Quod Tam Sitio

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. Quod Tam Sitio

Screwdriver

An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers

PO Box 2545

Round Rock, TX 78680

Copyright 2006 © by AM Riley

Cover illustration by Anne Squires

Published with permission

ISBN: 978-1-60370-304-8, 1-60370-304-7

www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Torquere Press Printing: March 2008 Printed in the USA

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Chapter One “Hey, George, he’s there again.” Father George White came up behind the man in the green and gold choir robe, and leaned an arm against the chapel door, looking over his shoulder. In the light streaming from the doorway and across the moonlit parish lawn, their shadow was an arm of black. Beyond that arc of light, just outside the church grounds proper, the high domed streetlights outlined a familiar silhouette sitting on one of the city park benches. “Your mystery guy.” Andrew bounced on his toes and looked back at George, his eyes dancing. George sighed and raised a hand to scrub back thick blond hair, eloquently expressing his frustration. Andrew chuckled. “Why don’t you just go talk to him?” George shot him a look. “In a professional or personal capacity?” “Oh,” said Andrew. “I see.” Andrew swiveled his head again to study the figure on the park bench. “What do you know about him?” “Truthfully, nothing.” George shrugged. “We passed the other night, on my way here. He said ‘good evening, Father. Beautiful night tonight, is it not?’” George recited the words as if he had memorized them. “His voice was beautiful…” “Ah.” Andrew smiled. “Another angel for Father White’s choir?” “Hmmm.” Andrew, who was something of a poet, observed that George had a dreamer’s eyes -eyes so blue that tended to darken and lighten with emotion. George’s eyes, as he gazed out now over the expanse of moonlit lawn, were eloquent with something. Andrew watched him for a moment, and then considered the sheet music in his hand, creasing its fold thoughtfully. “George?” he said carefully. “None of my business, of course. I mean you’re my frickin’ minister and all, but… as a friend…” He waited until George was looking back at him again. “How long has it been?” George blushed scarlet and looked away. “It’s not natural,” said Andrew only partially joking. George’s ears and the back of his neck, all the way up into his hairline, remained red and Andrew felt just as embarrassed as George. It was always a strange thing, talking about sex with a priest, even in the Anglican church where priests married and had sex, one assumed, as regularly as most men. But talking about gay sex with a gay priest was even stranger than that. He sighed.

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George echoed his sigh and pulled the chapel door closed behind him, locking the deadbolt with a set of keys probably older than he was. “Beg pardon,” said Andrew. George shrugged, some of the pink leaving his face. He gave Andrew another wry smile. “Hey, I poke my nose into your business all the time, Andy. Quid pro quo.” Andrew laughed and stepped back, holding up crossed fingers as if to ward off a demonic attack. “No! No Latin! Argh!” *** Dominick watched the two men silhouetted in the chapel doorway, feeling that unfamiliar pang once again in his chest. The priest, the tall young beautiful priest, whose hair seemed the same color as the halos of the saints in the stained glass behind him, had a voice that carried clearly across the dry air, as trained voices are wont to do. His companion and he seemed… close, thought Dominick. The men continued their conversation, closing the heavy door, and Dominick contemplated the small illuminated chapel into which they had retreated. Time being a relatively liquid and silent thing for him, he wasn’t sure how long ago he had come across this church, but he had been returning with regularity ever since. He found his own behavior curious. There was little reason for him to come here, and abundant reasons for him to skirt the area. The priest was attractive, of course, though not the sort usually to Dominick’s taste. The young companion he had seen the man with this evening was more the type to which he was drawn. And priests in general were not company he felt inclined to keep. The whole ilk of religious orders… repelled him. And if it were only the father, he would have quenched that desire at their first meeting. They had exchanged greetings twice. That was generally one more than it took Dominick to have his way. No, he resisted the priest because of the music. It must be the music. He had first heard only the man, singing a song that seemed to speak particularly to Dominick. Then it was the men’s voices singing the old music: oddly familiar and compelling. It played at the incipient memories that had been rising in his mind of late, like drowned corpses rising from the lake bottom. The music, intertwined always with a desperate longing and hunger that was unlike any hunger Dominick had known for literally centuries. He had been coming here now for weeks, he guessed. He would sit and let the music soak into him like rain and feel the memories rising in him. Words, emotions, flashes of images. And the more he heard the more he needed to hear…

