.
The weight on his back lifted. Quin placed a kiss on the small of Matheus’s back, then crawled around to his side. He lay next to Matheus, pulling the unused half over the sheet over both of them.
“Sunshine, when this is all over, we are going shopping.”
“No. No more shopping. Hate shopping,”
“Oh, I think you’ll like this kind. I know this shop that has a very… interesting inventory.”
Matheus opened his eyes.
“Have you even heard of bondage cuffs?” asked Quin.
“Bondage cuffs?” Matheus raised his head. He shook the hair out of his eyes.
“I think you’ll like them. That’s just to start with. There’s a whole range of things we can play with.”
“Whips?” Matheus asked, with a hopeful lilt.
Quin grinned, his snaggletooth catching on his lip. “I didn’t expect you to be this submissive.”
“Shut up.” Matheus lay down, pulling the sheet over his head. He didn’t escape for long.
Quin shimmied beneath the sheet. A tiny cavern, smelling of fresh cotton and sex, formed around their heads. “It’s not bad. I certainly appreciate it.”
“I’m so pleased.” Matheus rolled onto his back, wincing at the unfamiliar throb inside him. A not-unpleasant ache, quite satisfying in its way, but one that needed getting used to. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to obey your every whim.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did. How would I be able to punish you?”
“There’s a time and a place,” continued Matheus, determined not to be swayed by fantasies of Quin’s “punishments.”
“I am aware of that, Sunshine.”
“Good.” Matheus decided to ignore the laughter hiding in Quin’s voice. He shifted, tugging on the sheet. The sheet… Heaven knew what happened at a bonding. Did that mean…?
“Quin, the first time you claimed me,” said Matheus. “Did, uh, anything happen? Anything that I don’t remember?”
“No,” said Quin, the word snapping out sharp and quick. “For one thing, you weren’t in your right mind. For another, well, you turned me. You know what happens.”
“Yeah,” said Matheus.
“I can’t imagine a less attractive sight. It’s not one conducive to lovemaking.”
“Lovemaking.” Matheus snickered. He didn’t think he’d ever snickered in his life, but sometimes things just called for a snicker.
“Fucking,” said Quin.
“I got it, oma.”
Quin laid his hand on Matheus’s stomach. He spread his fingers wide, running them along the scars left by Carruthers and his son. “Where are these from?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Matheus. “They’re dead.”
Quin frowned. “I―”
A loud, frantic banging interrupted him. The door shook in its frame.
“Matheus!” Alistair yelled.
“Oh, God, not now.” Matheus covered his face with his hands, and let out a muffled groan. “Alistair, go away!”
Apparently, Webster’s had redefined the words “go” and “away” in the past few hours, because Alistair walked in. “You need to come with me.”
“Alistair!” Matheus scrambled for his pants. “Jesus Christ, do you mind?”
“It’s important.”
“Can’t it wait?” Matheus asked. “I’m a little busy.” He jerked his head at Quin, currently making a face at the state of his pants.
“Don’t you think if I could have waited, I would have?” Alistair asked.
“Umm,” said Matheus.
“Oh, Lord in Heaven, this isn’t about that,” said Alistair, throwing up his hands. “Did you listen to me at all yesterday? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Hurry up.”
Matheus yanked his sweater over his head. He wiggled his arms out, then gave his hair a rough finger-comb. Alistair watched him, foot tapping, arms crossed, looking on the verge of physically dragging him out of the room. He didn’t look at Quin, glancing away whenever Quin moved too close to the center of his vision.
“Are you done?” Alistair demanded. He didn’t wait for an answer. He marched out of the room, leaving Matheus to dart after him.
A small group clustered in the lobby. Matheus tried to count heads. He liked to imagine he saw more people today than yesterday, but he still noticed the gaps. Possibly-Jonathan hadn’t turned up, nor Brianne, nor a half-dozen others from Grigori’s coven. The crowd parted as Alistair approached, then closed behind them. As people shifted, Matheus saw why Alistair wanted him to come immediately.
Joan sat slumped in a desk chair, blood coating her shirt, coating everything. Heaven knelt at her side, speaking in a low voice. She rose, placing her hand on Joan’s shoulder, as Matheus nearer.
“Oh, God,” said Matheus. “Joan, are you―what happened?”
“Fuck, man,” said Joan. Thick globs of blood crusted on her arms. More dried in her hair, stiffened into peaks, plastered strands sticking to her face. The air smelt of copper, and rot. Not human blood.
“Are you hurt?” Matheus asked. Behind him, the crowd shifted. A hand touched the small of his back. He didn’t need look to know that Quin stood there.
Joan raised her arms. Long slashes sliced the skin, the edges sharp and defined. She stood, legs shaking but straight. Heaven held her arm around Joan’s waist, but Joan held her own weight. Her shirt swung open. Someone had taken a swipe across her chest. If she’d been human, she’d be dead within minutes. Matheus didn’t know how she even managed to stand. He saw her ribs, for fuck’s sake. After a second, her knees wavered and she collapsed into the chair with a whoosh of air.
“You need blood,” said Matheus.
“No shit.” Joan coughed, and spat a bloody gob onto the floor.
Behind Matheus, in the crowd, someone made a disgusted noise. He turned around. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but as one, the group took a step backward.
“Oh, my,” said Qu
in, just loud enough for Matheus to hear. “So terrifying.”
Matheus glared at him next, but Quin just raised his eyebrows in response.
“Thomas has gone to fetch someone,” said Heaven, sounding like she’d sent him out for a doctor, not a future murder victim.
“Not alone?” asked Alistair.
“No, he took two others with him.”
“It’s not all mine,” said Joan. “I took out a couple of the bastards first. Rachel and Evan are dead. I don’t know how they found us. We never left the room. Started to go a little bug-shit crazy, but we stayed.”
Cold crystallized in Matheus’s stomach. The ice raced through him, spreading to his spine, the freezing sensation climbing to the base of skull. His vision darkened, the edges closing in. The voices around him drifted away, as though the volume on the entire world had just been turned down three notches. The cold crawled over his shoulders, his biceps, tingling in his fingertips.
“Joan, Where’s Fletcher?” Amazing. Not even a quiver. The sound of his voice surprised him. As flat as the surface of a mirror. “Where is my sister?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?” Matheus’s voice rose. Cracks shot over the ice. “Joan, where is she? Where is Fletcher?”
“I don’t know! They fucking took her.”
“Is she alive? Did they hurt her? What the fuck happened, Joan?”
“Matheus.” Heaven laid her hand on his arm. “You must calm down.”
“She’s my fucking sister!” Matheus yelled. The ice shattered, and he slumped. Dammit. Goddammit. He closed his eyes, wishing the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. He’d still be lying with Quin, wrapped inside their own private cocoon. I just want to sleep. Sleep, and let the world spin without him. Behind him, the air filled with whispers. Matheus exhaled. He opened his eyes to see Joan looking at him with concern. She’d nearly been split in two, and she worried about him.
