by SJ Himes
Eroch murmured at him, and Angel smiled. He was beginning to understand the little dragon’s language, and the beastie was adept with sarcasm. Eroch was as sentient as Angel or Simeon; he was just in no way human, so their behavior, while similar in many ways, was not translatable to the dragon. He was not human, and therefore would not act like one. Logic was common for all sentient species, but where people got in trouble was assuming all species had the same logic and ideas about right and wrong. Angel found following the Golden Rule was the best, boiling it down to its most basic concept: kindness.
It took some more staring from the barista and a fang-filled grin from Simeon to finally get their drinks and snack, but they eventually made their way out to the street. Angel sipped his drink while he held the scone up to Eroch, the dragon darting out from under his collar to steal nibbles. Eroch devoured the cranberry scone in about a minute, and Angel took the small hot chocolate from Simeon and held the rim up so Eroch could sip the sweet drink. Eroch was a fastidious eater, clean as can be and he left nary a crumb behind. Eroch sipped the hot chocolate, making tiny little peeps and chirps and humming happily, and the drink was gone as fast as the scone. Angel tossed the empty cup into a trash can on the street, and they walked on. Eroch went back under his collar, and hummed happily as he cleaned his snout, rubbing at his face like a cat would.
It was shopping season, with Christmas a few weeks away. Angel didn’t celebrate the holiday all that much, since most supernaturals and practitioners weren’t of the Christian faith. It was a human holiday more than anything, and Angel had incorporated some of the traditions into Isaac’s upbringing since he sent his little brother to human public schools after they moved to Beacon Hill. That meant presents and some sort of family get together. Milly volunteered to have the dinner at her apartment this year, and since she had an actual dining room, Angel was taking her up on it.
The streets were crowded, but Simeon was obviously a vampire, and humans in this part of town weren’t used to seeing a vampire walking around in public. Simeon was beyond handsome; thick, dark auburn hair, brilliant green eyes that caught the light and flashed emerald hues; and his tall, broad-shouldered frame and lethal grace set him apart from the milling throng. His pale, snow white skin and the thin cashmere sweater he wore over an equally thin tee, over a pair of dress slacks and ankle boots all broadcasted that he wasn’t human. It was below freezing, snow and ice on the sidewalks and roads, and flakes were lazily falling from the dark expanse of the late evening sky. Humans were all bundled up, hats, ear muffs, and scarves everywhere. Simeon got a helluva ton of glances, half wary, half appreciative, and as they walked side by side down the sidewalk, the rush of humanity parted around them.
“What presents are left, a ghra?” Simeon asked, putting a hand under his elbow when Angel slid on a small puddle of slush and briny water from the street.
“Isaac and Daniel,” Angel answered, tucking his collar higher when he felt Eroch chirp in complaint at the chill air. The little dragon was pouring off heat, and Angel was enjoying the fact immensely, but the wee beastie disliked the cold. He wasn’t affected by it, as unaffected as Simeon, but where Simeon didn’t feel the cold like a living creature would, Eroch was just highly resistant to the temperatures, and still felt them. “I have no fucking clue what to get either of them. Isaac was easy as a kid—video games. But he hasn’t touched a controller since he moved back home. And I don’t know Daniel well at all. He clings to me or hides in his room, and I’m afraid to push. That fucking fanghead fucked him up so badly.”
That fanghead in question was Deimos, and Daniel had spent months at the undead monster’s mercy, forced to work spells and do other less pleasant things for the old vampire masquerading as Elder Etienne. Angel grimaced, and sent Simeon a rueful glance of apology. Simeon shook his head once, and smiled back at him. “No need to censor yourself, my love. Deimos was indeed a fucking fanghead.”
Angel snorted out a surprised laugh at Simeon’s swearing, since he did it so primly. ‘Fuck’ sounded classy as hell when the Irish vamp used it, and it did things to his libido. “Gawd, keep swearing at me. Makes me think all sorts of things.”