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There was something strange about the whole situation. Something which bore more thought. Dominick sat back on the bench and contemplated the small chapel. *** George and Andrew finished cleaning up and George let Andrew out, walking around to the front of the church where he could still see the young man on the park bench. He leaned against the door, studying the mysterious figure, and struggling with himself. Tuesday and Thursday nights the men’s choir practiced in the old chapel. They would have practiced in the main church, in the relative comfort of air conditioning, but the adult confirmation class already laid claim to that space on Tuesdays, and the acolytes cleaned the church on Thursdays. George had stood in the center of every room of the parish, let loose a few bars of “Phantom of the Opera” and finally decided that the chapel was the only acceptable space. Although the chapel’s acoustics were acceptable, its ventilation was not. There was no air conditioning, and when you added the couple dozen healthy males singing there, it verged on unbearable. So they threw open the doors and windows, even cranking open the tiny stained glass transept windows in the ceiling. It was serendipity that the result was a chapel sitting at the center of a brilliant starburst of light every Tuesday and Thursday night, men’s voices singing ancient sacred songs filling the air above the deserted city park and parish gardens. The display enticed passersby to stop and listen. Sometimes, even to sit, as the mysterious figure had been doing for several weeks now. George figured it was advertising of a sort. Draw them in however you can; that was his motto. But George would never actually approach the individuals who lingered outside. He was afraid to scare them off. He figured they knew where the church was, and if they wanted to hear the music in a real performance, they knew where to find it. If they happened to attend a service only to hear the music, that was fine with him. Sacred Music was his vocation, after all. He figured the Deity had a plan. He had met the mystery man accidentally, running across the lawn to a parishioner’s car one evening and skirting the man’s bench. The stranger had risen abruptly, as if George had startled him. “Excuse me,” George yelped, almost running into him. The man moved out of his way gracefully, slim, darkly clothed body seeming almost to glide. His shining black hair fell across dark liquid chocolate eyes, rimmed with long black lashes as he gazed at George with an expression of deep pain. “I’m sorry,” George said instinctively, extending both willing hands towards the young man. “Can I help you?”

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The man flinched back from his offer, those sorrowful eyes still holding George’s. White white skin, full lips, drawn in pensively. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, if that. George was ashamed of himself for noticing the man’s beauty but it was undeniable. “No, thank you. I am fine.” His voice was melodious. Definitely a tenor, if he could sing. Then, all in another graceful swoop, the man drew his long dark coat around him, whirled and stalked off with long strides. “Wait.” George had been left standing there with arms outstretched. That had been several weeks ago. The stranger had been out there on the park bench almost every night since. It was driving George slightly crazy. They had passed one other time and the young man had spoken the greeting George had recited to Andrew. Of course, if he wanted George’s, or any other priest’s, attention, he would have requested it. So it was wrong, George told himself sternly, just wrong to pursue the young man. The young man who now leaned back against the bench, eyes closed, chin tilted up so that porcelain skin glowed in the lamplight. He looked like he was waiting for a kiss, thought George, in an agony of indecision. It had been a long time since he’d approached a man, though. Even longer since he’d actually held someone in his arms, or been held. So long that, if Andrew had known, he would have laughed or wept. Technically, the man was outside the church grounds, George told himself. And if he were to be honest, his hesitancy was due more to a natural fear of rejection than to any ethical consideration. George fidgeted a minute more, then just shook himself, gathered his courage, and strolled across the lush lawn. “Evening,” he said from a respectable distance, hoping not to spook the stranger. The man didn’t look spooked. He didn’t even look up. He did however, stand quickly and begin to walk off, drawing his long coat around him. “Wait!” called George. The man hesitated, his head down. “I’m sorry.” George was suddenly sure that the man would never come back here if George didn’t keep him now. “I mean, you can go if you want, stay if you want. Just, don’t leave on my account, right? I’m just a guy…” The man turned and those expressive eyes traveled down to George’s collar, rested there significantly.

