by M. J. O'Shea
It was nearly impossible not to. Especially after a few drinks from a bartender who’d obviously learned some tricks from Dan.
Eventually, Tyson pulled Avery onto the dance floor. It was crowded and warm, smelled of perfume and that sweet musk he’d smelled on Donovan before, but as soon as Tyson wound his arms around Avery’s waist, everything else disappeared.
They swayed to an otherworldly melody and a haunting voice singing about being with someone for always. Tyson pulled him closer to nip gently on his neck, kissed his way up Avery’s sensitive skin, and ended with a soft kiss to his lips.
The music swirled around them, Tyson’s pale hair glowed in the light of huge crystal chandeliers, and his heartbeat thumped gently beneath Avery’s. He nudged his fingers under Avery’s shirt and Avery shivered from his touch. It had to be magic. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.
Tell me that you’ll kiss me forever….
“A lot of vampires really like to party,” Tyson said when they’d returned to their seats with a drink. “It’s why Donovan doesn’t hang out in places like this very often. Not his scene. They can be fun when you’re in the right mood.”
Avery was still reeling from their moment under the lights, but he managed to take a long look at the crowd, hopefully a discreet look. He didn’t want to be rude. Clothes had been partially removed, and the air reeked of champagne and the metallic tang of blood. There were no boundaries that Avery could tell, groups of bodies swayed together, touching and kissing and downing sparkling drinks. Avery noticed he was far from the only human in there. In a way he wasn’t surprised. He’d expected something like that from years of movies and television. There was something hypnotic about the vampires, even if they were terrifying in their excess. He imagined the people were drawn to them. It didn’t look like the vampires were all that attached in return. Avery watched one female vampire take a short drink from a man’s neck and then push him away, giggling as she watched him sway toward the bar.
“Do these people know they’re… snacks?”
Tyson nodded. “Of course. Some of them are here for a night, some are like junkies—they get introduced to this world and get addicted to the feeling. It’s something I would only advise trying once, because it’s easy to get sucked in. I’ve heard it feels incredible to have a vampire drink from you.”
Avery stared at him. “How about I try it zero times?”
He wasn’t tempted to have some stranger’s teeth in his neck.
“I’d be okay with that.”
“How the hell do these places exist? You’d think….”
“I’m sure you can guess we’re very good at hiding—even somewhere this big has enough protections around it that a normal person wouldn’t be able to find it. It’s better that way. I think pop culture is a bit optimistic about us mixing in with regular society.”
“You’re not a vampire.” Avery looked out at the crowd and was grateful to remind himself of that.
“I’m not. But I am part of this in a way—far more at times in the past than now, but still….”
“It’s incredible.” Scary, but amazing all the same.
They stayed for another hour or so, watched the party get louder and the clothes and inhibitions disappear. They left when Tyson noticed a few female vampires looking at Avery like he was something they’d like to eat. He whispered that he wasn’t in the mood for a fight, and he handed Avery his coat.
As far as introductions went, it was fascinating and exciting, but Avery was very happy to return to the quiet of Tyson’s mansion.
TYSON and Avery were in the middle of a movie a few days later when Tyson’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Cell phones were something he’d learned to love in the modern world—much more than other technology that he could sometimes take or leave. He loved his phone and kept it on him most of the time. Avery knew that and teased him about having the damn thing attached to his hand. For someone who’d grown up in the cell phone age, Avery actually didn’t love them. He often left his on another floor of the house and forgot all about it.
Tyson shuffled on the couch in his lounge and pulled the phone out of his pocket. Avery looked over, and Tyson smiled reassuringly. Then he read the message and was immediately on guard. There was a picture of scattered passports, all with his face and various names, birth certificates, death certificates, all forged of course. Proof that he’d lived multiple lives throughout the centuries, or at least a collection that made him look like some sort of con artist. There was a message underneath the picture.
I’m back in the states and I have some things you might want to take a look at. In fact, if you’d just go ahead and bring me the rocks and the deed to your mine? These things might not see the light of day. See you soon, darling. xoxo.
Fuck. Tyson knew who it was. Even though the last time they’d talked cell phones hadn’t existed yet, he still fucking knew. Clara. She’d sent her leeches twice, and apparently the fact that they hadn’t gotten anything from him hadn’t been a good enough reason for her to seek what she wanted elsewhere. They were a small community, but there were others—people she could get it from, people who’d purchased minerals from him a few times in the past couple of centuries, or others with their own huge stash who would probably have extra to sell to her. He bet Clara didn’t feel like actually paying when extorting from the source was so much easier. And a lot more fun.
“What is it?” Avery asked. “You’re all tense all of a sudden.”
“My old… friend just hit Stateside. I’m not very excited about it.”
Tyson wanted Avery to have nothing to do with her. Ever.
“Is this the same friend who sent the goons to the club to look for you? Is this the same friend behind that fight the other night?”
“Yeah, babe. Her. I really don’t want you to get involved. She’s trouble.”
“You’ve hinted rather heavily, yes. I love that you used to date her.”
