TheSmallPrint

by Barbara Elsborg

  Gabriel barely managed to restrain his snort of laughter.

  “I called him and asked him to come,” Dava said. “He’s going to be useful. He can sort stuff out for us.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Well, then I’ll sort him out.” She rose to her feet.

  “Going to get dressed before you let him in?”

  Dava smiled. “I have to give him an incentive. Want to watch?”

  She left the bedroom and Gabriel swung his legs off the bed. He did like to watch. He didn’t like that she knew him so well. He pulled on pants and a shirt and opened the bedroom door to see Dava wrapped around a spindly guy with lank hair and bad skin.

  “You were robbed?” Dava tried to look aghast. Gabriel guessed she was the thief. “That’s terrible. Do you need money?”

  “Whoa, who’s that?” Pete asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “I’m Gabriel.”

  “Are you and Dava together? I don’t want to— I mean, maybe I should—”

  “He made me,” Dava said.

  Pete blinked guileless eyes while Dava wrapped herself tighter around him. Pete’s hands hovered above her butt, clearly nervous about touching her while Gabriel stood there. Pity.

  “Made you?”

  Gabriel watched carefully. It didn’t matter if Pete couldn’t accept what they were. He wouldn’t remember being told if they didn’t want him to, but Dava was right that they needed help. Compliant mortals were useful. Particularly those with limited intelligence.

  “You’re vampires?” Pete asked.

  Gabriel laughed at the look of shock on Dava’s face. Maybe the guy was more intelligent than she’d thought.

  Dava clung onto Pete’s hand. “Yes.”

  The youth smiled. “I thought so. You never ate anything, even the pizza. I was always tired when I left your apartment and I didn’t think it was just the—well, my neck was sore too, and I couldn’t remember everything. Since I hadn’t been drinking, I—well, no, I hadn’t thought you were a vamp but now you mention it—that’s so cool.”

  Oh Christ. He talked as much as her. And he was sharper than he appeared. Gabriel plastered a smile on his face. “Will you help us, Pete?” He turned on his charm and while Dava stroked the bulge at Pete’s crotch, Gabriel made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Not if he had any sense.

  Pete’s mouth dropped farther and farther open as Gabriel spoke.

  “So, you need to go and see this Turner guy,” said Pete finally. “You need me to arrange transport and mobile phones. In return I get a thousand pounds a week and a bonus every month.”

  “And the pleasure of Dava’s company,” Gabriel added, ignoring the glare she shot him.

  “Done,” Pete said.

  Yes, you have been.

  “When we get the books, we’ll arrange a meeting of the Calling,” Dava said. “Though we should give it another name. Maybe the Purelight Fellowship?”

  We, we. Gabriel was already tired of her. “Turner might not have the books.”

  “He does.”

  Despite his caution, Gabriel suspected she might be right. So, had Turner seen something in the diaries he hadn’t? He’d maintained his belief in the books throughout the trial, through witness after witness describing how Gabriel had tricked them.

  Why?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Turner sprawled naked on the couch, staring at the wall opposite. His gaze flickered over the long scratches in what he knew had to be expensive wallpaper and then followed the streaks of cum trailing to the floor. Thank God George wasn’t there. He’d have killed him. Turner’s jaw twitched. What the fuck was he doing thinking about the wallpaper when he’d just done something so wonderful.

  The pleasure of feeding from Catch had been intense to the point of pain. That jolt of heat as the taste of him burst on his mouth. Turner felt his cock swell as he remembered the sensation of Catch’s blood exploding into him, filling his body, his mind. Bloodlust in all its revolting, powerful glory. He could still taste Catch’s blood, the sweet flavor lingering in his mouth. Turner wanted to say something to Catch about biting him, but what?

  I’m sorry? He wasn’t.

  I didn’t mean to? He did.

  Why had Catch let him? He’d never allowed him to before. The last time Turner fed directly was the day before Plasmix had been made compulsory. A long time ago. And now Turner knew how right he’d been not to lapse because drinking from Catch had been…indescribable. Words really failed him, which, although he was a taciturn sort of guy, was still a shock.