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“Yeah, people get put off by that.” George gestured towards the white strip lying against his throat. He held out his hand. “But I am just a guy. Name’s George White.” “Father White?” The young man regarded George’s hand and after a moment’s hesitation, stepped close enough to clasp it briefly. His palm was cool and dry and his long fingers enclosed George’s hand firmly. George felt the little buzz of attraction, from the center of his palm spreading upward. “Call me George.” George shoved his tingling hand into his jacket pocket and cocked his head to one side. “What can I call you?” The young man looked surprised. Then he looked worried, eyes darting sideways, as if expecting someone or as if looking for an escape route. “I am called Dominick,” he said, at last, a slight accent appearing in the pronunciation of the name. “A saint’s name,” said George, without thinking. Then saw the wince and look of discomfort on Dominick’s face and regretted his impulsive words. “Of course, the Anglican church isn’t really into saints…” Dominick looked over George’s shoulder at the old chapel. “Anglican?” “Episcopal. You know, Church of England on the Continent? You have an interesting accent. Are you from overseas?” Those dark eyebrows arched up again in surprise and George chastised his wayward tongue in his own mind for perhaps the millionth time in his life. “Sorry,” he said, waving his hand. “Sorry, sorry. None of my business. I’m just nosy.” “An occupational hazard, I presume,” said Dominick and rewarded George with a small smile. White, perfect teeth appeared between those full lips. “It is an admirable characteristic. I am not offended.” When he smiled, Dominick’s face was as beautiful as his voice. George felt his knees turning to water. He searched his mind for conversation and found instead a hopeless void of white. Dominick rescued him. With a graceful gesture of his hand, he indicated the park bench as if it were a seat at the Opera. “Will you sit with me?” “Of course,” said George, thanking the Lord that he didn’t stammer on the words. George managed to sit without falling, and smoothed his slacks carefully with his palms, not yet daring to look at Dominick, who sat only a couple feet away from him. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He shut it. “I have heard your music,” said Dominick easily.

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A little of George’s nervousness eased. Music was a subject with which he felt comfortable. “You like the sacred songs or the new ones?” George dared to glance sideways at his companion. Dominick’s skin was even more perfect close up. Almost poreless, with no shadow of beard growth. Man, was he even old enough to shave? “I haven’t heard the songs in quite some time,” Dominick admitted slowly, as if testing each word before he let it escape from his lips. “But the music is still… compelling.” “Are you a singer?” guessed George. Dominick didn’t answer. He raised his chin, eyes looking away, as at something distant and dimly seen. “I imagine I was. Once.” “It couldn’t have been that long ago. You look like a kid,” said George, feeling guiltily sly. Dominick’s eyes slid sideways to meet his and George felt his breath catch. “I have been told I am ageless. I wish it were true.” “Oh.” George let himself feel relieved at not being a pederast. He took a deep breath and blurted, “Well, then, you should consider joining us next week.” A nervous laugh answered him. “No. I think not.” “We aren’t professionals. Well, except for Larry. Nobody would think…” “I can’t,” said Dominick. “I won’t enter a church.” “Oh.” Oh, that. George took a moment to decide which of his many approaches to this problem he should take. There were so many reasons that people grew to hate the church. But he knew little of the young man sitting beside him and he didn’t want to mix his professional duties with what he hoped would be his personal life. So he decided to let it go. “We don’t always practice in the church,” he said, instead. Those thick eyelashes flicked once and Dominick turned and looked at George. His eyes were almost black, George realized, feeling their impact at this close range. They searched George’s face unashamedly, seeming in their darkness to reflect the stars. He felt himself gaping and snapped his lips closed. “We…” he cleared his throat, looking down at his hands clenched in his lap. “We practice at the men’s Y every Saturday evening,” he said. “I’d be pleased if you’d join us.” No sense in pretending this was about saving a lost sheep. No sense in masking his attraction. “I should tell you something, though,” he said quickly. Dominick watched him calmly.

