Now Comes the Night (7 page)

“Damian.” He took his eyes from the road long enough to meet Paul’s gaze. “My name is Damian.”

“Oh. Cool.” Paul nodded thoughtfully. “I like that, you know? It-it’s different. It’s like… It’s like that book—right?”

Damian sighed. “Just like that.” It was a question he’d been asked more than a few times in the past ten years, ever since that crazy German writer, Hermann Hesse, had come back into vogue. As usual, he saw no reason to point out the difference in the spelling.

“So, Damian, where’re you from?”

Again, Damian thought about lying, but what was the point? “Originally? I’m from Spain. Sevilla—a very beautiful city.”

“Oh.” Paul blinked several times in surprise. “So that’s why… I mean, I guess that’s why I’ve never seen you around before. But, hey, wait a minute. You don’t have an accent or anything—how come?”

“Because it’s been a long time and I’ve lived in enough other places, since then, to have mostly lost it by now.”

“Yeah? How long? What other places?”

Damian shook his head. This was the problem with attempting to tell the truth. Eventually, there came a point where one had to either prevaricate or simply stop talking. “Years. And too many to recall.”

“Oh,” Paul replied, after it became clear that was Damian’s final word on the subject. “Well, that’s really cool, you know? I mean, I’ve just been here my whole life, other than on vacation and stuff.”

Damian nodded, but said nothing more. After a moment, Paul leaned forward to fiddle with the dials on the van’s radio—changing stations, adjusting the volume—finally settling back in his seat with a quick sigh. Within moments, his leg had begun to bounce up and down. His fingers beat a rapid tattoo on the window frame. His heart began to race again.

Damian bit back a sigh. He reached over and placed a hand on the boy’s leg, stilling its motion. “Stop,” he ordered quietly as he allowed his hand to stroke soothingly up and down the length of Paul’s thigh. “Just relax. There’s no need to be nervous.”

Paul gulped for breath. His heart rate continued to climb. “Easy for you to say.”

Damian smiled, squeezing lightly. “Breathe, Paul. Just keep breathing.”

“Okay.” Paul nodded and swallowed hard. “I’ll try.” His chest heaved as he forced air into his lungs. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the headrest. Then he slid down further in his seat and widened his legs in blatant invitation.

Damian couldn’t help but smile in appreciation of the pretty picture the boy presented.

“Don’t stop,” Paul begged. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry,” Damian promised. “I have no intention of stopping.” Not just yet, anyway.

True to his word, Damian continued to soothe the boy for the remainder of the trip, taking his hand away only when they reached the nondescript, brick ranch house he shared with Conrad and the twins.

“So…is this it? This is where you live?” Paul asked as he climbed from the van. He cocked his head to the side and studied the house as though he were either trying to memorize it for future reference, or attempting to reconcile it with his vision of Damian. Neither of which Damian wanted him to do.

“It is.” Damian hurried around the front of the van and pushed Paul up against the side of the vehicle. “But, that’s really not important now, is it?” He kissed him again, this time with the deliberate intent of drugging him—giving him just enough to quiet him down and get him into the house.

Paul reached for Damian, tearing at his clothes. His fingers were surprisingly nimble as they unfastened Damian’s jeans.

The boy’s enthusiasm for him sent an unexpected wave of desire surging through Damian. “Wait. Let’s get inside first,” he suggested, trying his best to ignore his own lustful thoughts, as he maneuvered the boy up the steps and through the front door.

The house was dark as they made their way through the foyer and into the living room, heading straight for the couch—still kissing. Paul wrenched his mouth away from Damian’s only once, just long enough to gasp, “Lights?”

“Not necessary.” Damian pushed the boy back onto the cushions and followed him down.

“Oh, God.” Paul clutched suddenly at Damian, trembling a little, staring wide-eyed at him as if the import of what they were about to do had suddenly dawned on him. “Oh, God, Damian. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I want… I want…”

“Easy, Pablito,” Damian crooned, softly biting at Paul’s neck in an attempt to calm the boy’s nerves. “There’s no need to rush. We’ve plenty of time for everything.” He licked at the corner of Paul’s mouth, wanting just one more kiss from him, but even as their lips touched, a flicker of motion caught his eye and made a liar of him. He sighed in resignation. It appeared they had run out of time after all.