  Luckily, Catch had thumped him in the gut, otherwise Turner might not have stopped. Shit.

  Catch sat with his back to the couch, legs crossed at the ankle, his head resting against Turner’s chest. His neck had already healed. Only two smudges of blood remained to show what Turner had done.

  God help him, he longed to do it again. He ought to ask Catch about it, but he didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. Turner wasn’t sure he could stop at one question.

  Had Catch liked it?

  How did it feel?

  Why had he let Turner do it?

  When could he do it again?

  Would Catch do it to him?

  “Sorry about the mess on the wall,” Catch mumbled. “You bring out the beast in me.”

  Turner was both relieved and disappointed by Catch’s avoidance of the real issue. So it was up to him. “What now?”

  “Well, I could get a sponge—”

  “Not the wallpaper.”

  Catch shifted against him and the brush of hair against Turner’s nipple sent blood rushing to his cock. So much for playing nonchalant.

  Catch turned to face him. “I’m staying until Dava’s been apprehended and I find out what Gabriel is up to.”

  Doing his job, even though he’d said he wasn’t. Catch clearly didn’t want to discuss what had just happened. “After that?” Turner asked.

  “’S’up to you.”

  Turner sighed. They were right back to where they started with Catch’s inability to commit. Turner wasn’t sure he wanted to ever trust Catch again. If he risked letting his guard down, Turner left himself wide open to getting hurt. He’d managed for twenty years on his own—with George—he didn’t need this sort of complication.

  Liar.

  “Where did Matty come from?” Catch asked.

  “She was here when I arrived. You notice anything…unusual about her?”

  Turner didn’t miss the way Catch’s Adam’s apple moved up and down. He’d said there was nothing between them, but Turner’s spine tingled. He felt a rush of anxiety but wasn’t sure why. What was the matter with him?

  Maybe he did know.

  “Have you fucked her?” Turner asked.

  “No,” Catch snapped. “Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  Catch rose to his feet and stretched. He kept his back to Turner, and Turner couldn’t help but think Catch didn’t want him to see his expression. Jealous?

  “I’ve been trying to get rid of her but she won’t leave,” Turner said to his back.

  Catch bent to pick up his clothes. “You don’t want her?”

  Yes, but for her sake— “No.”

  Catch turned to face him. “She’s—”

  “Invisible.”

  “What?” Catch laughed.

  Turner rolled to his feet and collected his clothes. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Hey, hang on. You can’t say something like that and not explain. And I need a shower too.”

  Catch followed as Turner left the room. No sign of Matty sitting on the stairs or lurking underneath them.

  “What do you mean?” Catch asked as they walked up the stairs. “How can she be invisible?”

  “You, George and I can see her. No one else. I don’t think. She doesn’t eat or drink. She can get through locked doors. She—”

  “She’s a ghost?” Catch whispered.

  Turner glared at him
. “How could you figure that out in a couple of seconds?”

  “Because I accept weird creatures exist and you just told me she’s invisible.”

  Turner intensified his glare.

  “She’s not a ghost?” Catch asked, misunderstanding the glare.

  Turner pushed open the door of his room. “She says she’s not, but I think she’s in denial.”

  “She’s dead?” Catch leaned against the doorframe. “She can’t be dead.”

  “I’m undead. You’re half-dead. Why shouldn’t she be dead?”

  Turner walked into the bathroom and straight into the shower. Catch slid in behind him. Turner’s jaw ticked and his cock perked up.

  “How did she die?” Catch asked.

  “She can’t remember. That’s something I have to do. Find out what happened to her and then she can—move on.”

  Turner grabbed shower gel and squirted it onto his palm. As he lathered his body, he thought Catch was being uncharacteristically quiet. As he opened his mouth to speak, Catch’s strong fingers reached to wash Turner’s cock and then slid up his chest and into his hair. Turner sighed. Was there any point fighting this? Did he even want to?

  Catch’s touch was hard and soft at the same time, pain and pleasure mixed together. Turner rested his forearms against the shower wall and pressed his forehead between them. This was all Matty’s fault. She’d unlocked what he’d hidden away. The box lid had sprung open and he’d let his feelings out. Now he couldn’t force them back inside. He cared what happened to Matty. He cared about Catch. But he wouldn’t let himself love because in Turner’s opinion that was a pointless exercise. A weakness, an unnecessary emotion that invited vulnerability.