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George jerked a thumb towards the chapel, and then turned it towards himself. This was always awkward, no matter how many times he did it. “We’re a … that is, we’re all … umm… it’s a gay men’s choir.” His cheeks were burning, dammit. Dominick looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.” Oh, man, this was going to be even harder than usual. George took a deep breath. “The Episcopal Church does not believe that homosexuality is a sin. We support all loving relationships. The… the choir is a chance for gay men to relate in a spiritual pursuit. You know, something not bars and clubs…” George drifted to silence, watching his words dash against Dominick’s face like a giant wave of water, the young man utterly shocked. “Ah.” was all Dominick said. “I see.” George mentally slammed his palm against his stupid head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought you knew…” Dominick shook his head. “I liked the music.” George let the despair sink into him for a second, but then galvanized his resolve and stood. He held his hand out again, fully expecting it to be ignored. “Well, sorry. Um, I didn’t mean to…” “Then that would mean…” Dominick’s head was lowered, that mouth once more drawn up pensively into itself. He looked up at George, those beautiful eyes searching his face. George met that look steadily. “That would be a ‘yes.'" His hand still was offered, hanging there in the air waiting for Dominick’s reaction. His knees had that springy feeling. That fight-or-flight feeling. And then Dominick gave George a bone-melting smile, raised his hand in a wide arc, and clasped George’s in his firm grip. “I will try to attend your practice on Saturday.” George was an emotionally mature thirty-three year old man, he told himself as he walked back across the cloister to his little office. He did not skip. *** “Where have you been?” Poinsettia came sailing across the stone entranceway, raw silk gown billowing and trailing, sharp heels of her high boots clattering, big mad eyes goggling at him. Dominick shrugged out of his long coat and handed it to her, half hearing her wild chatter as she followed him down the dim passageways. His mind was filled with thoughts of the young priest. It was odd. He rarely thought of anyone except when he had need of them, but now the man’s voice, eyes, manner of running his hand through his hair, all repeated in Dominick’s mind over

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and over. And that odd pang in his chest that he felt when he heard the music was back, even stronger. He wondered if he were becoming ill. He had had no appetite of late. “Marcus was looking for you,” he heard Poinsettia say. That brought him from his reverie sharply. “He’s here?” He wondered that he hadn’t known. Poinsettia teased one long curling lock of blonde hair with fingers carefully manicured in black polish. “He sent a messenger, Dommie.” She smiled, and he could see the evil in the depths of her eyes. It was part of her seduction. “A special messenger.” Dominick frowned. “Oh. Where is he?” Poinsettia pointed at a chamber door at the end of one passage, bouncing happily. Dominick had a twinge of intuition. “Poinsettia, what did you do to my messenger?” Poinsettia shook her head, curls bouncing, and pressed a finger to her pretty lips. Rolling his eyes, Dominick pushed open the door and gazed into the room. “Oh, by Satan,” he exclaimed, turning to admonish her but she had run down the hallway, heels clattering, laughter echoing behind her. Dominick turned back to the room and clicked his tongue with annoyance. The chamber was a mess of blood and ruined clothing. His “message” was in the person of a bound and naked man, who lay in the bed atop blood-splattered sheets. He was still alive. Dominick could hear his heart sluggishly beating, but couldn’t tell if the man was conscious. He was not gagged, so Dominick simply asked him. “Are you awake?” The man’s eyes groggily fluttered open, a look of fear replaced with supplication. “Please...” he moaned through cracked lips. “That woman…” “Is my sister, Mr. Lunch, so you best speak well of her,” said Dominick, oddly disconcerted by the man’s expression, and so he looked away quickly. What was it lately; his meals seemed so much more… human? “Please,” whispered the man. “I… I’ll do anything, just don’t…” “You have a choice,” said Dominick coolly, still not looking at the man. He plucked the buttons of his shirt and removed it, carefully hanging it out of the way so as not to soil it. “Death or eternal life.” He glanced back at the wide-eyed terror and incomprehension in the man’s eyes. “I doubt you’d know what to do with eternal life, but…” “I don’t want to die,” said the man. He wriggled against his restraints. His body was… nice, decided Dominick. Young and strong, the skin a dark gold color, almost hairless and smooth. There were bloody bites all around the pubic area where Poinsettia had had her fun. Blood still

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clotting and dotting the hairs there. It was appetizing in a way. The man saw Dominick’s gaze

resting on his organ and a look of dread and then stoic resolve settled in his expression.

“I’ll do anything,” he said.

Dominick felt disgusted for some reason. “What is my message?”

“I… Oh. He… he said … “ The man twitched a bit, watching Dominick as he approached and

laid one hand on the man’s thigh while unbuckling his pants. The man’s chest began rising and

falling with fear, or anticipation.