“It was a really, really long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Before this country was a country.” The sad thing was, Tyson still had so many memories of her—when he’d found her fascinating and fun, before he started to see how twisted she was. What she was capable of.
“I’m going to need a drink.” Avery knew Tyson was old but didn’t know quite how old. It obviously still hit him hard when he got reminders of just how many years Tyson had been on the planet.
“I think I’m going to need to go deal with her. It wasn’t how I wanted to spend the next couple of days, but I guess there’s really nothing I can do other than get it over with.”
He hated being forced to see her. He also hated giving her what she wanted, which was attention above all else. Clara was a thorn in his side, and he’d successfully avoided her for decades. Apparently his grace period was up. She should also still have years left of the last stash he’d given her. She probably took extra because of the power boost that he never opted to experience. He only took enough to stay young. The mineral could do quite a bit more if someone dosed themselves high enough. Problem was, it ran out quicker that way, and that kind of power had the potential to cause problems mentally. Tyson wanted to avoid the second part for sure, even if the first one never became an issue for him.
“Where is she?”
Tyson sighed. Another part of the equation he wasn’t thrilled about. “Her favorite house in the US is in New York. I’m guessing she’ll be holed up there, waiting for me to cave and come see her.”
“Is that how she sees this? You coming to see her?” Avery made a pissed-off face. Tyson thought if he could, he’d hiss.
“She never quite let us go. She hates me, but I think she needs to remind herself that I’m out there at the same time. I don’t know how to explain it. She’s a mess. Somehow she’s become my mess.”
“When were you with her?”
Tyson didn’t want to answer that question specifically. “A hundred lifetimes ago. More, really.
She’s just hard to shake, no matter how much I want to. I thought I’d lost her, really. I guess I stayed here too long.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. Absolutely not. I don’t even want her knowing your name. The less she knows about my life and the people who are important to me, the better.”
Avery looked like he wanted to go into battle for Tyson, and Tyson adored him for it. But he wasn’t going to get Avery involved in his bullshit. He needed to take Clara’s power away. Get whatever the hell she thought she had on him.
“When do you think you’ll leave?”
“I’ll see what Mrs. Peggs can arrange. Probably the morning. Maybe even tonight if she can work her magic.”
Avery rubbed his face into Tyson’s neck. “Will you please be safe? I want to go with you, but I get that this is another part of your life and I’m not involved. Don’t get killed.”
Tyson sputtered out a laugh. “She won’t kill me. She might knock me around a bit if she gets the chance to take out her aggression, but she won’t kill me. Who else would she mess with if I wasn’t around?”
Avery gritted his teeth. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I.”
Chapter Thirteen
TYSON hadn’t been out of the city for a long time, and certainly nowhere as crowded as New York. He remembered why it wasn’t his favorite place. There wasn’t any of the laid-back pace he’d enjoyed for so long in Louisiana—everyone seemed like they were in a rush to get somewhere, to do some unimportant thing. Tyson was on edge, and he’d barely even been off the plane for ten minutes. They crossed the bridge from New Jersey into Washington Heights and were officially in the city. It gave Tyson hives.
He’d never connected to New York. He had love for so many of the cities where he’d spent time, but Manhattan had never matched his pace. He mostly stared out the window, though, and cataloged the differences from the last time he’d been there, which had to have been at least ninety years before. Even then, in the height of the Roaring Twenties, before the stock market crash and when everything was bright and exciting and full of promise, he hadn’t loved it.
He wasn’t happy to be back.
The driver headed downtown toward the West Village address Tyson had given him when he got into the car. He would’ve hoped she’d have found a new place since the last time they ran into each other, but he doubted she’d be that original. Clara tended to go to the same places, hold the same grudges, keep the same company, whether that company liked it or not. He would’ve thought someone who’d been alive as long as she had, longer than even him, would’ve gotten tired of the same old routines. She obviously hadn’t.
The city passed by, alien from the last time he’d visited but still familiar from film and popular culture. It was a lot cleaner. He’d give it that. The sidewalks were neater, the roads didn’t smell of horses, and the closer they got to Clara’s old neighborhood, the more different it became.
Clara had always inhabited the grittier places, the parts of town where she could disappear, where her actions would go unnoticed. The Village used to be that place, a haven for outcasts and rebels, performers, artists, people who lived in the night. It seemed time had changed her stripes for her, even if she didn’t want it to. Her street was leafy and shaded, filled with expensive cars, neat stoops, designer boutiques, and pricey restaurants where vaudeville clubs and jazz bars used to be.
Tyson walked up to the front door of her house, still intact even though most of the buildings in the neighborhood had long since been broken into tiny expensive apartments. He pounded on the door. Tyson wasn’t above breaking in if she refused to cooperate, but he figured he’d give her the benefit of the doubt.
It wasn’t long before the door opened, and there she was, all shiny dark hair, lush curves, and sensual lips. He couldn’t even muster up a moment of interest.
“Darling. I knew you would come.”
