The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  August's tension seemed to increase a hundredfold when Morana was introduced to the table, even if the woman did seem to be trying her best to put August at ease. It was calculated though, the old woman's attention. Doren could sense it. But surely her efforts were nothing more than the attempt to try and smooth the waters for Anton?

  Anton leaned closer, his face shrouded in the all but non-existent lighting, and pulled Doren's attention away from the other two members of the table. "That's a great jacket, Doren. Is it new?"

  Doren grinned, tracing the crushed velvet with his fingers. "Yeah, just a little something I picked up today. Thanks, by the way." Why his chest swelled every time Anton pursed his mouth in disapproval he wasn't sure. But it did feel damn good to piss the man off.

  Anton resettled his smile. "You're welcome. It looks good on you. Worth whatever its cost was, I'm sure. It is, however, not the only treat I have for you today. I think you'll be just as pleased with this one."

  He did everything in his power to keep his voice level and uninterested. "Oh?"

  "Yes. A local band. They call themselves La Lege. I think you'll like them. Gritty. Hard. A bit raw. But their music is riveting."

  Doren shrugged. "Whatever. I'm sure it's more interesting than the conversation." He caught Anton's tightened expression and couldn't contain his smile. "Fuck you, Anton," Doren told him in silence. "Fuck you and your weasel eyes. Fuck your sleaze and your scheming." He was starting to wish he'd never signed that contract. There had been half a dozen studios interested in him and he was regretting not spending more time researching them. Anton's may have been the biggest but Doren was getting a nagging suspicion that biggest did not mean best; that perhaps "in his best interest" had nothing to do with Doren's interests at all.

  He spent the next half hour watching the boys set up on stage and semi-listening to Morana lay out a tentative schedule with August—most likely just trying to appease him into submission since the studio still hadn't released any further details on the tour, except, apparently, for the one show which seemed to be the center of the conversation the two were having. At least that would give Doren something to look forward to. And he should probably start working with the musicians tomorrow. They'd had the weekend for fun; it was time to get serious.

  He cast a glance at August, nervous at the way the drinks on the table never quite seemed to get empty, yet never seemed to be refilled or replaced. For the thousandth time Morana flicked her eyes up and caught his stare. She made him uncomfortable. Worse even than Anton.

  He was just starting to fidget when the wail of a guitar forced his attention to the stage. The drummer was the first to start playing, a steady thump that reverberated through the tiny area. Two guitars and a bass followed suit, and the room was quickly caught up in the hard rush of their music. Doren sat back and followed the sound, watching the faces around him, reading the effects of the chants and chords on the audience, enjoying himself for what seemed to be the first time since they'd got to that damned city.

  Doren's mind sucked at the chaotic rhythm like it was life support, and he was sitting with his head up and eyes closed, arms clasped behind his head and chair perched on two legs, when Anton's touch brought him back to the moment. "The guys are going to break in a couple of minutes," Anton shouted. "They'd like to meet you if you're up to it."

  Forcing his mind to come back to him with a blink, Doren looked around at the empty table. The chair found ground with all four legs and a solid bang. "Where's August?"

  Anton thrust his chin towards the door, waving distractedly. "With Morana. Don't worry; she'll keep an eye."

  The room suddenly paused with the hollow echo of silence before the audience filled it with their approval. Anton urged Doren up, pulling on his arm and Doren frowned towards the door.

  "Come on. We won't have long. They're back up again in ten."

  Doren continued to hesitate. Should he wait to see if August came back? Try to find him? Or just let August do his job? After all, he probably wouldn't be able to locate the two of them and still make it back to the stage within the ten minutes the band had allotted to their break. He could always try to find August afterwards.

  Shrugging to himself, Doren followed Anton through the dark room towards the stage.

  August

  As August leaned over the sink his head was swimming. Morana came up behind him, as silent as a cat, and handed him some paper towels. "Here you are, August, love." Morana turned his face towards her and patted gently at the dripping water. "Are you feeling any better?"

