Aric's sullen expression screamed out to leave him alone, but Stu wanted answers. He leaned on the truck with his hand on its roof, casting a shadow over Aric. “That strix was after you,” he said. “Now will you tell me what's going on?”
Aric looked up. “You have no idea what deep crap I'm in.”
“I think I do. Come to my place. I live alone. You'll be safe there.”
“You don't seem surprised or even shocked by what just happened.”
Aric had every right to question him, but he had to get Aric to safety first. “I'll explain later.” He held out his hand. Aric hesitated but then reached for it, using Stu's strength to stand.
They faced each other, neither one moving away. Aric remained rigid, arms crossed over his chest, dirt smeared on his clothes, his bedraggled backpack dangling off his arm. He looked stubborn and angry and beautiful.
“Please trust me, Aric. I'll help you. I promise.”
“What can you possibly do?”
“Let's go home.”
Stu walked away and hoped Aric would follow. His soul whispered a curious longing for something that was missing in his life. Fate had interfered with his plans for living a normal existence. No matter how deadly, no matter how dangerous, he had no choice but to protect Aric. He was now compelled to follow his true calling.
Lord Byron understood the darkness of the soul. He knew all about dangerous emotions creeping in the dark.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air.
If Stu refused to help his new friend, Aric could expect a life of eternal darkness. Darkness more damning than a sin against a mortal's soul.
Aric looked around the loft, amazed at the spartan decor. It was unlike a typical jock's apartment, which was messy and rank. Despite the austerity, the room welcomed those within its four walls with open arms. The loft sported a bay window that overlooked a courtyard fountain, away from the buzz of traffic off the ever-busy Mill Avenue. Across from the window, a pale oak desk was pushed against a wall, a laptop humming alongside a stack of thick books and papers.
Curious, Aric picked up the top book on the mile-high stack.
The Portable Romantic Poets: Blake to Poe
. Scanning the other titles, he found more of the same. The screen saver showed an oil portrait of a man from another century.
“Who's this?” He pointed to the screen image. The man had a feminine, brooding mouth offset by a long, sharp nose and severe brows. He wondered if this was one of Stu's favorite poets.
Stu shut the curtains before answering. “That's Lord Byron.”
“Ah, one of your heroes, then.”
“Died at thirty-six.
Did you know he was born with a clubfoot?”
“Can't say I did.”
“Imagine having a disability like that during the eighteenth century. Being called a lame boy, ridiculed. But he was handsome and had plenty of lovers.”
Aric turned back to the screen and studied the portrait more closely. He knew all about being teased for being different. A warmth spread across his chest as Stu stepped near him and bent around to shut down his laptop. Their bodies brushed against each other, causing his heart to thump as he caught a whiff of Stu's scent. Aric turned and hurried past him. The sofa looked safe enough. He sat down with a razor-straight back on the edge of the sofa cushion, hands folded in his lap.
“How long have you lived here?” He was surprised Stu could afford such an expensive place.
“I bought it as an investment when I was recruited here. Cor handles our trust, and he's generous.”
Not only was this guy handsome, but also rich. “Cor?”
“Corbin, my brother.”
Aric wished he'd turned down Stu's invitation to stay here. All he could see from his vantage point was the very large king-size bed shoved against the wall, taking up too much space. He swallowed a dry lump stuck in his throat, weaving his fingers together, unable to relax. No way would Stu Hamilton strip naked and crawl under the covers with another man.
He needed to ask so many questions, but being in Stu's presence stifled his tongue. Stu was not forthcoming about his knowledge of the vampire or what happened in the parking lot. Aric had heard what sounded like a battle waging between two ruthless beasts.
The urge for blood was overtaking his control. He was uncomfortable and exhausted. He had to find a way to feed without Stu knowing about it.
Stu opened the fridge and took out two bottles of beer. He handed one to Aric. Aric twisted off the cap and took a long draft. The ice-cold brew cooled his parched throat. Stu sat next to him and swigged his down in seconds. Aric watched the arch of his throat and the thin muscle rising and falling. He glanced away and began to peel the label off the bottle. Aware of Stu's every movement, he tried desperately to maintain his composure, but the night's events had stirred his passions. The embers of lust simmered within him, waiting for any gesture or touch that would set them off. Scooting farther from Stu gave him distance, but it didn't dampen his desires. After chugging down the rest of his beer, he got a light buzz. He set the empty bottle on the coffee table, almost knocking it over.
Stu reached for the bottle at the same time, and their hands met. Sapphire blue eyes met his gaze. He sucked in his breath. Stu's eyes were so bright and clear for such a late hour. Aric raised his hand and rested his fingers on the thread-thin cuts across Stu's cheek. Stu did not move or protest. It had been a long time since he'd touched a man, and he missed the intimacy of such a simple gesture.
