From Afar

by Ava March

With that firm reminder, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood. A flash of white on the bedside table caught his attention. He picked up the note.

  Will return by midnight.

  —R

  Aleric stared at the words written in ornate script, not caring to examine the relief pouring over him. Where had Raphael gone? He looked to the delicate porcelain clock on the bedside table. Five minutes until midnight. He’d find out soon enough.

  First though, he needed to put some clothes on.

  He picked up his waistcoat from the pile of clothing on the floor and rubbed his finger over the large stain marring the small tear in the yellow silk. Solid proof that last night had not been a dream or a nightmare. A blade had sunk into his chest. The dried blood under his fingertip was his own. Though now he had Raphael’s coursing through his veins.

  Not the most comfortable of thoughts.

  The waistcoat ruined beyond repair, he tossed it into the bin and found his trousers beneath his also ruined coat. He glanced about the floor. Where were his… He recalled the sharp tug at his waist, the sound of fabric tearing, then the decadent sensation of his cock sliding against bare skin.

  He’d been attracted to men all his life—something he’d only begun to acknowledge in himself over the past couple of years—but it had never approached this intense focus on one individual.

  One beautiful, far too tempting individual. A man whose soft lips were made for his kisses. Whose hard body fit perfectly against his own. A body strong enough to take the full force of his desire, and able to give it back in equal measure.

  And damnation, could Raphael give it back.

  His buttocks tightened at the memory of that cock pounding into him. Heat flared under his skin, and he let out a short grunt as his head went light against the rush of sensation.

  He gave his head a sharp shake in an attempt to throw off the flare of lust and tried to will down the erection.

  Completely wasted effort.

  Letting out a huff of annoyance, he tugged on his trousers and crossed to the washstand. He wrinkled his nose at the dingy water in the basin. The pitcher beside it was empty. Clearly Raphael did not employ servants. He looked up into the mirror and blinked, a bit startled to see his own reflection. What had he expected? He was still flesh and bone, after all. Though his eyes were definitely not the same. No longer a true blue, they held an echo of the silver radiance of Raphael’s eyes.

  A quick pass of his hand smoothed his hair. Leaning closer to the mirror, he ran his fingertips over his jaw. Only the faintest hint of dark stubble, as if he had shaved but ten hours earlier. Yet it had been over twice that since he’d picked up his straight razor.

  Interesting. He’d have to remember to add that to his list of questions for Raphael.

  He turned from the washstand and scanned the room. The navy velvet coat and brocade waistcoat strewn near the foot of the bed had to belong to Raphael. Aleric didn’t even bother to pick them up. Given the man’s slighter frame, they wouldn’t fit anyway. His trousers alone would have to do for now.

  More to give himself something to do than anything, he grabbed the candle and left the bedchamber to have a look around. There was only one other door at the end of the corridor, the room Raphael had planned to use last night.

  Not last night. Day.

  It would definitely take a bit of doing to rearrange his thinking.

  That wasn’t the only thing he’d have to grow accustomed to. That sense of looking for something, that constant itch for something more that had pushed him to be a reckless lad, always searching for adventure in the staid countryside, was absent for the first time in as long as he could remember. But while a part of him embraced the open possibility of his new life, everything was still much too new, too startlingly strange for comfort. Nor did he have any notion of how he would go about this new phase of his life. Where would he spend his days, hiding from the sun? He hadn’t a shilling to his name. His apartments wouldn’t be a viable option for long.

  And above all, there would be no going back to how he had been before Raphael had made Aleric like himself.

  “It will get easier to accept with time.”

  Raphael’s words drifted through his head, a calming balm that soothed the unease. He went down the stairs and opened the door at the end of the short corridor.

  A stale scent hit his nose. The candle threw splashes of light and shadow onto the ghostly shapes scattered throughout the room. He made to take a quick step back then realized it was simply furniture draped with white sheets. Well, they had once been white. A light layer of dust covered the peaks and valleys outlining two settees, a few chairs and small round tea tables. As with Raphael’s bedchamber, mirrors and paintings in heavily gilded frames lined the white paneled walls. An intricate plasterwork pattern covered the ceiling edged with elaborate molding.