Simeon stopped them abruptly, people walking around them like they were a landmark, Simeon’s predatory aura affecting everyone. Simeon drew him close, and leaned down until his cold lips glided over his ear as the vampire spoke. “When we get home, I’m going to fuck your tight little arse, hard and deep, in every fucking way imaginable. I will make you scream my name and beg for more. When you’ve cum so hard you want to pass out, I’m going to work you back up, and fuck you until your mind cannot process anything but pleasure and your body answers to me alone.”
Angel shivered, his cock twitching to life in his jeans, pressing against the cold as fuck zipper. He was really glad his sweater hung so low on his hips, otherwise the entirety of the Financial District would be getting an eyeful of what Simeon’s words did to his groin. “Yes, please,” Angel whispered back, kissing Simeon’s jaw.
Sirens wailed as a cop car drove by, distracting them both. The cruiser shut off the siren but the lights stayed on, the car easing around the corner half a block away. Angel peered down the street, and two more police cars arrived from the other direction, lights flashing. They were on Tremont walking north along a busy section of the southern side of the Financial District, on the south side of the Common, on their way to Macy’s. Angel, curious, headed in the direction of the commotion, Simeon following on his heels.
Simeon indulged his mate, following behind the willowy sorcerer. Angel had an unusually accurate sense for when trouble was of a supernatural bent, and whatever had happened just around the corner was agitating the humans. Simeon moved in front of Angel as the crowds surged, cries of alarm and the acrid scent of fear filling the cold air. Angel gripped the back of his sweater as Simeon cut through the crowd. Simeon was taller than most of the humans, and was able to see over their heads as they jogged and jostled each other in an attempt to get away from whatever was going on.
A warm, sweet metallic scent wafted along the lazy winter breeze, pungent and intoxicating. His fangs ached, and saliva filled his mouth. Simeon breathed in over his tongue, and the heavy scent of fresh human blood slammed into him. He growled, glad the noise from the crowd muffled the sound. He was no fledgling to be left in the throes of hunger by the spilling of blood, and he stamped down on his baser instincts.
“Someone is dead, a ghra,” Simeon said over his shoulder. “There’s too much blood spoor in the air for a human to have survived.”
“Shit,” Angel swore, and they jogged to reach the corner. The crowd was thinned out now, and they hit the corner and turned to look down West Street. Police cruisers cut off access on both ends of the block, and an ambulance was halfway down the street outside the entrance to a small access alley between buildings. Simeon guided Angel to the side, out of the way of a few brave pedestrians and police.
Over the next several minutes, more police arrived, and detectives arrived on scene in dark sedans. Simeon saw the rumpled suit jacket of Detective James O’Malley, Angel’s liaison on the Boston Police Department. The older man exited the passenger side of the last sedan to arrive, and he was immediately surrounded by a half a dozen uniformed officers.
“Is that O’Malley?” Angel asked, and Simeon nodded. “Think I’m about to get a phone call?”
“You may well be, my love,” Simeon replied, thinking the odds were good. O’Malley tended to get called on the more interesting cases, which meant the ones with suspected supernatural involvement. O’Malley then called Angel if he needed help outside department resources. “The humans are talking about the body found in the alley. Someone was stabbed, repeatedly.”
“Stabbings aren’t usually committed by a supernat. Most of them have claws,” Angel mused, brow wrinkling. He leaned on Simeon, and the heat from his bonded lover seeped into Simeon, even with the freezing t
emperatures. Eroch peeked out from under Angel’s chin, his yellow eyes glowing as he sniffed. The tiny dragon probably smelled the blood as well. Angel kept watching, quiet as the street was being cordoned off by yellow tape lines and uniformed cops. One was standing nearby, tying off a line of plastic crime scene tape to the stop sign on the corner, and he kept throwing Simeon nervous glances. Simeon gave the human male a thin, cold smile, and the cop swallowed nervously and hurried off, crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze behind him. Angel saw the exchange and chuckled. Simeon loved his mate’s dark humor.
O’Malley and a few more detectives disappeared into the alley. Simeon leaned back, blocking off the wind and increasing snowfall, sheltering Angel behind him and the building at their back. He was reminded of another night not that long ago, when he followed his love into the chill evening and they ended up resurrecting Angel’s murdered mentor.
