The Bite Before Christmas
Page 6
Allowing the change to happen, Trevor ran his tongue delicately over his fangs as they descended in his mouth, and marveled at how clear his vision became despite the sudden yellow tint to it.
Soundlessly, he swooped down on the men as three of them forced the fourth to the ground and they all rolled around in the gray slush of the alley floor, grunting and swearing. Trevor found it telling that no one called out for help, reinforcing his conviction that none of the men were innocent bystanders.
Baring his teeth and gleefully anticipating the fight, Trevor swooped down on the most aggressive man in the huddle of flying arms and weapons. He snapped the man’s neck with a satisfying crunch that only his hearing could detect. He tossed the useless body aside and grabbed a second attacker, the remaining men still unaware of his presence.
The blood lust rose and Trevor battled it down, refusing to feed fully from the likes of this human trash. He did allow them to feel the terror and pain of his vengeful power during the last moment of their lives. He was forced to make it faster than he would have liked, needing to dispatch them quickly before the ever-vigilant police force was alerted to his presence.
By the time he had coldly finished off the top three assailants, his face was contorted in rage and covered in the blood. Moonlight had broken through the clouded night sky and he could see his pale hands shine with an almost luminescent quality. Trevor imagined his face and blond hair looked much the same in the eerie light, unearthly and bright.
The final brawler was sprawled in a heap, wet and gritty from the alley’s debris and slush, alive, but nearly senseless from the blows he’d received. Trevor felt no compassion for him. He was no better than the others, just unfortunate enough to be on the wrong side of the numbers. Reaching down to grasp the shirtfront of the man, Trevor paused, body bathed in a ray of moonlight, his fist wrapped in the man’s torn, bloodied shirt. His mouth was open, fangs ready to deliver one more round of dark, symbolic justice, when a tiny sound scratched at the edges of his hearing, drawing his attention.
His head snapped up and his keen eyes picked out a small figure near a barred cellar window, jammed into the small shadows of the brick-patterned overhang. As he watched, frozen in place by the presence of an unexpected witness, a young girl crawled out into the moonlight and slowly approached him.
She was just as tattered and grimy as the men, her dark curls tangled and matted, and her soiled clothing inadequate for the season.
Trevor knew he was a terrifying sight, bloodied and fanged, eyes bright yellow and pale skin glowing, but the child slowly walked closer to him, eyes wide and a look of awe on her lean, dirt-smudged face.
“Are you an angel?” She looked and sounded about eight years old, but her sad eyes told of decades beyond that.
“You look like an angel. One of those avenger angels the minister talks about. From the big church daddy takes me to sometimes.” She reached for Trevor with one shaking, tiny hand, but halted as the man in Trevor’s grip stirred and moaned. “Daddy?”
The man groaned again and slumped. Wordlessly, Trevor let him fall from his grasp, gaze still riveted to the child’s tear-streaked face and dark, expressive eyes.
“Thank you for saving my daddy.” She gave Trevor a solemn nod and knelt down in the alley slime, gently cradling the man’s head in her barely-there lap. Stunned, Trevor let her. “Daddy said we needed to stay away from all the policemen so they wouldn’t take me away, but it’s awfully dangerous back here.”
“I’ll be sure to thank you when I say my prayers tonight.” She didn’t try to shake his hand, but he knew she thought about it by the way her gaze danced over his bloody fists. “My name’s Becca. What’s yours?”
Trevor stared at her and thought about what to tell her. He decided the less she knew, the better for her. “Gabriel.”
He glanced around at the seedy street and was suddenly overwhelmed by the desolate scene of a homeless child and father fighting off villains and leeches for what little they owned. He had miscalculated his victim for the first time in all his years of seeking vengeance. It unsettled him, made his response harsh and clipped.
“You going to sleep here? In the alleys?”
He softened his voice at the child’s fearful, startled expression. “This how you’re spending Christmas?” Glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone and unheard, Trevor gestured at the gloom surrounding them, his gaze lingering on the bodies of the dead men. “What kinda holiday is this for a little bit like you, eh?”