  Sex, on the other hand, was something else entirely.

  Catch’s fingers crept around to the front of Turner’s body, thumbs trailing over his nipples, along his ribs, across his stomach.

  No-strings-attached sex had its advantages, but even that didn’t quite fit Turner’s requirements. He’d like negotiated sex. He wanted to know exactly where he stood, what he was letting himself in for. One week, one month, a year of fucking and then they’d move on because they’d get tired of each other, bored, irritated until one of them stabbed the other in the chest and disappeared for twenty years.

  Not if Matty was there. She wouldn’t let that happen.

  Where the fuck did that come from? If Turner wasn’t going to have Matty, then neither was Catch.

  Hands reached for his cock and Turner groaned. Catch dropped to his knees and spun him around. Turner looked down and had to close his eyes. If he watched Catch do this, he’d come with humiliating speed. What did Catch want? The fact he’d allowed himself to be fucked made sirens wail in Turner’s head, let alone that he’d submitted to a bite. It wasn’t that Catch hadn’t let himself be fucked before, but Turner knew Catch preferred to top. Now Turner was getting a blowjob and that usually came after Catch had fucked him.

  Stop thinking. One lick over the head of his cock and a shiver skated down Turner’s spine and skidded to a halt in his balls. He’d changed his mind. He wanted to watch. Catch’s hands settled on his hips, his lips parted and a long, hot tongue twirled over the tip of Turner’s swollen cock.

  The shower bypassed Turner’s head and poured onto Catch’s face. The vamp-shifter was beautiful, blinking drops of water from his long lashes as he tilted his head and licked up the length of Turner’s cock. When he fluttered his tongue over the sensitive head, every muscle in Turner’s body stiffened.

  Twenty wasted years. Didn’t matter that he lived forever. Those twenty mattered.

  Catch stroked Turner’s balls with his thumb and slid his tongue into the slit at the tip of his cock.

  “Oh God.” Turner’s fingers threaded Catch’s hair and tugged.

  Round and round his tongue circled, flicking the underside of Turner’s crest before diving back into the slit. Turner wondered how long Catch was going to torture him with soft when he wanted hard.

  Did he want him to beg?

  Yeah, he did. Well, he damn well wouldn’t beg. No way.

  Then Catch did something with the tip of his tongue that made Turner’s cock jerk. He’d somehow pressed a little of that wet strip of muscle inside the tiny hole and when he curled it, Turner thought he’d combust.

  “Please,” Turner groaned. Shit. The word had slipped out.

  Even before he’d finished the plea, Catch swallowed him. All of him. Christ. Turner’s fingers sank deeper into Catch’s hair as his hips bucked. The silky stroke of wet flesh on his crest as his cock touched the back of Catch’s throat, the gentle pressure out of proportion to the desperate response, set fire to Turner’s balls.

  Catch let him out, gulped air and stared up at him. “Turn the water off before I drown.”

  Turner fumbled one-handed for the knob.

  “And try not to yank out all my hair.”

  Turner loosened his grip.

  Whatever Catch wanted, just so long as he— Turner gasped as Catch wrapped his lips tight around the head and sucked hard.

  “Jesus Christ.” Turner’s balls gave a warning tingle.

  Catch pulled his lips off with a loud smacking kiss.

  Pre-cum surged.

  “You taste so good.”

  Which brought on another surge. Catch lapped it up and tightened his hand around Turner’s balls.

  Ah, not going to let me come yet.

  Catch trailed his tongue along the thickest vein of Turner’s cock and licked and sucked and kissed while Turner rocked his hips and clung to Catch’s head as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

  Then finally, thankfully, before Turner lost control and shoved himself hard into Catch’s mouth, Catch wrapped his lips around the crest and sucked the rest of Turner’s cock into tight, wet heaven. Rhythm perfect, pressure perfect, Turner could hold off no longer. Catch let go of his aching balls, sucked firmly as he pulled back on Turner’s cock and tightened his lips as he pushed down. The fifth time his cock head hit the back of Catch’s throat, Turner came in wrenching spasms. His body trembled as his balls emptied, his cum spilling from Catch’s mouth as he struggled to swallow.