That night was forever etched in his memory. It was the night Angel trusted him with everything. Not just letting him witness an act of proscribed magic, but it was the night Angel gave Simeon his heart and body. Angel was a frustrating mystery to most—but to Simeon he was as easy to read as a blood trail in the woods. Angel needed a foundation, trust, and honesty. He was a formidable man, talented and powerful in his own right, and while Simeon would die to protect his Leannán, his mate needed less protection than a mundane human or even another vampire would. Forged in battle, his mate was the scion of a powerful magical family, and while he’d lived in relative peace the last decade, Angel’s first reaction to danger was to fight—and to fight smart. A rare combination, battle sense and intelligence, and while Angel was occasionally foolhardy with his own safety, his survival instinct was profound, and his desire to protect others lent him caution.
Angel fought to win, but never at the expense of an innocent. It was that line in the proverbial sand that let Angel claim Daniel as his apprentice, sent him to help even people he greatly disliked, and kept him from walking away from danger, even when his own life was at risk.
Simeon stared down at Angel, his mate was engrossed in watching the proceedings just down the street, and he was able to look his fill.
Angel said once that his father was a dancer, and what lithe grace Raine Salvatore must have had was given to his eldest son. Angel moved with an economy of motion that most humans just didn’t have, even lifetime athletes. He wasn’t one to fidget or cause issue from boredom. He could sit in silence the whole day, just thinking, and the quiet would be welcoming and companionable. His humor was dark, and his sarcasm so sharp he left lesser mortals bleeding. Snark was a relatively new term, and Simeon felt it applied best to his Leannán. Angel was short by modern measurements for a man, only 5’7, and he was slim and lean. His Leannán was typical of most practitioners, his body not as sharply defined as most men his age. Angel was far from soft, but he rarely felt the urge to exercise. Angel went to the community center not far from his apartment and swam a couple nights a week in the pool, a recent habit after their headlong flight into the streets of Boston after stealing a corpse. Angel’s smooth lines and satin skin appealed to Simeon in a way that drew his focus and desire as no other man ever had.
“You’re doing it again,” Angel accused with a glare and teasing pout, crossing his arms, his now empty coffee cup crushed in one of his hands.
“And that would be?” Simeon asked with a grin, turning to face Angel, leaning down to sniff at his neck and short brown hair. The blond highlights were growing out, and Simeon wanted to run his hands through the strands.
“Staring at me with that lovey-dovey expression on your face,” Angel grumbled, and Simeon chuckled. He may complain, but Simeon could smell just how happy Simeon’s loving regard made the necromancer.
“As I love you, and as the planes of your face are intriguing as that of an old Italian master’s painting, gazing upon your visage with adoration is just something you’ll need to grow accustomed to,” Simeon whispered, kissing under Angel’s ear. Angel sighed, his scent happy and warm with the spice of his arousal. Simeon licked the warm skin he found there, the taste of salt and the thrum of blood pulsing just under the surface making his body hum in returned desire. Though the scent of death magic his mate gave off just by existing was enough to calm his desire to bite. Angel would welcome his bite, he was sure of it, but their bond wasn’t strong enough yet to grant Simeon immunity from magic poisoning.
“Only the two of you would get frisky at a crime scene,” a rough whiskey-laced voice complained behind them. Simeon sighed with reluctance and pulled away from his mate, turning to nod a greeting to the gruff detective.
“Hey, O’Malley,” Angel smirked, moving the bottom hem of his sweater over his groin. Angel was aroused, and Simeon growled quietly, satisfied at the reaction he got from his mate. “Do I need to answer my phone for this to be official or can we skip the call?”
“Wasn’t going to call,” O’Malley said, lighting a cigarette. Angel frowned, and Simeon was surprised himself.
“Why did they call you to the scene unless it’s a supernat case?” Angel asked, grumpy. Angel liked to complain about how often BPD turned to him for help, but his mate went willingly almost every time, and not getting a call if O’Malley was involved was odd.
“The murderer or victim isn’t a supernatural citizen?” Simeon asked, thinking that may be the only reason. O’Malley gave him a nod and took a drag off his cigarette. Simeon curled his lip at the offensive smell but refrained from commenting. He smoked cheroots so there was little room for him to complain, though the quality was far improved over the detective’s cheap menthols.