“It doesn’t matter where you spend Christmas as long as you’re with someone you love, Gabriel. Daddy says so.”
Her words ate at Trevor’s heart and he thought about Ian, alone and far away. He knew where he should truly be on this night. But revenge was so hard to let go of.
Becca rubbed the blood off her father’s forehead with the cuff of her thin jacket, gaze still locked on Trevor’s face. The man was slowly coming around. He hadn’t suffered any serious damage that Trevor could see, and his heart sounded strong and regular.
Rage fading, he allowed the change to slip away, self-consciously rubbing the blood off his hands onto his pant legs. “Don’t you want presents? Warm food? A safe place to sleep?”
“Uh-huh. I’ll get some.” She sounded amazingly convinced, considering her present circumstances.
“And just how do you know that, niblet?” Trevor almost laughed at her innocence. It had been so long since he had been exposed to a child’s simple, pure reasoning.
Becca looked over her shoulder at the cellar window where she had been hiding, then looked up at Trevor, awe back in her gaze. “Before, when they were fighting? Before you came?”
Uncertain, Trevor nodded to encourage her when she appeared to expect an answer from him.
“I prayed for someone to come and help.” She shrugged and a small, solemn smile creased her red-cheeked face. “And then you were here. A Christmas angel.” She patted her father’s cheek. “And then the bad men were ...” She glanced at the nearby corpses from the corner of her eye and quickly looked down at her hands. “... gone.”
Becca turned a bright stare on Trevor. “I know prayers get answered now.” She leaned into Trevor’s personal space and whispered, “I know I’m not supposed to pray for ‘things,’ but I’m going to ask for a Christmas dinner and a warmer coat for daddy.”
The child looked Trevor over from head to toe and then glanced curiously behind him. “Nobody should be alone on Christmas.” Reaching out, Becca slipped her hand into one of Trevor’s and hesitantly invited, “You can spend it with us if you don’t have to go back to heaven right away.”
Something sharp lanced through Trevor’s chest, and a strange pressure expanded under his ribcage, making it hard for him to draw a breath. His tightly held desire for revenge suddenly dissolved away into the cold night air, leaving the taste of burnt ashes on his lips where traces of the dead men’s blood still lingered.
There was someplace he needed to be, someone he needed to be with, this Christmas Eve and every night after that. Someone who loved him despite his selfish, foolhardy quest for unobtainable justice.
Trevor looked at Becca’s open, trusting face, her injured father who had only been trying to protect her, and her outstretched hand. He slipped his own hand into hers, marveling at the strength in the tiny fingers that curled around his.
The sound of footsteps hastened his decision, a faint conversation between two bobbies carrying clearly on the crisp night air. He fished in his pants pocket with his free hand as he shook his head at Becca.
“Thanks anyway, but I can’t stay, sweetpea.” He disengaged his hand and replaced it with a roll of bills. “There’s a bit to help get your da fixed up and buy him that coat and such. There enough to keep the coppers from nicking you away from him, too.” He stood and darted a glance at the still empty alleyway, waiting to be sure that Becca wouldn’t be left prey to some new menace.
“Do you have to go?”
Two officers came into view as they rounded a corner one building away. Trevor leapt into the air, grabbed the fire escape ladder overhead, and scaled the side of the warehouse in under two seconds. He was long gone before the bobbies’ eyesight picked him out of the shadows. Shouts and whistles filled the night.
* * * * *
The single bright star glittered and pulsed, its brilliant light stark against the black sky, surrounded by the feathery gray wisps of slow moving snow clouds.
Ian stared at the star, snowflakes catching in his long, dark eyelashes. The captured snowflakes glistened, distorting his vision as it melted into his eyes. He blinked the moisture away, uncomfortably aware that some of the wetness escaping his eyes wasn’t only melted snow.
For the first time in a very long while, Ian let down his guard and allowed his love, loneliness, and the nagging anxiety over Trevor’s uncertain safety have free rein. He’d never let anyone else see it, but even a being as self-confident and controlled as he was had doubts and fears. Tonight, these seemed especially strong. He sighed and picked up on the verse where he had left off, speaking softly to the waiting starlight.