  This had to be the main drawing room of the house. Did Raphael never have use for it? He investigated the other rooms, even going down to the first floor to check the dining room and the ground floor to check the kitchen before returning to the drawing room. Except for the small library with its bookcases spanning from floor to ceiling, every other space resembled the drawing room. As if it hadn’t been inhabited for years. And the ornate, Rocco-influenced décor marked it decades old. It left the house with the eerie impression it had been frozen in time some forty or fifty years ago.

  If felt distinctly…lonely. How could Raphael live here? Or perhaps this wasn’t his home. Perhaps he merely borrowed it, its true owners long removed to the country. It certainly didn’t feel like a gentleman’s residence. He could almost sense the echo of an elegant older lady who still insisted on donning a powered white wig.

  That brittle sense of loneliness vanished. Warmth filled his chest. The stale air now rich with the scent of—

  “Aleric.”

  Before he was aware of it, a smile had stolen across his lips. He turned to find Raphael striding into the room.

  Perhaps this was his home after all.

  A red silk ribbon held back the length of his hair. Pristine white lace cuffs spilled from the sleeves of his amethyst velvet frock coat. Silver satin knee breeches hugged the lean muscles of his thighs, with white stockings covering his calves. And those shoes. Low-heeled with diamond-encrusted buckles. On any other man, the ensemble would look ridiculous. But it somehow fit him.

  “Evening, Raphael. You’re turned out quite smartly tonight.” Odd, to feel so comfortable around him. His presence so familiar, like Aleric had known him forever.

  “Did you find my note?”

  Aleric nodded.

  “My apologies for my absence. A few errands required my attention and I thought it best to see to them before you awoke.” A hint of worry slipped into his features, drawing his brows together the slightest bit. “Last night you asked if there were others like us in London. I have made arrangements for us to pay a call. An introduction to the clan.” Before Aleric could open his mouth to voice his question, Raphael added, “I’ll explain on the ride there. The carriage will arrive shortly. Before we can leave you need to change into something more appropriate.”

  “Despite the lure of purple velvet, I highly doubt any of your clothes will fit me.” He flicked his fingers to his trousers. “Everything else I had on last night is unfit to wear.”

  “Not to worry. I stopped by your apartments.”

  Did you now? The stiff bristle of irritation dug sharp and hard into his spine. “I don’t recall handing over the key.”

  “Your bedchamber window wasn’t locked,” Raphael called over his shoulder as he strode from the room.

  “My apartments are on the third floor,” Aleric pointed out, following Raphael up the stairs.

  “And easily accessible from the rooftop.” Raphael opened the door to the other bedchamber. “This room is yours for as long as you wish to stay.”

  “Thank you,” Aleric said, taken aback by the man’s generosity. At least he need
n’t worry about finding himself without a roof over his head anymore. Though he would have preferred to remain in Raphael’s room than to have his own. “And thank you…for last night.” When I behaved like a complete and utter fool.

  Raphael tipped his head, the edges of his lips lifting in an understanding smile.

  Thankful Raphael did not elaborate on the subject, Aleric turned and set the candle on the dresser beside a full decanter of brandy on a silver tray complete with an empty glass. The fire in the grate looked warm, but it must have been newly built for the heat had yet to take the chill from the room. Under the cool air was a hint of the same stale scent that permeated the other rooms in the townhouse, except Raphael’s bedchamber and the small library. He had the impression someone had recently removed the white sheets from the furniture. The bed appeared freshly made. The gold-patterned coverlet straightened, the white pillows fluffed.

  “It is your home, correct?” Aleric asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “The townhouse. It’s yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you always lived here?”

  “No. I grew up in the country.” Raphael prodded the fire with an iron poker, nudging the flames to full life. “The townhouse was my grandmother’s. She left it to me when I was a boy. The house lay dormant for years before I had a need for it.”

  “Was that when you cut ties with your family?”