  Turner sagged against the wall, not trusting his legs. As he came down from the high, his ability to think returned. A week ago his life had been simple. Maybe not the life he wanted, but there were no complications. Since arriving in Milford, he’d been thrust into the middle of an erotic, surreal movie with no idea how he got there and what was going to happen at the end. This disorder, the lack of control and unified structure disturbed him. He wanted to bury himself in his work, but he couldn’t even do that. Not yet. And he’d had to lie to Catch about the diaries. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

  Catch stood, wrapped him in his arms and kissed him, his tongue slinking between Turner’s lips, sliding past his teeth to explore his mouth, and Turner felt a little more water seep through the dam he’d built in his mind. Tasting himself in Catch’s mouth made his legs shake. He allowed himself to be pulled into the bedroom then pushed onto the bed and Catch poised over him, his knees resting on either side of Turner’s hips.

  “Why’d you let me bite you?” Turner blurted.

  Catch widened his eyes. “You bit me?”

  Just before he made himself look a fool, Turner caught the glimmer of a grin and amended his response. “My teeth slipped. Sorry.”

  Catch dropped his head and licked one of Turner’s nipples, and while Turner didn’t forget that his question remained unanswered, he let it go. Catch’s hot mouth laved, nibbled and sucked. Turner arched into his touch, his hands fisting the sheets as his cock filled with blood. When Catch pulled back, he was panting. Turner’s gaze dropped from those hooded green eyes to take in the rise and fall of a spectacular chest. He admired the valleys and plains of Catch’s tanned, muscular body, the firm pecs, the hard disks of his nipples and the sculptured abs. Turner’s gaze followed the slim tapering of golden hair below Catch’s navel that arrowed
to the rosy-headed cock.

  “Did you bring—?” Turner began.

  When Catch grabbed the lube from the bedside table, Turner marveled that he’d had the forethought to bring it from downstairs. He never would have, the way his head was spinning from all that had happened. Instead of thinking sensibly, Turner’s mind set off on a voyage of self-destruction. How many men had Catch fucked? Did he have lube on regular order? Had he come here purely for sex?

  Catch shoved Turner’s legs up, pushed his thighs apart and growled. The hungry, low rumble hit Turner like a bolt of lightning. Every cell sizzled and his hips bucked.

  “Steady,” Catch said with laugh.

  Turner grabbed his own cock, pushed down on his balls and groaned with a mixture of discomfort and relief. He tightened his grip as he watched Catch squirt lube onto his palm then spread it up and down his own erection, his hand taking a slow upward glide to pull the foreskin over his crest and then a slow drag down to expose the dark plum-shaped head. Oh God. Not only did Catch look sexy as hell, Turner could almost feel Catch’s hands on him. Pre-cum dripped from the tip of Turner’s cock, and when Catch swooped to lick it up, Turner let out a sound that sounded far too much like a sob. He quickly coughed and Catch grinned. The fucker.

  Then both men froze. Catch raised his eyes to Turner’s. “Matty?”

  Turner nodded. She was in trouble.

  They scrambled for their clothes and dragged them on as they raced down the stairs. Turner skidded to a halt when he got outside, registered the chaos in his garden and groaned. It looked like a theme park had landed on his property.

  At his side, Catch scented the air. “This way.”

  Turner followed.

  * * * * *

  Matty sucked in a breath then spluttered as water filled her mouth. The river was trying to drag her under the tree trunk she’d snagged up against, and the colder and more tired she became, the harder it was to resist sliding underneath. Once that happened, she might not come up again.

  No one knew she was here and no one cared. If she let herself go under, she’d either drown and prove she hadn’t been dead, except she wouldn’t be alive to say “I told you so”, or alternatively she’d surface somewhere and eventually fetch up in the North Sea. Neither prospect appealed. No point shouting for help. Who’d hear her? She didn’t even feel cold now, just numb.