Reaching the end of the alley, Todd and Mickey paused to glance suspiciously at their surroundings, never seeing Ian’s tall shadow and hooded, now yellow eyes. Todd yanked Mickey out in front of him, urging the nervous young man along with a shove to his back. Their movements became more fugitive as they edged off to Ian’s left toward the playhouse stage door.
Before they disappeared, a knife suddenly appeared in Mickey’s hand as well.
“Then why don’t you?” Mickey’s hand wavered, his grip on the knife overly tight and shaking. “Do it yourself, I mean.”
Ian could read the panic on his thin face and hear it thundering through his blood vessels.
“This one don’t feel right, Todd.”
“You’re crazy, just edgy ‘cause it’s Christmas Eve, you are. What better night for a bloke to meet his maker than tonight, eh? Kinda religious experience.” Todd laughed, a hushed, ugly sound, and slapped Mickey upside of his bowed head. “‘Sides, need all of us to be sure it gets done right. Jules’s got a rich patron’s pockets to pick and this nuisance is in his way.”
Ian was stunned, the pieces of the tiny puzzle falling into place.
The sounds of a scuffle grabbed his attention and Todd started. He slapped Mickey’s shoulder, forcing him to move faster. “Let’s go! Arty and Reg have already got him!” Todd ran down the side alley into the darkness. Mickey skittered behind him, obviously torn between running forward and running backward.
A muffled, garbled shout and the sudden scent of familiar blood galvanized Ian into action. Even with all his vampire speed and agility, it took too long for him to reach the huddled group of filthy street rabble. It had already found its prey.
The four men beat and stabbed at a figure pressed up against one wall of the old playhouse. An occasional flash of pale blond caught in the bright moonlight between the dark heads of ragged caps and dull, dirty hair. As Ian descended on them, the blond head slid out of sight to the filth of the snow-covered ground while the grunting huddle of pounding arms and hunched shoulders finally stepped back.
The scent of Trevor’s blood overwhelmed Ian. He logically knew what to expect ‑‑ the sounds of the brief struggle, the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh and cries of pain and disbelief all too familiar and brutal to his ears. The sight of his beautiful beloved lying, unmoving, in a bloody heap in a dark, desolate alley like so much human waste was unbearable to the vampire.
Outrage, pain, and horror overtook centuries of control and discipline. Ian let his inner power burst free in a surge of unforgiving rage. He descended on the flailing mass of unsuspecting assailants like the night he existed in, silent, unmerciful and unstoppable, throwing the entire group back with one sweeping blow.
He ended Mickey’s startled cry of surprise quickly by breaking his neck. Todd was torn limb from limb, his own wetly gleaming knife finding a new home in his own black heart.
Art and Reg, the first to grab their prey and begin the assault, were less charitably dealt with. Their eyes were torn from their sockets, their grasping arms shattered, and their throats ripped open. Then their writhing, mangled, and broken bodies were thrown against a wall where they dropped to the slushy cobblestone, left in the filth and waste to slowly bleed to death, dinner for the ever-present scavenging rats.
It had taken Ian seconds to turn the alley into a death house, but he was still too late. Free of his assailants. Trevor lay at Ian’s feet, unmoving, unnaturally pale in the dim moonlight, a layer of glistening white captured in his hair and eyelashes. Ian could barely hear the stuttering rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat and only the movement of snowflakes drifting off his chest signaled the occasional shallow breath. From the street, Ian could hear the faint sound of the joyous carolers as they sang. While Shepherds Watched would forever take on a new and dark meaning for Ian.
Dropping to his knees, Ian scooped Trevor into his arms, cradling his lover’s rapidly cooling body to his chest. He smoothed Trevor’s snow-dampened hair off his face, surprised to see his own hand trembling. It had been so very long since he had experienced genuine terror. Loving Trevor had awakened so many long-forgotten feelings in the vampire. He had been so bewitched by the joy in the good emotions, he had not remembered the agony of the bad until now.
All his dreams and plans of a bright and happy future with his lover until Trevor’s natural final days were lived out dissolved and blew away with the cold wind. His reason for continuing in his dark, empty existence was slipping away with each draining pulse of Trevor’s wounded heart. Ian’s heart felt the same pain; each thrust of the knife had entered his chest as well.
