Blood Divine
Page 28
“Oh,” Cooper said, distracted by imagined images of the cuddling he’d missed while he was out. “Wait. Miss Ida?”
Randy reached for a damp cloth on the nightstand and dabbed Cooper’s forehead and cheeks. “She stayed with you today while Stephen and I slept. The sun just went down a few minutes ago, so I slipped back in here.”
A wave of grief spilled over him like a punishing waterfall. He stared at the ceiling, fighting back tears. Lillie Mae.
Randy stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m so sorry about Aunt Mae, Cooper. She was one hell of a woman. Miss Ida and Wayne are taking care of all the arrangements. Don’t worry with that right now, okay?”
Cooper looked at Randy. He was so overcome with love and affection that he didn’t know what to say. It was a dream come true. Yes. That must be it. A dream. A dreaded new reality settled in on him, disrupting his fleeting moment of peace. Randy was no longer human. He had died. He was Anakim.
“No,” Randy said, a look of shame drifting over his face. “I’m afraid you’re not dreaming. And yes. I am… one of them. But I’m also still Randy. Don’t you forget that, Coop.”
Randy’s lips were cool and tender as they met Cooper’s. The innocent show of affection quickly turned passionate. Randy pulled Cooper close to him, the hard mass below his waist protesting the sheer constraints of the thin layer of cotton fabric that separated their bare skin. Cooper pressed himself against Randy’s body, his own hardened cock throbbing for release.
A soft, ill-timed knock sounded, and the door eased open with a slow creak. They stopped kissing. Exasperated, Cooper rolled over onto his back.
“Randy,” Stephen said, poking his head in around the half-open door. Long strands of unfettered blond hair fell forward over his face. He looked at Cooper. “Oh, sorry to interrupt.” A conspiratorial smile crept over his angular face.
Cooper glanced down, and heat rushed to his cheeks. He pulled the sheet up to cover his exposed erection.
Stephen smiled at him. “Well, I can see that you are fully awake now. That’s great.” He looked back at Randy. “We should go now. You need to feed.”
Randy nodded. “Be right there.”
Stephen smiled at Cooper. “You’ll be fine here until we get back. Miss Ida’s still here, and nobody knows about this place. It’s been my own secret oasis for years. We will need to leave soon now that you are better. Just to be safe.”
Stephen ducked out and pulled the door to.
Randy sighed and lowered his head. “Sorry, Red. I’d better go.” As much as he tried to hide it, Cooper could see Randy struggled with his new existence, and he had a hundred questions for him.
What does it feel like? Have you killed anyone? Can you fly like Betsy and Stephen? Can we still have sex? Just to name a few.
Randy smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll be back soon, and we can pick up where we left off. I’ll answer all of your questions then.”
Cooper frowned. “Dammit, that’s annoying.”
“And no, I haven’t killed anyone,” Randy said as he slid his legs over the side of the bed and looked away. “Except for Tony, that is.” The pain in his voice cut like a knife through Cooper’s heart.
He stroked the back of Randy’s hand. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.” Randy ran his fingers through his mussed hair and sighed. He flashed a smile over his shoulder and then rose naked from the bed, looking like he had just stepped down from Mt. Olympus. “Thanks for saying that, though.”
Randy pulled the tight jeans over his muscled thighs and perfectly sculpted ass and winked at him from across the room. Heat rushed to Cooper’s cheeks. What the hell had happened to him? The boys back in Nashville would never recognize this Cooper Causey. Actually, he was just fine with that. When Cooper blinked, Randy was on top of him, straddling him on hands and knees.
Cooper flinched. “Jesus Christ, Randy. Don’t do that.”
Randy laughed. He stared down at Cooper, and all fun and games ceased. He closed the gap between their lips, his kiss hungry and deep, like Cooper was the only nourishment that could sustain him. He returned the passion, losing himself in the moment. His erection pressed into the crotch of Randy’s jeans, the rough fabric on his tender flesh creating instant friction that he nearly lost control over.
Randy pulled away slowly. He glanced down at Cooper’s pulsating girth and shot him a mischievous smile. Then, in a rustle of cold wind that sailed through the open sliding door to the terrace and out into the night, he was gone.