  “I had no need to cut ties. My parents had passed away a couple years before. But I didn’t think it wise to continue to reside in their home—curious neighbors and all—so I relocated to London.” He rested the poker against the marble fireplace surround and indicated a narrow door along one wall. “You’ll find a change of clothes in there. If you have need of anything, you have only to ask.”

  Aleric wanted to know so much more about Raphael—what was his life like before he’d been turned, did he miss it or had he embraced his new life?—but the way in which he changed the subject indicated he preferred not to discuss his past. So he made do with another “Thank you.”

  “How do you feel?” The heavy regard in the man’s eyes begged an honest answer and not merely a polite, conversational response.

  “Damned fantastic. But I’m thirsty.” Those last three words popped out of his mouth without conscious thought. But he had spoken the truth. He was parched. Not hunger, but thirst. Sharper and more acute than after a long summer’s day spent under the hot sun.

  Raphael pushed up one lace-edged sleeve, held out his wrist to Aleric. “Here. Drink.”

  “Ah…I-I don’t think I should…” Even though uncertainty waged within, his feet moved, taking him closer to Raphael, to that beautifully bared wrist.

  “I had more than enough last night. Take what you need.”

  “We can drink from each other?”

  The hesitation before Raphael nodded did not inspire confidence. In one swift movement speaking of practiced ease, Raphael brought his wrist up to his mouth, slashed his fangs across his own skin.

  An all too familiar sweet, slightly metallic scent wafted from the wound, surrounding Aleric. He flared his nostrils, drinking in the delicious scent. He vaguely registered the prick on his gums as his fangs descended. All his attention had focused on Raphael’s wrist, the blood pooling over the wound, the strong pulse in his vein.

  One tantalizing crimson drop slid down to the back of his upturned hand, clung to his skin for the briefest of seconds, poised to drop…

  Aleric grabbed Raphael’s arm. The instant blood touched Aleric’s tongue, something lurched inside him. A raw, primitive need coupled with a sense of absolute completion.

  Liquid flowed into his mouth and down his throat. Heat pooled in his stomach, warming him from the inside out. So sweet. So satisfying. Each swallow demanded another and another.

  A low moan filled his ears. Raphael. Suckling greedily, Aleric glanced up. Raphael’s head had tilted back, his long lashes resting on his cheekbones, his lips parted. Swaying on his feet, he grabbed Aleric’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle and tendons.

  Even above the almost overpowering scent of blood, he could detect Raphael’s arousal. Male musk and the hint of pre-come carried on the heat pouring off the man. His own body reacted instantly. His cock hardened, his ballocks tightening. He released Raphael’s wrist, grabbed the other man, and crushed his mouth to his.

  A hot tongue slipped into his mouth, tangled with his. He let out a groan and jerked Raphael closer, ground his hips, rubbing their hard pricks together. Lust ripped through him, consumed his senses.

  He tore at the placket of Raphael’s breeches, shoved them down to his knees. Pushed the velvet coat from his shoulders. With a hand on his upper arm, he whirled Raphael around, pressed him up against the wall. Frantic need drumming through his veins, he made quick work of the placket of his own trousers, freeing his erection.

  Hands braced against the wall, Raphael arched his lower back in clear invitation, presenting Aleric with his arse. “Take me, Aleric. Please,” Raphael said, urgency soaking the plea.

  Breaths coming hard and fast, he flicked the tail of Raphael’s shirt aside, spit into his palm and dragged his fingers between the man’s rounded cheeks, wetting his entrance. The puckered skin quivered beneath his touch, sending a jolt straight to his groin. Unable to wait another second, he palmed those cheeks, thumbs grazing the slick hole, and spread him wide. Then he pushed his cock in the other man’s arse.

  Raphael let out a guttural groan, one of purest pleasure. A quick jerk of his hips and Aleric settled hilt deep, pulling another low groan from Raphael. Exquisite tightness gripped his length. And heat. So goddamn hot. The urge to thrust, to pound his cock into the other man, to posses him completely, gripped hold. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back, briefly savoring the lush friction, and then gave into that urge and slammed into Raphael, each hard, relentless stroke marking the man as his own.