“The message?” said Dominick sharply.

“Greetings, childe, I request your presence this evening at the old tower…” rattled the man,

ending on a gasp when Dominick reached between his thighs and clasped his sac.

“This will do,” said Dominick. “Roll over.”

A sob escaped the man. Fear, some pain, humiliation, and Dominick helped him do as he was

bid, bound hands and feet making it more difficult. “Please…” said the man once more.

“Beg me some more,” said Dominick, climbing atop the man and drawing his cock from his

pants. “I like it.”

The man was almost crying now but he managed to stammer out his pleas. Dominick spat in the

palm of his own hand and rubbed his cock methodically, hoping to harden enough to enter the

man, but it was useless. The disgust and unease were too much in his belly for him to complete

his task.

Dammit, he couldn’t release Marcus’ gift untasted. It would be the greatest insult. He hopped

off. “Have you chosen?” he said, zipping up his pants.

The man’s eyes, which had been squeezed tightly closed, opened, startled. “What?”

Dominick sighed and reached for the man’s head, winding his fingers through his hair to get a

good grip, and leaning close to his throat. “Fine,” Dominick said. “I choose for you. Live.”

The man did not even scream when Dominick bit him. *** “Adoro te devote, latens Deitas, quæ sub his figuris vere latita…” sang George, embellishing the notes with his own harmonic changes.

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“Somebody’s cheerful.” Patricia stood in his office doorway, her arms loaded with leather bound books, her blonde ringlets a tousled mess barely held back with an elastic band. George caught himself mid-Canto, set down the CD he’d been holding and leapt across a footstool to help her. Patricia relinquished a couple of heavy volumes with obvious relief. “I never hear you singing

the ‘Adoro,’ George, unless you’ve met someone.”

“Hush,” George grinned broadly. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Ah, I see,” said Patricia wisely, preceding him down the hall to her own office. “Another

fantasy man.”

“No, don’t say that. He’s not a fantasy.” George squeezed by her, balancing his load of books on

one hip as he levered open her door.

“Thank you, George.” Patricia walked in and set her books on a desk already laden with books.

“No, you’re right, you don’t invent fantasy men. You invent an entire fantasy life. His parents,

his job, the contents of the box at the back of his closet. Then, when you get to know the real

guy, he’s a disappointment.” She dusted her hands, looking around at the sunlit room and placing

fists on her hips with the look of a woman about to set a room to rights. Except George knew that

in all the time Patricia had occupied this office as Deacon and Youth Minister, she had never

even dusted or filed a memo. “Somebody should do something about this mess,” she said.

George chuckled. “Prayer is needed.”

Patricia raised one eyebrow. “Is it that desperate?”

“Of course not. Prayer isn’t only for desperate situations.”

“So praying for you to find a partner who is ‘real’ instead of ‘fantasy’...”

“Ouch.” George placed a hand over his stricken heart.

Patricia shook her head and sat in the leather chair, pushing the printouts stacked there to the

floor without appearing to notice them. “What’s his name?”

“Dominick.”

“And that’s his real name? You haven’t just ‘intuited’ it.”

George pouted. “I spoke to him. It’s his real name.”

“Where does he live?”

“Mmm, around here?”