But while Trevor’s pain would be brief, like his young life, Ian’s pain would be eternal. He couldn’t face the specter of life without Trevor in it. He wouldn’t. He had waited hundreds of long, lonely years to find his love and now that he had, he wasn’t leaving him. This night, this hallowed, blessed eve, they would face judgment in the afterlife as one and die together in this accursed alleyway.
Ian heard Trevor’s faint heartbeat flutter and stop. He clutched his lover to him, heart-to-heart, and let out a silent, anguished cry of indescribable pain. Tears streamed down his face as his pain transformed into rage. He held Trevor in a brutal grip, looked down into his lover’s beautiful face, quivering fingertips gently tracing the delicate curve of Trevor’s eyelids to feel the soft feathery brush of his long lashes one more time against his skin.
A flicker of movement under his touch stilled his hand. He bowed his head and stared at Trevor’s pale face, straining to hear his heartbeat again. A faint, barely audible thump-thud touched the edges of his keen senses and Ian’s firm vow to end both their lives crumbled to dust.
Ian had never created a new vampire; not in all the years of his existence had he inflicted his curse on another; never had he committed what he considered to be a vampire’s greatest sin. Killed, as he had tonight, for protection or revenge, yes, but never to feed and never to damn another to the dark loneliness of vampirism.
But it wouldn’t be lonely for Trevor or him if they had each other in the darkness.
When Trevor woke to his new existence and hated Ian for turning him, Ian would destroy them both. It was that simple, and yet, so complex.
A single, shallow breath of air escaped Trevor’s lips, ghosting over Ian’s face. The fear that it may have been Trevor’s last pulled Ian from his internal debate and let his heart decide the matter.
Panicked, Ian tightly clasped Trevor to him, and sunk his now-extended fangs into the soft, smooth skin of his lover’s exposed neck, the move brutal and primal, the wound horrific and deep.
* * * * *
Nausea rolled through Trevor’s stomach and a flash of pain made him jump and gasp. He opened his eyes to the lamplight of Ian’s bedroom and a flood of disjointed, horrific memories embroiled him in their chaotic rush, stealing his air and his voice.
He ran his hand over his smooth, hairless chest, noting the coolness of his flesh and the ivory tone of skin. Panic shot down his limbs, exploding in his chest, the sharp stabbing pain of his attackers’ weapons suddenly remembered by his body in vivid detail. More detail than he had been aware of at the time of the assault. Enough detail that Trevor knew he should not be lying comfortably in Ian’s bed, naked, aware, and unmarked. Enough detail that his hand slid to his left breast and lay there searching for the familiar thump of his own heartbeat.
His chest was still and cold.
As terror rose up in his lifeless heart, but before it could burst out, a hand slid along his arm and his fingers were firmly laced together with larger, blunt ones. Trevor stared at the interwoven hands for a moment, then turned his eyes up to meet Ian’s waiting brown ones.
Ian had been lying beside him, still and silent as the dead. As Trevor stared at his lover, a yellow cast gave his warm brown eyes a luminescent glow. Trevor thought he should be frightened or repulsed, but Ian’s eyes remained warm and loving, his face open and concerned. Trevor couldn’t help but b
e reassured and beguiled by the small tentative smile on the large man’s usually firm mouth. It was the first time he had seen Ian anything but supremely confident in his action.
Trevor wet his dry, cool lips, his gaze searching Ian’s face for answers, dreading an explanation, but needing to hear his lover’s soft, commanding voice.
“Am I dead, Ian? Are you?” Trevor’s gaze flickered around the confines of the luxurious room and soft bedding. “Are we dead, together, in heaven, then?”
He heard his own voice waver. Trevor clamped his jaw shut to keep in the whimper that rose in his throat. Maybe it was the set of Ian’s mouth or the odd color of his eyes, but something told him it wasn’t going to be that easy.
“Not heaven, my beauty, but not hell, either.” Ian squeezed their entwined hands, the touch firm, gentle, and real, anchoring Trevor. “Not as long as we are together.”
Despite the stillness in his chest, Trevor didn’t feel “dead.” Indeed, he felt strangely energized and hyperaware. The threads of the fine linens were like rough twigs under his back and the snowflakes hitting the window sounded as if pebbles were being pelted against the rippled glass.
