“It’s your fault for letting it get you,” he whispered. And it was his for letting it get away.
Connell set the bottle down carefully, the glass clinking familiarly with the hardwood. Well tonight he wouldn’t make the same mistake he had last time.
A cold chill ran down his spine as a loud and cliché howl carried through the night air and through his open window.
“I’m ready this time, Rover,” he muttered.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, cursing gently as he knocked over the bottle. It clanked and rolled across the uneven flooring, the pungent scent mixing with the damp wood.
The world was spinning ever so slightly, but it didn’t matter. He could still see straight, so he could still aim.
To demonstrate the point he lifted the rifle, aiming it steadily at the door. Whoever was inside that werewolf was not currently home, but Connell knew from experience that the thing still liked to use the door—even if he was only crashing through it.
Connell heard the heavy th-thump of large paws hitting the wet earth first, the fast, heavy rhythm racing to match his heartbeat. Next came the heavy wet panting, a low snarling just behind the breaths of air.
In moments it would be crashing into his modest home. All he had to do was shoot it. Just one small movement of his finger and it would all be over.
It hit the door hard, splinters of wood careening off the frame, dust flying into Connell’s face and then everything went still.
Did it knock itself out? He knew it was a mindless beast, but it should still have a human brain in there somewhere.
He couldn’t hear a thing over his own heart, and held his breath, straining to hear.
Both hands trembling, Connell turned to one blackened window and paused, listening. His whole body jittering, he turned to face the other, but again, nothing stirred.
If the thing had knocked itself out, he had to act now. He had to kill it before it woke up.
An unsteady step had him at the door. As his hand touched the knob the whole thing lurched forward without warning. It broke off its hinges, and the whole door whipped as one toward him.
The splintering wood hit him, making his rifle go off and taking him tumbling to the ground. He heard a sharp yelp of pain and glimpsed the beast’s bright familiar eyes as the back of his head hit the cold wooden ground with a smack.
The afternoon sun was tumbling through the window, lighting Brennan’s red hair on fire and making those large, extraordinarily green eyes seem like a rather normal colour by comparison.
He was sitting in the creaky rocking chair; his head tilted back, his eyes narrowed as they always were when he was absorbing information.
His long legs were spread out before him, practically taking up all of Connell’s little cabin, while one rocked him absently back and forth.
Connell was pretending not to notice any of it. He sat on the bed, leaning toward his friend. His own light hair was also being lit up by the sun he knew because it kept falling before his eyes and distracting him. He shook it out of the way for the third time, and Brennan leaned forward intently, catching the motion.
Connell forgot what he was saying. He watched as the red head reached out and ever so gently brushed the stray locks from his face.
He hadn’t expected that those large strong hands could be so gentle.
Realizing that he was holding his breath, he took a lungful of air and looked away.
What had he been saying again?
Oh right.
“So basically silver bullets aren’t normally enough. Unless the werewolf is already injured you need to get it smack in the face.”
Brennan leaned back into his previous position, the corners of his mouth pinching slightly. For a long moment he eyed Connell and then looked away with a sigh.
Falling silent, Connell watched the little motion with a frown. He didn’t need to be a seer to know that Brennan was upset. He had an idea why, but despite himself half hoped he was wrong.
He reached out a hand, placing it on the knee that Brennan had extended toward him to get his attention.
His friend’s green eyes met his hazel ones at once.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
Brennan reached out and with the swiftness that Connell had gotten to know him for, he gripped his hand, stopping him from pulling away.
“What do I have to do?” he asked.
His voice was gentle, but there was a dangerous note hidden beneath it.
“For what?” Connell asked.
All gentleness was gone from Brennan now.
“For you to look at me with a quarter the interest that you do those creepy monsters of yours.”
Connell swallowed and yanked his hand from Brennan’s grip. He hadn’t expected such frankness.
“Your brother was killed by a banshee,” he reminded him. “I thought you cared about this stuff. I thought that was why you wanted to team up with me.”
Brennan’s eyes softened.
“It’s not the only reason,” he said. “Lord knows I’ve made it clear enough, but it doesn’t look like you’re about to do anything about it.”
He leaned forward then, across the long distance between them. Connell had the time to pull away but spent so much of it deliberating that suddenly Brennan’s lips were against his.
They were soft and they were warm and parts of Connell’s body sparked to attention instantly. He shut his eyes as a tongue delved expertly into his mouth.
He really shouldn’t do this. Connell never hooked up when it had the possibility of becoming something more than quick sex. Not with friends and definitely not with anyone related to work.
He pulled away, their lips suctioning apart with a noise that made him grimace.
“We can’t do this,” he said.
“Yes, we can,” Brennan informed him.
He pushed him down flat onto the bed and suddenly was over top of him, sucking on his neck.
Connell tried valiantly to push the larger man off of him.
“No—”
“Give me one good reason.”
Connell tried, but for the life of him all he could think of was Brennan’s weight pushing down on his hips where he was straddling him.