  August shook his head, watching his reflection sway in the mirror. He wasn't sure if he was actually moving or if his mind was playing games with his eyes. He was more than certain he hadn't had that much to drink. Had, in fact, never been a big drinker and tried to stay away from it for the most part. So, was he coming down with something?

  He caught Morana's black-eyed gaze as the woman cooed and soothed his burning skin with the water. Her image faded and reappeared in front of August's eyes. He reached out to stabilize himself and careened to the side, misjudging the placement of the counter. He tried to speak but his tongue seemed unable to remember how to form words. Morana caught him as he swooned, drawing him towards the wall and using it to help support his weight.

  "Poor August," she whispered into his ear. "I think you are unwell."

  The woman was uncomfortably close, all but lying against him, and August struggled to move away. His muscles were as unresponsive as his tongue. The only thing he was able to muster was a grunt. Morana shivered against him. "Shush now," she whispered, touching a finger to August's numb lips, dragging it over his mouth. "Everything will be all right, boy. I'll take care of you."

  August was able to pick up the husky undertones to Morana's voice but unable to do anything to make her stop. A rush of fear slid into his belly when Morana leaned in to his neck, pulling a deep breath. "Oh, August. What is that I smell on you? And here I thought you were so sweet." Holding him against the wall with her body, surprising August with how much strength she actually had, Morana dug into his jacket and dragged her hands over his shirt.

  He forced out another gruff sound, and the fire burning in Morana's eyes increased. "Methinks you are not so sweet now, are you? Not so pure." She dragged her mouth over August's neck as she spoke, igniting flames of intense, erotic fear that ravaged through August's weakened body. When she spoke again, the low tone and rumbling power in her voice made August's knees buckle. "I believed you to be weak. I wonder now. I don't sense weakness in you and yet, I am unsure exactly what it is that I do sense. Perhaps you are so much more clever than I gave you credit for? You've let him touch you, haven't you, August? Let him rut against you and convinced him that you've offered him some kind of wonderful gift. Smart boy. With a simple slip of skin and mouth you've given yourself all the power to control him, hmm?"

  His heels slipped on the tile underneath him as August tried to force himself to move away. "Poor, poor August," Morana said, her eyes flashing in glee as she caught his weight again, one hand falling firmly between his legs. Talons gripped sensitive bits, August choked out a pitiful cry, and Morana's excitement grew as she tightened her hold on his balls. "You have no idea what you've got yourself into, do you? Did you really think we'd sit idly by and let you own the advantage? Take my advice, August, and go home before it's too late. Leave Doren to us."

  A sadistic gleam darkened Morana's eyes further. "What is that look in your eyes, August? Is it fear or defiance? Why are you so hard to understand? I flip back and forth between the need to destroy you and the need to figure you out." Pressure became unbearable as Morana squeezed. "Why do my senses keep telling me there is far more to you then you're letting on?"

  The bathroom door banged open, August was released, and he crumpled to the floor. Footsteps followed, slowed, "My son," Morana said sweetly. "He's had too much to drink. Do not worry, he will be fine."

  There was no further exchange as two sets of
footfalls shuffled past. Stall doors opened, shut, and again the bathroom door sounded.

  "Where is he?" Morana snapped.

  Anton's smooth voice echoed quietly through the bathroom and August struggled impossibly to rise. "With the band. And him?"

  Even August's head refused to rise. He rested his forehead on the cold tile, breathing through the pain in his testicles. "Send him back to the hotel."

  A huff, another one, a mumble that could have been rebuke … "Not yet. Just get a car and get him out of here. I have an odd feeling about this one, Anton. Until I know what that means, until I know what's hiding behind those eyes of his, I want to watch him. You can tell Doren he partook in too much drink. Tell him August said they would meet back at the hotel."

  "He'll be furious."