Suddenly, the light of the smoking lamp was too bright and the weight of the down comforter too heavy. Trevor flung the blanket off his naked body, shielding his eyes from the light with his free hand, panic and confusion fueling his jerky movements.
“Then what am I? What’s been done to me? Why am I not dead?” Trevor’s voice rose, his eyes burning bright. “I was killed in the alleyway, I know it. I remember the knife in my chest and the slowing of my heart. I know I died!”
He tried to fight his way free from Ian’s hold, but the bigger man slipped behind him and pinned Trevor’s back to his broad chest. Holding Trevor’s arms crossed over his own heaving chest, Ian wrapped his arms around him and gently held him. The feel of Ian’s naked flesh against his own sensitive skin was like lying on the finest satin draped tightly over iron. Trevor had never felt so much power and strength in a man before. It was thrilling and frightening all at once. Before tonight, he thought he had known everything about this man.
Trevor gradually stopped tugging and pulling as the urge to flee subsided, with Ian’s softly murmured words finally breaking through the haze of terror in his mind.
“Hush, my beauty, sshhh. I’m here. I’ll guide you.” Ian nuzzled his face into Trevor’s hair and breathed warm air against his skin and scalp.
The warmth was sweet and welcome. Trevor pushed his head back into it, allowing Ian to soothe him.
“You’ll not face this alone, Trevor. I swear.” Ian tightened his embrace. “Never alone.”
Calmer, Trevor focused on his body and the demands of his overwrought senses. He felt things more keenly, heard things clearer, and even his sight, always slightly short-sighted, was now crisp. Colors were more vibrant and smells were almost overwhelming if he focused on them. He could hear the mice scurrying through the walls and the snow falling on the window ledge outside the room. He knew he was dead, but he had never felt so alive before.
Trevor slid his hand over his cool, naked abdomen, then ran his other over Ian’s marble-hard arm where it held him pinned in place with a gentle but firm embrace. They felt exactly the same. He wasn’t as brawny as Ian naturally was, but now, his once pink skin was a shade paler, firmer, and cool, just like Ian’s.
“I-I feel strange, Ian. Unnatural.” Trevor’s whole body shook this time, not just his voice. “I should be dead.” He concentrated on what his body and mind were telling him and he grew more confused. “And I’m not.”
He clasped Ian’s large hands tighter to his left breast and hung on to them like they were his only hope of remaining sane. “My heart doesn’t beat and I feel a hunger unlike any I have ever known.”
Trevor twisted in Ian’s grip so that he could see his lover’s face. The yellow cast to Ian’s eyes was almost hypnotic. It held his gaze captive, focused on Ian’s face. He started for a brief instant when he noticed Ian’s eyeteeth looked longer and sharper than they normally did.
A flash of sudden insight, absurd and outlandish, surged through him, an innate, primal knowledge that was a part of him now. His stomach fluttered and his breathing became shallow.
Even instinctively knowing the answer, he had to hear it from Ian. He faltered, then breathlessly asked, “Why am I like this, Ian? What’s happened to me?”
Ian buried his face in Trevor’s hair and gasped into the blond strands, voice ragged and possessive, a raw hunger to them Trevor had never heard before. It made his cock stir and his blood race even as he fought back a tinge of horror.
“I couldn’t lose you.”
Trevor’s voice caught in his throat. He partially turned in Ian’s embrace to face him. He watched as guilt and stubborn defiance battled for dominance on Ian’s face, neither winning, but both inexplicably touching Trevor’s heart.
“You did this to me?”
It was only a whisper, but Ian flinched as if shouted at. His eyes pleaded with Trevor for understanding, but his voice was as strong and unyielding as his continued grip on Trevor’s body.
“You were dying in my arms.” He took a deep breath. His voice wavered slightly. “I couldn’t lose you.” The light in Ian’s eyes burned brighter. One hand caressed Trevor’s shoulders, back, belly and beyond, soothing, begging, arousing Trevor with its bold touch. “Please forgive me. I couldn’t lose you or I’d lose myself, as well.”
Looking into Trevor’s eyes, Ian softly vowed, “We were as one before this, and now that’s true more so than ever. We are inseparable for all time.” He swallowed hard, guilt winning over confidence for a moment. “If you choose to stay with me.”