Unaware of the frustration they were causing their “uncle”, the twins crept quietly closer with exaggerated stealth—obviously play-acting at being some kind of predators stalking their prey. From the looks of them, and based on the mop head Marc had pinned to the collar of his shirt, he’d guess they were pretending to be lions tonight, the little nuisances.

“Sorry,
quequito,
” Damian murmured as he brushed a final, brief kiss against Paul’s mouth. He bent his head and swiftly bit the boy’s neck, this time making sure to inject enough venom to knock Paul out completely. “Perhaps later.”

As the boy went limp, Damian sat back on his heels. He could not help but smile as the twins pounced, both of them scrambling up onto the couch and taking one of Paul’s wrists into their chubby hands.

“No more growling,” he cautioned. “And, remember, we do not toy with our food. I want you to show me your best behavior tonight.”

“But I’m a lion,” Marc protested, baring his teeth and roaring loudly. “Grrrr! Lions
always
toy with their food.”

“Grrr.” Julie giggled as she copied her brother. “I’m a lion too!”

“
¡Ya basta!
” Damian eyed them sternly. “Stop it now. Playtime is over. It’s time to eat. Unless you’re not hungry? In which case, you are both free to go to your room and leave the adults in peace. But if you get hungry later, you’ll just have to settle for what we have in the refrigerator.”

“No.” Marc protested. “Lions hungry. Wanna eat now.”

“Hungry lions,” Julie said still giggling. “Very hungry lions.”

“Starving lions! Grrrr.”

“Well, this is all most unfortunate,” Damian answered. “And I’m quite sorry to hear of it because, as it happens, I’m only feeding good little boys and girls here tonight. So, what’s it going to be,
mis niños
? Are the lions willing to be put back in their cages until mealtime is over? Or must I lock up the food, instead, to keep it safe?”

The twins looked at each other. It was Julie who broke first. “No more lions,” she sighed, pouting just a little.

“Only while we eat,” Marc said. “After that I want to play lions again. You too, Uncle Damian.”

Damian smiled. “
Bueno
. Very good. I’m sure I’ll enjoy that. Now, remember your manners,
sí
? And be gentle with your food. This is a very nice boy I’ve brought home for you tonight, I don’t want you hurting him.”

“Speaking of manners,” Conrad drawled from the doorway, “You might wish to adjust your clothing before you say anything more on the subject. I don’t believe the state of undress you’re currently exhibiting is considered quite
comme il faut
these days.”

“Neither is your use of that phrase,” Damian answered, even as he got up off the couch. “If you must know.” He re-buttoned his jeans and quickly pulled his shirt back into some semblance of order, then went to stand beside Conrad in the doorway. “I’m afraid your language is really very sadly out of date. You should probably work on that.” Or maybe Damian was wrong in thinking Conrad’s use of the phrase stemmed from a bygone era. Perhaps it was something Conrad had picked up from that Frenchman he’d taken up with in Damian’s absence—Armand something-or-other. Damian couldn’t ask since it would only betray the fact he’d kept tabs on what Conrad had been doing during the years they’d been apart. Why, as far as Conrad knew, Damian wasn’t even aware of Armand’s existence.

Conrad’s jaw clenched. He growled softly—leaving Damian with no doubts at all as to where the twins had picked up
that
bad habit. “Tell me again, my dear, since when have we made it our practice to feed upon children?”

“Are you referring to Paul?” Damian glanced back at the couch, studying the boy’s insensate form with a faint sense of doubt. “I’d hardly call him a child. He told me he was nineteen.”

“And you believed him?”

Damian shrugged. “Why not? I can’t imagine why he’d lie about it.”

“Can’t you?” Conrad’s gaze was coolly assessing. “Given how determined he seemed to be about getting into your pants just now, I can think of a very good reason, myself.”