  "No." Morana's voice again. "Not if our plan works as expected. If the band manages to do what we're hoping, Doren won't even think twice about him. For that matter, if everyone does their job right, by the time Doren leaves tonight he won't ever worry about August again."

  He was manhandled upright, by Anton, he assumed, and when his head fell back he was able to finally pry open his eyelids.

  "You better know what you're doing," Anton hissed.

  "Never throw away a soldier, Anton love, until you know for sure that he is not the one that will win you the battle."

  The last thing August saw, as he was half-dragged, half-carried out the door was Morana's reflected smile as she lifted her hands to her face, inhaling deeply.

  Anton

  This was how it should be, Anton thought as he watched Doren absorb the sound: just the two of them feeling the music. The power that ebbed from the young man was thrilling. Anton longed to have it, at least control it, felt the need for it much stronger than any sexual or primal urges he'd ever had. He looked at the audience surrounding them—laughing, joking, some even worshiping Doren from their perches—but none of them, not a goddamn single one of them, actually knew what they had there in the room with them. Only he did. And his heart thrilled with the power of his knowledge. Only him. Well, him and that crazy old woman, if he was being honest. The woman who—he frowned at the thought—was actually starting to cause him some concern. She'd been useful so far. Her power was magnificent. And once you got past the fading body, the intensity of the youth she had once been was still there. Sex with her always brought a stellar sense of renewal and strength, as if she filled him with her body instead of the other way around. But at the end of the day it was only sex. And sex could be found anywhere. He would not let her complicate his plans.

  He pushed both August and Morana from his mind; at that moment he had Doren to deal with. He would lay bet to his belief that Doren didn't even know how long they'd been sitting there. Just drifting, drinking in the music, with closed eyes and face turned up to the ceiling ... Jealousy clawed at Anton's belly. Oh, to be that young and beautiful, to have that much power. What he could have done with it instead. Life was, truly, most unfair.

  "You like them," Anton grinned when Doren finally opened his eyes and found himself again. It was a statement, not a question. Anton had known Doren would. That was the whole plan.

  "They're okay, I guess. Where's August?"

  Even to his mind's eye Anton knew his look of concern wasn't entirely convincing. He tended to struggle with concern. It meant, for that moment at least, that one was feeling more for that with which was being dealt with than one did of one's self. And that was just all kinds of foolish. "He left with Morana."

  Doren rose, a flush of surprise on his face, but Anton reached for him, soothing Doren back into the chair. "Relax. He just had a touch too much to drink and wasn't feeling well. Morana is seeing that he gets back to the hotel. He didn't want to disturb the evening and asked me to let you know he'd meet you back there."

  Doren looked doubtful.

  "He's your assistant, Doren," Anton clucked. "You know he's not going to let a bout of illness get in the way of an important work event." Anton decided to tempt his hand and see just how far the music had taken Doren already. Was it feasible that they'd manage to worm themselves through? "I could make arrangements to have you driven back if you think you need to go?"

  Doren paused, trying to read Anton's face, and Anton almost smirked at him. Not my mind, boy, but nice try.

  "I dunno … was he all right?"

  Anton waved Doren's concern away. "Of course! Nothing we haven't all done at one point or another, right? He's young, still learning." Doren turned his gaze back to the band. "But for the important things, the reason that we're here. Tell me, Doren, what do you think of the band?"

  Doren shrugged. "Why are you asking me? You're the big music guru, aren't you?"

  "I am," Anton smiled. "But I don't have your ears, Doren. And let's face it, no one experiences music quite like you do, do they?"

  Doren's eyes narrowed, again trying to read him, trying to decide if he was actually hearing the implication in Anton's words. He decided he wasn't and Anton smirked. Oh, you bet I know, Doren. I know all about you. I know more about you then you even know about yourself.

  Doren nodded once before replying, "The musicians are amazing. The writing is great, both lyrically and instrumentally." He pursed his lips and stared at the stage. "They lose it on the vocals though. The singer is painfully weak."