“Nope,” O’Malley said, looking back over his shoulder at the alley where crime scene techs were working. The coroner’s van had arrived while they were distracted with each other, and the gurney creaked as it was pulled over frozen cobblestones. “Coroner and techs are saying regular old slash and stab. Victim’s initial DNA test on scene came back mundane human, and the wizard on the tech crew says no magic was used. Body is a mess, though, so they called me in to make sure it wasn’t a supernat kill, just in case.”
“Whoa,” Angel mock whispered, eyes wide. “Human on human violence? So weird.”
“Yeah. Funny,” O’Malley pretended to glare but his lips twitched in amusement. “Killer used a knife or two. So this one you get a pass, Salvatore.”
“Dammit, I was hoping to get out of shopping,” Angel grumbled. The necromancer yanked his collar higher and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. He glowered, and sighed heavily. “Call me if something interesting happens. I’ll do anything to get out of Christmas shopping.”
“You’ve heard of the Internet, yeah?” O’Malley mused. “Wicked smart kid like yourself outta be using that instead of traipsing about in the cold.”
“Shut up,” Angel snarked back, cheeks red. “I tried that. I figured at this point seeing the shit in person may work better than pixels on a screen. At least I’m doing it weeks before Christmas instead of the day before.”
“Inside December is still too close. Stores are gonna be crazy. Have fun,” O’Malley said, grinning. “Those crowds will eat you alive, necromancer or not.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, no zombie jokes! Besides, I brought him for protection,” Angel said, grinning at last. He jerked his chin at Simeon, and he chuckled at the deviltry on his love’s face. Eroch chirped loudly, poking his head out from under Angel’s chin where he was buried in his scarf. “You, too, my wee beastie.”
O’Malley stared at the dragon, surprised. Simeon found it beyond amusing how humans reacted to the familiar. Dragons were common in literature and the history of this world, yet every time a human saw Eroch, they were left flabbergasted. O’Malley quickly recovered though, having seen Eroch a few times before at Angel’s apartment. Eroch eyed the detective, and Simeon laughed heartily when the little flirt winked one yellow eye at the older man before disappearing back
under the scarf.
“Gets more astonishing each time I see the critter,” O’Malley muttered, lighting up a new cigarette. “But yeah, you’re off the hook on this one. Have fun shopping.”
O’Malley threw Simeon a salute and Angel a nod, and the detective ambled back across the street to the crime scene. Simeon pulled Angel under his arm, hugging his love close. “Dammit, I guess we can either go home and you can swear at me some more,” Angel whispered up at him, and Simeon tightened his arm, keeping Angel as close as possible. Angel went up on his toes and Simeon leaned down, letting Angel breathe heated words into his ear. “Or… we can go shopping. With people. Lines and stuff and more people. What was I thinking? All I’m able to think about is screaming your name as you fuck me.”
Simeon locked at his watch. It was just after 7pm, the evening early yet by both vampire and mortal definitions. Angel was nipping at the underside of his chin, clever hands sneaking along the waistband of his trousers. Simeon smiled, but pulled back. His love was a temptation, and Simeon would have the sexy necromancer under him before the night was over, but they had presents to buy, and prolonging the experience would only make it worse. Simeon would know, too—he’d seen centuries of procrastination, and it never paid off.
“Shopping, my love, then we shall return to our home and our bed. I will make you scream and whimper and beg all night long after we finish our task,” Simeon declared, and Angel groaned loudly, shoulders drooping. Simeon pressed a small kiss to his temple, and took his hand and tugged. Angel followed, still grumbling under his breath.
The wind picked up, and the snow began to fall with serious intent. Simeon took them back out to Tremont, and looked for a cab. The breeze was sharp and salty, the ocean in every breath over his tongue, and Simeon enjoyed the secrets the wind carried about the world. The seductive pull of blood was still there, along with a hint of something savory, earthy. Sage and lavender. Simeon sent a glance back down West Street, but he saw nothing to indicate where the new scent was coming from. The city was home to many creatures, not just humans and vampires, and he could have sworn he was scenting a fae.