“I am the sunlight on ripened grain ...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning rush
I am the swift uplifting rush ...”
Pausing for breath, Ian started and turned when another voice took up the poem and finished it for him.
“Of gentle birds in circling flight ...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry ‑‑
I am not there ... I did not die ...”
Silhouetted by the cheerful Christmas lights and decorations Stuart had hung in the living room, Trevor stood in the open doorway to the patio. The sight took Ian’s breath away. His chest ached and his stomach fluttered. Trevor was home.
“I’m sort of glad not to be buried in some cold, wet grave with a load of dirt sitting on my chest.” Trevor slowly walked out onto the patio and stood in front of Ian just out of arm’s reach. “I did not die.” He sniffed and glanced away, then met Ian’s expectant gaze. “Kinda glad of that.”
The mellow tunes of Nat King Cole drifted on the stream of warm air that escaped the apartment and muted light filtered out from behind Trevor. It shimmered in the pale strands of his blond hair while the crisp, clean snow that still clung to his clothing glimmered in the starlight. He was bathed in the combined rays, front and back, and the effect was glorious. There was a slight pink to his cheeks, marking him as well fed, and a shy smile on his lips. To Ian, he looked like an angel with a burnished halo.
“You’re home.” Ian swallowed hard and resisted the urge to grab Trevor and drag him into a crushing embrace. He took in a deep breath to steady the flutter in his chest.
“Back early, aren’t you?” The thought that Trevor had returned for some darker reason than wanting to be with Ian on Christmas darted across Ian’s mind and made him uncharacteristically hesitant.
“Running late, actually.” Trevor scuffed his toe in the snow then locked gazes with Ian’s uncertain stare. He took another step closer, entering Ian’s personal space. He slowly edged forward, closing the gap between them until their bodies brushed.
“Met a Christmas angel last night. Little bitty one named Becca.” He ran his hands up the front of Ian’s chest, and then slipped his fingers under the edges of Ian’s open collar to rub at the carotid pulse points on the vampire’s sensitive neck.
“A Christmas angel?” Ian stood very still so as not to dislodge Trevor’s tenuous hold. He couldn’t keep a skeptical smile from tugging at his lips. “Named Becca.”
“Uh huh. A real, live angel. Too skinny, but a sweet bit of fluff.” Trevor smirked at Ian’s expression, but Ian could tell Trevor was uneasy, maybe even nervous about Ian’s reaction to him being home. “She told me Christmas was to be spent with someone you loved.”
“Smart bit of fluff.” Ian shifted closer and let his hands find the man’s slender hips. There was a skittishness in Trevor’s approach that made Ian cautious. Instead of pulling Trevor to him, he swayed his own body forward and let their groins touch.
“She was that.” Trevor’s hands traced the curve of Ian’s jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over Ian’s parted lips. His gaze followed his fingertips, then bounced up to meet Ian’s appraising stare. “Smarter than me, apparently.” Trevor sighed and moistened his bottom lip before admitting, “As bad as it was, she was where she belonged and I wasn’t.” Trevor pressed his length against Ian.
Ian’s arousal burst to life and he felt Trevor’s body answer in kind, but he stopped himself from pushing the moment. Instead, he smiled down at Trevor’s upturned face and studied his uncertain expression for clues to what his lover was thinking. He saw lust and attraction in Trevor’s eyes, along with a new mix of embarrassment and guilt. Puzzled, Ian moved one hand to the small of Trevor’s back and massaged the tense muscles there.
“You’re sure about being here? After all these decades, you’re suddenly done handing out punishment? You’re ready to stay with me instead?”
Trevor wordlessly nodded, but the embarrassment in his eyes grew.
Ian cradled Trevor’s face between his hands and softly kissed his lips before drawing back. His tone was soft but the look in his eyes was steely. “Why now, Trevor?”