Brennan smiled cheekily at him.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
He ceased his arguing as his friend’s fingers tore apart his shirt buttons.
“This is a new shirt, you know,” he said.
Brennan just grinned and latched his lips around Connell’s hardening nipples. He moaned, his eyes falling shut as a hand slid into his pants, unabashedly massaging him until Connell’s fingers clenched into Brennan’s hard shoulders.
Brennan pulled his hand away.
“I don’t want you to come yet,” he whispered roughly. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”
He shoved Connell back down and fervently helped to push the clothes from his body, whipping his own off as he did, exposing his strong and sculpted muscles. He tossed them carelessly aside and looked down at Connell hungrily.
Laying naked like a display it was only a moment of watching him, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, before Brennan lowered over him, licking his neck wetly.
Connell arched into his lips, his erection digging into Brennan’s stomach as he worked his way down. He licked him only briefly, eliciting a moan before slipping down even further. He slid his hands under the soft underside of Connell’s knees and pushed his legs up so that he was entirely displayed.
Connell lifted up, tying to watch him. He had a sort of fascination with watching Brennan do his work, especially it seemed, when it was this kind of work.
His tongue slipped out licking and dipping into Connell, making him cry out and wriggle.
He pulled away, producing a moan of disappointment but before Connell could attempt to form words, Brennan pushed his legs back up and positioned himself at his entrance. With a slow, steady thrust, he pushed himself in
to his body, not stopping until he sank in as deep as he could.
He leaned down for a kiss and Connell lifted up at once to meet him.
As gently as he could, Brennan pulled out, watching Connell’s eyes roll back, unfocussed and then shut in pleasure and then pushed back into him.
He reached down, his hand wrapping around Connell and pulling in rhythm with his thrusts, harder and harder, his body straining to fill him. Finally, with one hard thrust Brennan threw his head back and spilled into him. He strained, pushing himself as deep as he could as he came.
Connell cried out, clenching his muscles around Brennan’s hard, throbbing cock while he continued to slide in and out of him. With a long groan, he shot hot liquid onto Brennan’s hand, his stomach and chest.
They stayed like that for a moment, with Brennan still thrusting and stroking, trying to milk the last drops out of him.
Finally, he slipped out with a little, sucking sound and crawled down to Connell, laying down on top of him and kissing him languidly.
They laid in silence for some time until Connell could feel Brennan smiling against his neck.
He waited.
“See, this wasn’t such a bad idea,” Brennan finally said boastfully.
Connell just smiled, too tired to really argue.
“Fine,” he said belatedly. “But if we’re gonna do this then I’m making all the rules.”
Brennan chuckled against him.
“And what rules are those?” he asked.
Connell attempted to think.
“No touching each other during any work times,” he finally said.
Brennan lifted his head to look at him.
“Does this count as work time?” he asked seriously.
Connell raised a brow.
“Clearly not,” he answered.
Brennan grinned.
“Good.”
For hours they lounged in bed, alternating between dozing and waking to explore one another more thoroughly than the time before.
They spent more times than Connell could count like that, their limbs wrapped around each other, the smell of Brennan’s mint shaving cream tingling his nose. He could smell it now, lying on the hard wooden floor of his beaten down cabin.
His head began to pound painfully as he came out of his dreams.
He didn’t want to open his eyes yet. He wanted to stay lying there, lost in those memories but the sharp scent of mint mingling with hot blood forced him to reality.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The fire had dimmed and the wind whipping into the room battled it roughly, making it sear to life one second and weaken faintly the next.
Connell stared at the patterns flaring across the ceiling as everything slowly came into focus.
His head hurt, and his leg. He took a gasping breath as the pain registered. The door was jammed on top of him, something pinning it down over his ankle.
Collecting his energy he lifted his head, straining to see, but the door bumped his chin, holding him down and blocking the sight.
He braced his hands on the cold floor beneath him and with a strangled cry he shoved as hard as he could. He moved only inches, his leg stretching out agonizingly. Bracing himself, he did it again, pulling his pinned limb free and struggled all the way out.
His strength giving out, he collapsed against the floor, gasping for breath.
Shaking from the pain, he lifted himself, gazing at the beast through his light fringe.
Connell’s heart pummeled his ribs at the sight.
He had hit it all right because now it was human. But he hadn’t killed it.
The human was taking gasping, agonized breaths, his whole body shaking and twitching, laying naked and half over the broken door.
Dragging his twisted leg along, Connell pulled himself to the side of the beast and slid a shaking hand comfortingly into the bright red hair.
He spent a moment stroking Brennan’s cheek and brushing his hair away from his face. The dusting of freckles across his nose standing out starkly against his pale skin.
Ever so slowly he opened his bright eyes and fixed them on Connell’s shocked face.
“I saw you die,” Connell said. Why did his voice sound so hallow?
Brennan lifted a hand weakly to his face and then squeezed his eyes shut with a hiss of pain. He dropped it back to rest on his chest, over the wound Connell had left him.