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Patricia laughed. “Oh dear.” “Come on, Pat. I’ve only just met him.” “What does he do?” “Listens to the choir every Tuesday and Thursday from the city benches.” George met her look with a chagrined grimace. “I didn’t ask. He seemed… shy.” “Ah.” Patricia lifted one of her recently purchased books and opened it, studying the flyleaf. “What’s the rest of his name?” “I didn’t ask.” “You’re singing 'Adoro Te Devote' because of a man whom you only just met and only know by his first name?” George shrugged, assuming his penitent posture, hands in pockets, chin tucked down. “He must be very handsome,” said Patricia gently. “Tall, dark, young, but not too young.” George raised one finger at this salient point. “A kind of innocence. You know your standard harlequin romance fare. Except… I sense something deep in him. Some sadness. Some secret…” Patricia sighed, her expression affectionate and worried. “George, listen to yourself. Real men aren’t dark mysterious strangers. They’re just ordinary people. With traffic tickets and unromantic body odor issues.” “He said he’d come to the choir practice at the Y on Saturday.” George interrupted poking at the scant inch of exposed wood on her desk with one finger. Patricia was right, of course. It was stupid to be so excited. Stupid to build one little meeting up to such a romantic level. But he couldn’t help it. He was the romantic sort. He could actually imagine a man riding up on a white horse and whisking him away. Except, of course, usually his imagination had George himself as the knight in armor and his latest crush as the distressed. He couldn’t say which side of the horse, so to speak, he saw Dominick on yet. Though that sorrow and those fragile innocent features certainly suggested someone George would enthusiastically rescue. “What’s the harm in dreaming, Patricia?” he asked, wistfully. “It’s not like I can go meet a man at a bar.” “Right,” said Patricia, and they exchanged a sympathetic look. Not easy to be clergy in any church these days. Sure, the Episcopal Church accepted homosexuality, ordained women, but it still frowned on the members of its clergy running around like teenagers, picking people up in bars. And they had both experienced the ‘invisible barrier’ that the collar seemed to induce.

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“Well, I’ll say a special prayer for you,” said Patricia. “As always.”

George reached out and tugged gently at one springing lock of her hair. “Thanks, Pat.”

“I have to wonder, though, George. If you ever met a man as exciting as you imagine, what

would you do?”

George smiled. “I have a special dungeon for the man of my dreams,” he said, grinning when her

eyes flashed with surprise. “I’d chain him up and never let him go.”

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Chapter Two “The Tower,” where his Master had requested Dominick meet him, was actually a suite of rooms deeply buried in the hillside of an abandoned mission. If one were foolish enough to ascend the several flights of stairs to the only window during the day, one would have a vision of the sea in the distance. Before one turned to ash, of course. Hence the name. As he approached the building, Dominick felt the familiar tingle and excited anticipation that he only felt when his Master was near. His body warmed, as if blood pumped through his veins, his cock hardened and balls filled, and the air itself seemed redolent with hormones. His pace sped up as he shot a bright smile at the worried young vampire who trotted behind him. Marcus would like how Dominick had used his gift, he hoped. The formerly terrified man had become a very pretty and eager childe. “What should I call him?” he asked Dominick now, anxiously. “Call him nothing. Do not speak at all. Cast your eyes down and only answer if he addresses you.” Dominick thrust open the heavy outer door. “You should feel honored to meet him… what are you called, childe?” His fledgling looked bewildered. “I don’t know.” Dominick raised his eyebrows. “Of course.” He’d forgotten to name the man. Dominick thought quickly, “I believe we are up to 'L' now.” He turned so few that he often couldn’t remember. “Very well, then, you are called Lawrence,” he pronounced. Lawrence nodded, still looking confused. He’d only woken a few hours ago after all, Dominick reminded himself. He might be cleverer than he seemed now. “My Master is ancient and much revered,” bragged Dominick to Lawrence. And very beautiful, he added to himself. Lawrence bit his lip with fangs he had not yet learned how to conceal, looking even more nervous, and Dominick pushed open the door to his Master’s chamber. Marcus stood before a cold fireplace, his back to the door, arms spread wide over the high stone mantel. He was slender and tall, his strong broad shoulders filling a white sweater, shining reddish gold hair twisted into a complex knot at the nape of his neck. Dominick’s senses tingled at the memory of that hair sliding over his skin when his master took him and another wave of arousal washed over him. Marcus turned and looked towards the doorway. His eyes were a deep emerald green, framed with heavy black masculine brows. His sensual mouth curved up in a knowing smile, fangs glinting. “My little monk,” said Marcus, with pleasure, spreading his arms wide.