Cooper couldn’t fight the smile forming on his lips. “Asshole!” He turned on his side and ran his hands over the soft white sheets, still cool from Randy’s body. It was the first time he didn’t want to slink away from a man’s bed. Ever. He couldn’t wait for Randy to return. Though he felt safe for the moment, his mind brimmed with anxiety-laden questions.
What would he do now? Was he supposed to just drop out of his life? School? Go on the run with his hot immortal boyfriend and his one-hundred-fifty-year-old underwear model of a gay uncle? How long could they hide from Jericho? From Caleb?
The ocean breeze serenaded him with a tranquil symphony of white noise, making his heavy eyelids droop. He and Randy would figure it out together. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest as the darkness rumbled deep inside him like gentle rolling thunder, lulling him into the peaceful slumber of its familiar embrace.
THE END
Author Note
Most special thanks to: (reader: insert your name here), for spending your money and time on my little tale. I hope it was worth it!
Heartfelt thanks to all those who cheered me on and believed in me from the very beginning of this journey (you know who you are), but especially to Melissa Chambers who inspired me to get off my ass and write the damn book. To my editors Charissa Weaks and Jerry Wheeler for helping me mold and polish it. To my super supportive beta readers: Steve, Tom, Hal, Michelle, and my sister, Monica. To Ethan Day and the Wilde City Press team for taking a chance on me (and Lloyd Meeker for pointing me in their direction). To all 62 agents who either rejected this manuscript or never responded to my query—all of you made me stronger (he says through gritted teeth). Finally, to my husband, Steve Sipe, who inspired me everyday with his own life journey and relentless resolve for excellence. I love you.
This story is set in the town where I was born and spent many years of my youth. If you’re ever driving down to Myrtle Beach, SC, there are only a couple of ways to get there, one of which is straight through Georgetown—the 3rd oldest city in South Carolina and the “Ghost Capital of the South.” I encourage you to take a few minutes to veer down to the historic district where you will find many places you read about in this book—The Strand Theater, the Rice Museum, the Harborwalk, Prince George Winyah Episcopal Church, and many Spanish moss-canopied streets lined with beautiful old homes. The place’s charm was lost on me as a child and my penance for that is to share it with the world now. And if you really want the true “Warfield” experience, go stay a night or two at Mansfield Plantation, the inspiration for Warfield. Mansfield is a beautifully restored bed and breakfast now where I’m told things still go bump in the night, just as they did when I was child.
Greg Howard
Greg Howard grew up near the coast of South Carolina, or as he fondly refers to it, “the armpit of the American South.” By the time he could afford professional therapy and medication, the damage had already been done. His hometown of Georgetown, South Carolina is known as the “Ghost Capital of the South,” (seriously…there’s a sign), and was always a great source of material for his overactive imagination.
Raised in a staunchly religious, Pentecostal home, Greg escaped into the arts: singing, playing piano, acting, writing songs, and making up stories. After running away to the bright lights and big city of Nashville, Tennessee with stars in his eyes and dreams of being the Dianne Warren of Music City, he took
a job peddling CDs and has been a cog in the music business machine ever since.
Now an adult with a brain, Greg finds the South Carolina coast to be a perfectly magical place where he vacations yearly and dreams of the day when he can return to write full time in the most tastefully decorated beach house in Pawleys Island. Greg has a soft spot for Spaniels and any rescue animal. People…not so much.
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www.greghowardauthor.com
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of the following places and items mentioned in this work of fiction:
Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company
Pepsi: PepsiCo Inc.
Field and Stream: American Sports Licensing, Inc.
Gamecocks: University of South Carolina
Walmart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
Olan Mills: Olan Mills, Inc.
Winn-Dixie: Winn-Dixie Stores, Inc.
Silly Putty: Crayola Properties, Inc.
Dairy Queen: The American Dairy Queen Corporation
Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson
Jim Beam: Beam Global Spirits and Wine, Inc.
iPad: Apple, Inc.
Twilight Zone: CBS Broadcasting Inc.
Xena, Warrior Princess: Studios USA Television Distribution
Vanderbilt: Vanderbilt University
Men’s Fitness: Weider Publications, LLC
Photoshop: Adobe Systems, Inc.
Avon: Avon Products, Inc.
Harley Davidson: H-D Michigan, LLC
Juicy Fruit: Wm. Wrigley Jr. Company
The Incredible Hulk: Cadence Industries Corporation d.b.a. Marvel Comics Group
GQ: Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.