She was beautiful, yes; the mineral tended to enhance all of their natural looks in various ways, and Clara was no exception, but that was where it ended. She’d been shallow and selfish. Perhaps a bit of fun to roam around Europe with a long time ago, but nobody he’d ever have wanted to spend entire centuries with. Not even at the beginning. Clara hadn’t had the same feelings toward him, apparently. And she’d been mad ever since he’d broken it off.
This time her anger had to be taken care of for good before one of them ended up getting killed.
Tyson sighed, but he waited until he was inside with the door closed behind him to start. “Why’d you send your leeches after me, Clara? How did you find me?”
“You’ve been out in public more often lately. I guess word just… got around.” Which meant she had people keeping an eye out for him. Fantastic.
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I want the mine. I know you have it, and, well, I want it.”
“I’ll give you more minerals. It’ll buy you time to find a different supplier. I’m not playing your game anymore. I’m tired of you.”
Tyson knew that was a mistake as soon as he said it. Nothing would anger Clara more than his disinterest.
“No.” She tapped her chin slowly. “I think I want it all. And you can give it to me or… I’ll ruin you.”
Tyson had enough with her games. He’d been playing them against his will for far too long. “How exactly are you going to do that?” He knew she had the papers, however the hell she’d gotten them, and he knew they could potentially cause him damage. But it was easier to keep her talking. Try to formulate a plan while she was distracted with her own cleverness.
“Well, if anyone has proof you’re not the person you seem to be, don’t you think it would be me? A few well-placed calls and some paperwork and I could have every government agency with a penchant for testing aliens pounding at your door.”
Really? She had sway with some high level black ops research people? Tyson had a hard time believing that. Keep her talking. Engage.
“I’m not an alien any more than you are,” Tyson growled. “You have nothing on me.”
“I can be very persuasive.”
“Clara.” Tyson rushed forward, crowded her into her library. “We are going to end this right now.”
“You absolutely can. Give me the rights to your mine and you won’t hear from me again.”
First of all, he didn’t believe her. Clara would never be done with him unless he did something permanent. Also, the thought of growing older, dying—as much as some days he liked to say he wouldn’t mind—the prospect horrified him. He wasn’t going to give Clara a damn thing. He just needed to get those papers and get out. But he had to distract her first. He made like he was getting angry and lunged at Clara. “What do you have?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What do you have on me? It has to be more than what was in that picture.”
She laughed and pushed him. Tyson felt real rage, red hot, course through him. He was so tired of her shit. Centuries of it had worn at him until he just wanted to end it. He shoved Clara back. She’d always had more of the tea than him, so she was stronger, but he wasn’t a weakling either.
“Leave me alone. Go torture someone else,” he growled.
“But it’s so much fun to torture you. Besides, you have what I want.”
He swiped at her, and she kneed him in the stomach. “Why don’t you just give in? You can’t beat me. We’ve done this too many times for the tables to turn.”
Tyson struggled to get his breath. Clara only laughed. “Leave me alone.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You really don’t understand. I want the minerals.”
“You just don’t want to let me go.”
“You fool.” She kneed him again, and he gasped for breath. Then Tyson noticed a silver tray perched on a table as decoration. He took a chance and went for it. He didn’t hit her hard enough to kill, Tyson wasn’t a killer, just hard enough to knock her out for a littl
e while.
He limped into her office and searched—pulled out photographs, birth certificates, old identification he had no idea still existed, papers Clara had no business having. He searched the house for any other sign of him, and then he called the people in New York, the ones who dealt with unruly people like them, people the police couldn’t handle, and hoped they got there before she woke up. Tyson couldn’t stick around to be questioned and possibly dealt with himself. He got the hell out of there.
Clara was taken care of.
Tyson didn’t know why he still felt so uneasy.
WHEN Tyson landed back in New Orleans, there was a message on his phone from Avery.
Hey I hope things went well. I’m going to cook dinner. Your favorite!
He’d added a picture from a cookbook, and Tyson’s chest, instead of going all melty and happy, seized. He thought of getting too involved with Avery, how many days he’d chosen to eat instead of drinking his tea, how Avery was in his bed and in his house and in his life, and his life had people like Clara too. It was too much. His skin started to itch. It usually did when it was time for Tyson to move to another city. No, no. He’d loved his time in New Orleans. He was starting to love other things as well. Maybe that was part of the problem. One thing he wasn’t going to do was eat. He couldn’t get into that habit. It would be too easy to slip into being human.
Not much in the mood for dinner if you haven’t started yet. Why don’t you just come over.
Tyson wanted Avery to come, but he also wanted time to himself. He just didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to handle this new life where there was something other than him and Mrs. Peggs and their giant drafty house. Tyson liked having fun, he liked the sex, but he’d been scared in New York, actually since it had been obvious Clara was back in his life again. Scared not just for himself but for Avery. Tyson didn’t like that.
BY the time Avery got there, Tyson was in a funk. He made a bit of conversation, sat through a movie, and tried to smile, but Avery didn’t buy it. He didn’t buy it enough that he grabbed his stuff at the end of the night and made his way to the door instead of upstairs.