  When Doren stopped and listened again, Anton itched to touch him. Just to see if he could feel it racing through Doren's blood. "It's a shame," Doren continued. "They'd probably have something pretty good there with the right guy singing."

  Anton raised an eyebrow, feigning the dawning of sudden inspiration. "Doren, yes! Yes, you're right!" He waited to catch the inquisitive look, and when it came, "Why not you?"

  Doren gave Anton a look as if the man had gone insane. "Me? No thanks. I don't work with a band."

  "But why not? It's not like you don't need musicians to play for you anyway?"

  Doren bristled defensively. "And what's wrong with the musicians that I have already?"

  Anton gave him a sideways look. "Oh, come on now. There's no need to get protective. They're just hired guys, Doren, it's not like you know them. Besides, look at this crew. They're good looking, they've got great stage presence, and let's face it, if you've got to stand beside a bunch of guys on a magazine cover, these guys would make a good collection, don't you think?"

  Anton reached for Doren's arm, dragging his attention away from the stage and back to the table. "Sorry, correction, standing behind you on a magazine cover." They held each other's gaze for a minute before Doren dropped his eyes and searched the table for his beer. "Of course, there's no need to make any decisions right away. Think it over. Give it some time. There's no rush."

  "Oh, hey!" Mock-inspiration illuminated Anton's expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a CD. "I just happen to have their demo with me. Why don't you take it? Give it some speaker time and see if you warm up to the concept. You never know, they might grow on you."

  Doren took the CD and flipped it over cautiously. The shiny surface caught the stage lights and prisms of color flashed through the room; hot red slashes over the white faces of the audience, brilliant blue that sliced through the band as they played, and silver streaks that screamed against black walls.

  "Couldn't hurt to listen, I guess." Doren tucked the CD into his jacket pocket. "I'll put it in tomorrow back at the hotel."

  Anton smiled, leaning back into the darkness to shroud his face from his guest, unsure that even he could hide the self-satisfied smugness that he knew danced in his eyes. He pulled out a set of keys from his own pocket and casually loosened the last three fingers of his fist, the Lotus key fob dropping out in a perfectly planned tease. Doren's eyes lit with interest. "Here," Anton said. "Why don't you take my car? It's got an awesome sound system and you can really amp it up on the way back to the hotel."

  Doren reached for the keys even as he tried to talk himself out of it. "I'm not so sure I should be driving."


  Anton smiled, dropping the keys into Doren's eager palm. "Ah, that's what I have lawyers for."

  Running with the

  Devil

  Doren

  He took the corner way too fast, laughing when he felt the tires slide and then grab, slamming against the door as the wheels reseated themselves, and then lurching in time with the vehicle as it snapped back into full acceleration. The stereo system was blaring, filling the space with pounding sound, and he lifted his head to the roof of the Evora and howled like a wolf. The car responded like a jungle cat, tearing up the street, engine slipping easily from sexy purr to outright roar. The combination of the furious vehicle and the intense music lit his body, ripped through his soul and settled somewhere down around his crotch. Doren felt like a superhero. And then there was that something, so much clearer in the perfectly mixed demo then it had been live, a murmur that ran deep down under the music and teased his senses. It called him, then ran; it seduced him, then slipped away.

  He whipped past the hotel, stomping on the brakes so hard they screamed, and turned the car in a sharp one-eighty, whipping around and stopping hard at the entrance. He was flushed when he handed the keys to the attendant.

  "Shall I arrange to send it back to the studio, sir?"

  Doren laughed, reaching in to the car to dislodge the CD from the player. He slid it into his jacket pocket, patting it for security. "No fucking way. Park it."

  He trotted up the stairs, through the hall, and into his room where he popped the CD into the DVD system and resumed the performance where he had left it. It didn't cross his mind to make sure August was okay. Or even make sure he was there at all.

  August