Damian stared at Conrad in surprise. That couldn’t be jealousy he was hearing in Conrad’s voice, could it? Surely not. “What is it that’s bothering you? It’s not as though
you’ve
never molested any of the guests you’ve brought home, is it? Or refused to allow them to molest you, if that’s what you preferred. We do what we must in order to get them here, isn’t that what we agreed upon? It’s not as though I’ve brought the boy home solely for my own amusement.”

Conrad’s eyes narrowed. He glared sharply at Damian for a moment then stalked across the room. Conrad knelt beside the couch, hands groping as he felt around at Paul’s hips. An odd tightness constricted Damian’s chest. He found it surprisingly hard to draw a deep breath. When Conrad pulled a wallet out of the boy’s back pocket, Damian felt only slightly relieved.

Conrad opened the billfold and looked inside. His expression was one of grim satisfaction as he carried it back across the room and handed it to Damian. “We do what we must—yes. But we must still exercise caution when choosing our prey.”

Damian glanced at Paul’s license then shrugged, acknowledging Conrad’s point. The boy had lied about his age. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he wasn’t all that surprised.

Conrad sighed. “I’ll grant you that, to you or I, seventeen years of age may very well seem a grown man. But that’s not how it’s looked upon in this time and place. We must be more careful, my friend. We’re in a precarious enough position here as it is. It wouldn’t do to invite any unnecessary legal attention.”

Damian nodded. “Very well. After the children are done, I’ll take him home and impress upon him the need for silence. He will not speak of this to anyone, I assure you.”

“You’ll do more than that,” Conrad corrected, frowning slightly. “Was I not clear? You’ll make sure he retains no memory of anything that occurred this evening. That’s what’s best for everyone’s sake. Unless you would like me to do it for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Damian folded his arms across his chest and shrugged again with studied nonchalance. “It was my mistake. I’ll take care of the matter.”

“Wake up, Paul,” Damian whispered. A lock of hair had fallen into the boy’s face, Damian pushed it gently back into place then ran a finger along Paul’s jaw, feeling the faint, prickly roughness of whiskers just beneath the surface. He was a man, no matter what the calendar or society—or Conrad, for that matter—had to say about it. But he was still too young for many things, including, in Damian’s opinion, having his memory unnecessarily tampered with. “Now, Pablito. It’s time for you to wake up.”

Paul stirred. His eyes opened and he glanced around the van’s interior in confusion. “Did I fall asleep? Wh-where are we?”

“I’ve brought you home.” Damian gestured at the window, drawing the boy’s attention to the house whose address had been listed on his driver’s license. “See?”

“What?” Paul glanced out the window, then turned back to stare at Damian in dismay. “No! What…what happened? How did we get here? Did we…?” His gaze dropped to Damian’s crotch, his meaning plain.

Damian shook his head. “No, we did not.”

“But…why?” The boy’s tone was plaintive. “Didn’t you… Didn’t you…want to?”

“You fell asleep,” Damian answered in an attempt to deflect the boy from the dangerous topic of what either of them might have wanted from each other tonight. “Just as you surmised.” He paused and then shrugged. “Or perhaps you passed out. I’m not entirely certain.”

“Passed out? Shit.” Paul shoved his head back against the headrest. “No way. I couldn’t have! It was just a few beers and…and a couple of hits of grass. What the hell?”

“It’s just as well you did, you know. Since it gave me a chance to check up on your story. You weren’t entirely truthful with me earlier, were you? About your age?”

Paul’s expression turned mutinous. “So? I told you everything you needed to know.” He sounded sulky and so much like one of the twins, Damian had to work hard to hide his smile. “I said I wasn’t going to blame you for anything that happened. Besides, it’s my life and I know what I want and I’m
not
too young for it!”

“As it happens, I agree with you. Unfortunately, it’s not for us to decide. Society says otherwise.”

“Well, society’s wrong!”

Damian nodded. “
Sí.
No doubt you’re correct. It frequently is, after all. But, that’s the way of the world, my friend. Perhaps someday things will change, but this is the way they are tonight.”