When he opened his eyes again there were tears in them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I tried to stay away from you, but I guess I just can’t. I never could.”
He took a shaking breath and gripped Connell’s hand, much the way he had that first day.
“Get your rifle,” he whispered.
Connell didn’t move.
If his lover thought that he was capable of killing him, then he was crazy. He couldn’t. Not now that Brennan had come back from the dead.
“You should have told me,” he said.
Brennan laughed, choking on his blood. What had he gone through completely alone in these past few months?
“And then what?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Connell hissed. “We can find a way!” He pulled Brennan up roughly, ignoring his cry of pain and squeezed him in a tight embrace. He deserved it for making Connell think that he was dead.
Those past two months since Brannan’s death the werewolf had come for him on every full moon. It had shocked him so bad the first time he almost hadn’t gotten away. He had been so sure he’d killed it that night while Brennan lay cold on the ground.
His hot blood warmed Connell’s cold body now but he didn’t care. It was just further proof that he was alive and a wound like that, no matter how severe would never kill a werewolf.
“We could tie you up,” he said, wracking his brain for ideas. “It might not be so bad. Hell, I still have those handcuffs you got me for my birthday.”
Brennan laughed against his chest and the shaking finally began to subside. The wound was starting to heal.
He pulled back slightly to look at his lover and smiled when two bright eyes, which were very much alive, met his.
“You can’t let me live,” he said. “It’s against everything that you do. The things of the night are evil, Connell, you said it yourself.”
He nodded softly.
“Yes, and I also said that I make all the rules.”
He bent over Brennan, kissing him softly, inhaling his sweet scent and when Brennan’s familiar soft lips kissed him back, for the first time he thanked god for the supernatural.
Bound For Death
by Anitra Lynn McLeod
Sun, sand, and suffering. Those were the three words Blake Harrington used to describe the beach. Right now all he had was the sand part of the equation, but soon, there would be sun, and then the suffering would begin in earnest. In less than two hours, day would break and he’d turn to dust.
Poof!
Stupid design.
Not like Blake was going to get a chance to complain to his maker. The man who turned him went up in flames yesterday, and the big guy upstairs wasn’t going to let him past the pearly gates. No way. Becoming a vampire pretty much guaranteed him a one-way ticket to hell. Given the things he’d been doing since he was turned, he might have earned himself a seat on the hell express.
“Regrets?” Mikkel Paxton asked.
“I’ve had a few,” Blake warbled, doing a poor imitation of Frank Sinatra.
Mikkel snickered as he plunked down in the sand next to Blake’s bound body.
The vamps who’d trussed Blake up had selected the end of a concrete-and-steel-tubing stairway that went from the parking lot to the beach. His arms were above his head on the handrails and his legs were attached to the pipes that fed into the last concrete step. Arms up and legs spread, Blake wasn’t going anywhere. When the beachcombers came in the morning, all they’d find was a bunch of restraints and a pile of dust.
“I could get you out of thi
s.”
Blake didn’t even glance at the finely crafted leather straps that held him front and center for the big-light-in-the-east show. Looking at his shackles wasn’t going to change the fact he couldn’t get free. Once they’d set the wrist and ankle cuffs on him, they’d padlocked them for good measure. Even with all his strength, and Mikkel’s help, Blake wasn’t going anywhere. When vamps trussed up one of their own, they certainly knew how to do it.
“If you help me, they’ll come after you.” Mikkel was too beautiful in the sun to ever become a creature of the night. Not like Blake himself, who was so pale people had thought he was a vampire long before he’d actually become one. His blinding whiteness was why he didn’t like the beach. Well, not in the daylight, anyway. Moonlight on the beach was fine, but for the whole dead-by-dawn thing.
“If you turn me, they won’t be able—”
“I already told you I’m not doing that.” Running around indiscriminately turning people was what got his maker fried yesterday. Now they were picking off his minions one by one. Who knew vamps were such selective creatures?
When Mikkel nodded, his sun-bleached hair flopped into his eyes. If Blake used only one word to describe Mikkel, it would be hunk. Or surfer. Tall, tan, and terrific Mikkel had a body that wouldn’t stop and a burning desire to become a vamp.
“Why do you want to be one of us anyway?” Blake turned his head, frowning at Mikkel. “We suck.”
Snickering, Mikkel said, “There’s that, but you can also blow.” Mikkel lifted one brow as he darted his gaze from his baggy skate shorts to Blake’s mouth.
Tauntingly, Blake licked his lips. “Yeah, but that’s my own personal skill, not one I got with my vampy powers.” He tried to extend his arms out in a classic vampire pose, but the leather restraints held him fast. Bondage was not his thing. Death bondage even less so.
“Do you want me to go?” Mikkel settled himself more firmly in the sand.
“Even if I told you to go, you wouldn’t, so stay.”
“I don’t know why you won’t accept my help.” Mikkel fondled the end of the strap that encompassed his right ankle. “I think we could have a lot of fun together.”
Just One Bite Volume 6 Page 2