“Realized I was punishing you right along with the thugs that did me in. Didn’t mean to, but I was.” He dropped his gaze for several seconds. “Might’ve even meant to. A little.”
His own buried guilt surfaced, and Ian felt a rush of forgiveness and understanding wash over him. He’d never known Trevor harbored any guilt over that fateful night. He hadn’t objected to Trevor’s Christmas activities because he felt he deserved to be punished just as much as Trevor obviously had.
When Ian gently raised Trevor’s chin, the starlight glistened in the twin streams of wetness trailing down his face. Snowflakes stuck to the moisture and instantly melted. Ian brushed the tears and flakes away with his thumbs then moved them to brush over Trevor’s mouth.
“And now, beauty?”
Trevor leaned into Ian’s caress and closed his eyes, his hips slowly grinding against Ian’s thigh and cock, a tremulous sigh escaping his lips. “Don’t want revenge anymore.”
Ian kissed each closed eyelid, first one side then the next, and then back again. “What do you want?” He kissed his way down the side of Trevor’s face and nuzzled his neck.
“You. Just you. Best gift I ever got. You and me forever.” Trevor craned his head to one side, encouraging Ian to explore further. “You and me on Christmas Eve, just like the first one.”
“You remember that one, do you?” Ian nipped the thin skin between neck and shoulder, then licked off the resulting ooze of blood.
Trevor gasped and pressed Ian’s face closer. “Can’t forget one of the best nights I ever had. You made me go blind for a while that night.”
“Blind? Really?” Preening, Ian smirked with delight at the revelation.
Trevor smacked Ian’s broad shoulder, unimpressed when the solid bulk didn’t budge. “Big-headed bastard, aren’t you now! Should never have told you!”
Ian laughed and wiggled his eyebrows at his lover. “Maybe we could try for mute this time.” He grabbed Trevor and wrestled him into a crushing embrace, kissing and exploring his lover’s mouth and neck until Trevor was breathless and squirming in his arms. His cock was hard and ready, but Ian wanted this to be a seduction unlike any Trevor could remember before this.
An unexpected, overly loud, and dramatic clearing of a dry throat momentarily broke them apart. Still entwined in each other’s arms, both vampires glanced guiltily toward the source of the untimely interruption.
“I was going to bring out the mistletoe to set the mood, but I see it isn’
t necessary.” Tossing the festive twig and berries in the air, Stuart turned on his heel and headed back into the apartment, droning tonelessly, “Possibly you would like to tie it around Master Trevor’s waist instead?”
Ian instinctively lunged for the object, snatching it out of the air in mid-arc as it sailed overhead. He looked at the mistletoe and then arched one eyebrow at Trevor. He pulled Trevor close and held it up over their heads.
Trevor reached up and slowly pulled Ian’s hand back down, mistletoe included. He softly kissed his lover’s mouth, breathing his words into Ian’s parted lips. “I like Stuart’s idea better.”
A wicked glint in his eyes, Ian grinned and dropped to his knees. This was going to be a very merry Christmas, indeed.
~ * ~
Laura Baumbach
Laura Baumbach has written fan fiction, short stories, novellas, novels and screenplays. Her first published book was a collection of erotic horror short stories entitled Demon Spawn: Tales from Demon Under Glass. Published in March of 2004 by Sybaritic Press, it was the winner of the 2004 DIY awards for best of fan fiction, as well as two SCREWZ awards and two SIZZLER awards. God’s Work, a short story from this collection has been nominated for a Huggie Award. She contributed three stories to a second anthology published in March of 2005, Demon Spawn2.
A number of her short erotic stories have been published in several on-line e-zines. Her short erotica story, A Bit of Rough, nominated for a Fruity Award in 2005, evolved into her first gay erotic romance novel of the same name, published in October of 2005 by Sybaritic Press.
Working in several genres, she is also the author of The Flight of the Sparrows, an action/adventure thriller, and three screenplays, Details of the Hunt, Heartless and Second Soul. She is currently working on another contemporary gay romance novel with a thriller element, Mexican Heat, set in the steamy tropics.