From those small cuts, he smelled the faint odor of dried blood. His pulse raced, warning him to escape temptation. “Do they hurt?” He traced the faint lines with his fingertips, then dropped his hand, aware he was being too forward.
“No… No… It's nothing.” Stu's voice came out rather shaky.
Aric pulled back farther, aware he was making Stu uncomfortable. “You should put something on them. They could get infected.”
“They'll heal by tomorrow.”
Aric rose suddenly and strode over to the window to open it. He hoped the fresh air would clear his head of Stu's alluring scent. Looking down on the scene below, he could see the lights illuminating the fountain and the dots of sparkling water spraying upward. Not a soul was about, and a ghostly atmosphere prevailed over the courtyard. He shivered and turned away.
Stu tossed his empty bottle in the wastebasket near the kitchen sink. “I'll sleep on the sofa. You take the bed. I think there's an extra toothbrush in the cabinet that's still in its package. Use anything you find, and take a shower if you like.”
“I'll sleep on the sofa.”
Stu ignored his comment and walked over to a dresser. He opened the middle drawer and pulled out a white undershirt and blue plaid boxers. “You can sleep in these.”
“Fine, but I get the sofa, or I'm going home.”
Stu looked him over, his eyes glittering. “Whatever.” He handed him the bundle. “We'll talk in the morning. You look beat.”
Their fingers touched, and a shock sparked between them. Aric's veins burned with thirst for fresh blood. The temptation consumed him. He grabbed the offered clothes and scurried into the bathroom. Once he closed the door, he sat on the toilet seat and slowed down his pounding heart. He unbound his braid and finger-brushed his hair. He glanced at the shower, wanting to wash away his attraction for Stu. And most of all, he needed relief. The water would muffle any noise he would make.
He found the packaged toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and brushed his teeth. Then he lifted his upper lip and groaned. His fangs had dropped. After placing the toothbrush in a cup, he quickly undressed, then turned on the shower and adjusted the spray. He stepped in and shut the glass door. He knew the drill, and the faster he got on with it, the better to end this hellish day. Tomorrow would bring a fresh hope that he would find a cure.
The hot water sluiced over his body, relaxing his muscles and easing his stress. He picked up the bar of soap and lathered his hands, the suds scenting the steam in vanilla spice. The luscious fragrance wafted around him, reminding him of Stu. God, he had it bad. Just the mental image of Stu inflamed his body.
He pressed his palm against the glass shower door.
His entire body panted.
My blood's enough. It has to be enough.
But soon it wouldn't be enough. The craving was getting worse as each day passed. A need burned inside him for more than his own weak fluid. No longer did it satisfy the lust; it only dampened the need.
His body ached, his hands shook, and it'd only get worse once he turned completely. His craving would consume any guilt he would feel. He'd cease to feel human emotions and become an empty shell of a man. Not a man at all—a creature feared and loathed.
He brought the underside of his arm to his mouth. The humming of his veins echoed in his ears. He bit down—
hard.
A blissful pain shot through him. He smiled as his fangs sank deeper into his flesh. A needle-sharp point hit a vein. Red beads bubbled around the punctures. Not wasting a moment, he sucked the warm liquid, its life force nourishing his spirit. All his depression fell to the wayside, replaced by feelings of raw, unstoppable power.
Aric sucked harder, until his veins seized and the thick flow of blood trickled off into his mouth. He lifted his head, licking and swirling the sweet, metallic tang from his lips. As the taste hit his tongue, his body responded, his cock swelling, his balls pulling back. With his bloodlust eased, he now needed sexual release.
Aric tilted his head and sniffed, catching the scent of Stu through the walls. A heady craving to take Stu forcefully shocked him. He glanced at the bathroom door, wishing he'd locked it.
He let his sore arm dangle by his side. He licked the last drops of blood from his lips, his cock throbbing. He soaped his chest, letting the bar slick across his hardened nubs. Prickles of lust shot through his limbs as he slid the bar back and forth. His nipples were sensitive, and he scraped his thumbnail over the one pierced with a hoop. The rough touch made him jerk with pleasure.
He leaned back against the cool tile, and the shock of cold rubbed raw against the heat of his skin. One hand glided past his chest and his stomach and reached for the wiry curls nestling his cock. His other hand, soaped and ready, wrapped around the entire base. He squeezed his dick slowly as his thumb circled the head. Then he teased the slit with his finger, showering him in electric sparks.
His moan echoed across the room.
Too far gone to care what sounds he made, Aric began a rhythm of slow, easy strokes. The image of Stu floated in front of his eyes. He envisioned himself overpowering the jock with the skill of his mouth.
It was wrong…and horribly sexy.