His gaze darted over Trevor’s face, obviously seeking some sort of clue to Trevor’s thoughts. As much as the new, overwhelming voice in Trevor’s head screamed for him to accept and indulge in this unnatural existence, a tiny part of his old self resisted, frightened and unsure of this shadowy future. His Christian upbringing was well ingrained, defiant even in the face of the dark, insurmountable changes Trevor knew his body and world had undergone.
A sharp stab of pain rippled through his mouth. Trevor felt the budding, elongated points of new fangs emerge from his upper jaws, the razor-fine edge of one slicing his own lip as he grimaced in surprise. He smeared the blood away with his fingers, but the smell pulled a dark thirst up from deep inside him.
It coursed through his body like boiling water, scalding his senses and heightening them. His arousal stood tall and aching, pressed against Ian’s hard abdomen. He felt powerful and raw, sinfully base and suddenly tainted. Air left his lungs and his throat constricted with fear as the need to be free crashed in on him.
“At what cost, Ian? My soul?” Trevor struggled against Ian’s hold, repulsion and terror temporarily overpowering his desire to be at Ian’s side. He grunted and twisted in Ian’s grip, but the larger, stronger man couldn’t be budged. “Am I one of the accursed undead, a servant of the devil now?”
“Do you think I am? Did you fall in love with a devil, Trevor? An evil man?”
“No.” A mere whisper of sound, Trevor licked his lips and answered Ian again, this time with more conviction, and more uncertainty. “No, you’re not, Ian. You’re not.”
“We are shunned by the light, and all things holy, but that doesn’t make us Satan’s minions. We need to feed from other living creatures just as we did before, but we need not kill to do it. We need not harm or damage, take a life or change a life, if we choose not to do so. I have been in this form for hundreds of years and I have not killed a single being in the quest for nourishment.”
Ian brushed the tousled hair from Trevor’s hopeful face and reverently rubbed a callused thumb over the fine line of his lover’s cheekbone and down his jaw. “I can teach you. Show you how.”
He slid his hand to Trevor’s hair and worked his fingers over the scalp beneath them, relaxing and calming Trevor’s skittishness with jus
t his touch. “I do not murder for food and neither will you.” Tightening his grip, Ian lightly shook Trevor’s head, then pressed their foreheads together and quietly vowed, “I’ll see us both perish before I’ll let that happen.”
The hold on his arms lessened as Ian’s hands found other places on Trevor’s now unresisting body to touch and hold. Desire surged again, forcing aside the fear. Trevor whimpered and arched into Ian’s hands, hungry for his touch.
“What are we, Ian?” Trevor’s arms wound around his lover’s neck, clinging to Ian’s powerful shoulders, fingers digging into them. His tear-filled gaze searched his lover’s face for answers and reassurance. “What will others call us now?”
“Others?” Ian kissed Trevor’s mouth, the brief caress of lips chaste and fleeting, less than Trevor wanted, but almost more than he could stand. Ian’s answer ghosted over his face. “Others will call us demons.” Ian said the word in a detached, nonjudgmental way, as if he had just called them carpenters. It oddly reassured Trevor.
“What name do we give ourselves?”
“The ancient one.” Once again Ian kissed him, light and teasing, a taste of things to come. “The one belonging to the first of our kind, the true masters of the dark.” This time he breathed the word into Trevor’s mouth, warming his lips and setting his darkened soul on fire with its heated, airy caress. “Vampyre.”
Ian pronounced it with the lilt of his native northern accent, giving the word a sensual, powerful sound that vibrated through to Trevor’s very core. His cock jerked and his blood raced faster through his veins. He arched and ground his erection against Ian’s bare flesh, wanting release from at least one of his hungers.
A gust of icy wind rattled the window, its mighty swirls of air carrying the faint sound of carolers up to them. Both glanced at the frost-edged panes that separated them from the rest of the world, a sudden reminder of the masses of humanity they had left behind.
Trevor lowered his gaze, a pang of guilt striking through him, as he remembered what night this still was. He shrugged, uncomfortable with his own thoughts, and darted a beseeching look at Ian. His cockney accent became prominent, strong and thick, as it always did when he felt deeply about something. “Seems blasphemous for this to happen on Christmas Eve, don’t it? Mean, it’s a holy day, and all.”
The Bite Before Christmas Page 4