  Raphael turned his head into his outstretched arm, lips pressed to the white sleeve covering his biceps, as if to muffle his grunts. Stray strands of golden hair had escaped his neat queue and were stuck to his sweat-dampened temples. One quick flick of Aleric’s fingertips, and those strands were tucked behind his ear. Raphael’s eyes, clamped shut, fluttered open. The lust and raw need in Raphael’s gaze hit him square in the chest.

  Aleric leaned full over him, sunk his fangs through Raphael’s waistcoat and shirt and into the hard muscle of his shoulder. Mouth pressed against the fabric, he sucked hard as he continued to drive into Raphael. Each thrust felt like the absolute definition of perfection. A tremor shook Raphael’s body and then he let out a hoarse shout.

  The scent of his release sparked Aleric’s own. The orgasm barreled upon him. Swift and fierce. Too strong to be denied. With a savage roar, he spilled deep within Raphael.

  His arms slid around to wrap around Raphael’s waist as he rested against him, the slick silk of his waistcoat pressed against his cheek. Oddly, he didn’t feel drained or tired. Not a hint of the usual languor. He felt invigorated and ready for more, the sharp edge merely taken off his lust.

  Raphael turned in his arms. A slight flush stained his cheeks. His upper fangs grazed his sensuous, full bottom lip. With a light touch, his fingertips whispered from Aleric’s temple down to his jaw. “Feel better?”

  Aleric nodded and leaned into his touch, seeking more. The most profound sense of contentment stole over him. He dropped his head to nuzzle his neck, the man’s cravat tickling his nose. He could stay here with Raphael, just hold him close, soak up his scent, the heat from his body, forever.

  “Aleric.” Raphael’s voice drifted around him, as soft and light as the hands caressing his bare back. “We need to leave soon.”

  Reluctantly, Aleric released his hold on Raphael and took a step back to right his trousers.

  As Raphael bent to tug up his breeches, Aleric noticed the four blotches of crimson blood marring the pale blue silk of his waistcoat.

  “Your shoulder,�
�� he said, concern tightening his voice. Where had his self-control gone? He’d bitten the man, for Christ’s sake.

  “Not a worry.” Raphael tucked in his shirt and did up the placket. “It’s already healed. But I’ll need to change before we leave. And you”—Raphael’s gaze lingered on his chest, warming his skin—“you need to dress.”

  “All right,” he said with a nod. Raphael obviously thought the call important.

  As the man left, Aleric went into the dressing room. Coats and waistcoats hung on pegs along one wall. White shirts, breeches, and trousers were folded on shelves. Riding boots and evening shoes were on the floor under a bottom shelf. Everything neat and tidy. Everything in its place. And all of it his. Raphael had picked up more than a change of clothes from his apartments. He had brought Aleric’s entire wardrobe. Well, not all of it. The drab olive green coat wasn’t there. Aleric didn’t mind—he had only worn the thing once. Too tight across the shoulders.

  Somehow he knew what he would find before he opened the top drawer of the narrow cabinet. Linen drawers, woolen socks, cravats, and gloves. He picked up a pair of black gloves. Frowning, he rubbed his thumb over the smooth, well-worn kidskin marked with a small, embroidered AV at the cuff. He thought he had lost them months ago. Must have been hidden in the back of a drawer.

  He selected a pair of drawers, socks and a cravat and laid them on the cabinet with the gloves. He flicked open the lid of a silver box. His fingertips were hovering over an emerald-studded pin when he realized Raphael had brought the engraved silver box as well. And inside were not four cravat pins, but five, and the mate to his onyx cufflink.

  He furrowed his brow. An uneasy feeling invaded the pit of his stomach.

  A knock sounded on the bedchamber door. “Are you ready?”

  Aleric closed the lid of the silver box. “Not yet.”

  “Well, move along. The carriage is waiting, and we need to get back before the sun rises.”

  “I’ll be but a moment,” he called.

  He dressed as quickly as he could, making do with a simple knot on his cravat and not bothering with a pin. He would admit he was more than a bit curious to meet others of their kind. After giving his coat a tug to straighten it, he grabbed his gloves from the cabinet and went out to meet Raphael.