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“Master,” breathed Dominick, and went to Marcus like a child. His whole body arching to meet his Master’s touch, his head tilting back and mouth opening in bliss beneath the kiss. He was breathless when Marcus released him. “I received your message,” said Dominick, gesturing towards Lawrence. Marcus frowned thoughtfully at the new vampire. “I did not expect you to keep him, my childe.” A spark of panic lit Dominick’s gut. “Was I wrong to?” “No, no, no,” Marcus arms held him safely against that broad strong chest, his breath sighed against Dominick’s hair as he laughed softly. “I’m pleased he pleased you. I only thought he was not to your taste.” Dominick’s scalp tingled under his Master’s lips, but that feeling in his gut did not release. This was how it always went with Marcus. The slow sweep of a thumb along Dominick’s jaw could be the beginnings of a loving caress or a vicious blow. “You dictate my taste, Marcus,” said Dominick. “You know that.” Marcus chuckled, and the touch on Dominick’s face became, this time, a caress, Marcus tilting his chin up to take his mouth thoroughly. Then holding Dominick’s chin between his fingers, Marcus smiled down at him. “You taste delicious, though. Is that my message on your lips?” “Yes, Master, thank you,” said Dominick, leaning up for another kiss. He felt strong fingers curving around his buttocks and pulling him closer, his eager cock now was throbbing and leaking through his pants, his master’s odor everywhere, filling his senses until he almost felt his veins beating with the sensation of it. “Master…” he breathed, becoming completely pliable under those hands. Marcus’ cock was hard and hot against his belly, Marcus’ lips also hard, tongue sweeping the inside of Dominick’s mouth possessively, and fingers everywhere on him stripping clothing. Marcus stepped back, holding Dominick’s biceps and looking him up and down with a dark hungry gaze. “I want to see you,” Marcus said. Dominick stripped the remainder of his clothing, standing, slightly chilled, barefoot on the cold stone floor. Marcus flicked a talon at Lawrence, who still cowered in the doorway. “You, too,” he commanded. Lawrence, shaking with fear and cold, soon stood beside Dominick. Marcus smiled appreciatively. “You look well together,” he told Dominick. “Your white skin against his golden.”

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“Th…th…thank you, Master,” Dominick’s teeth chattered. He dared to raise his hand beseechingly towards Marcus. “I…I want you, my Master.” His want was obvious, of course. His cock so erect it practically tapped against his belly. Precome oozed at the tip, balls drawn up painfully, ready to shoot. Marcus gaze swept over said organ and he smiled and licked his lips. “Prepare him for me,” Marcus said to Lawrence. Lawrence gaped, shaking harder than ever. Dominick saw that the young vampire had no idea what Marcus wanted him to do. “Here,” Dominick said. “I’ll show you.” His knees aching with the cold shooting into them, Dominick went to all fours on the stone tiles. “Lick me,” he told Lawrence. “Make me wet.” The hands that gripped his backside were shaking violently, but soon Dominick felt a cold damp tongue at his hole, flicking experimentally. His belly quivered and his cock throbbed and he mentally steeled himself not to come. Lawrence became more confident, and his pointed tongue breached Dominick’s hole. Dominick gasped and arched, hand going to the base of his cock and squeezing hard as the tongue jabbed deliciously at the rim of his hole. He made his mind blank, filled it with verses that seemed to rise from the abyss, his whole body throbbing and aching until finally he heard Marcus command Lawrence to stop, and felt the thick presence of Marcus' cock at his hole. Dominick moaned as he was breached, and felt the sharp sting of Marcus grabbing his balls. “Not yet,” growled Marcus, filling him in one shove. Dominick cried out now, in desperation and a little pain. Marcus fucked him hard, the need to come increasing every time the thick cock pressed into his prostate, until finally Marcus shouts of victory joined Dominick’s pleas for release and the Master vampire shot up Dominick’s rectum and then withdrew quickly. One cold hand rested on Dominick’s quivering backside. “Come, my childe,” said Marcus. And Dominick did, merely releasing his hand from where it gripped the base of his cock, his ejaculation almost painful in its force. He heard Marcus make a contented sound as his seed spurted to the stone floor. And after a moment, Dominick looked up, vision swimming a bit, to see Marcus tucked in and pouring something from a decanter into two glasses. “Come sit with me, childe,” Marcus said.

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Dominick knees still ached and his legs were wobbling as he stood. He noticed his terrified childe. Still naked, cock jutting from where he held it with both hands in terror of coming before he was told to. “May I…?” he asked Marcus, gesturing towards Lawrence. Marcus flicked a bored glance towards the new vampire. “Let him wait,” he said. “I want to talk to you, my childe.” So Dominick settled into Marcus’ lap, warming gradually in Marcus’ sweater clad arms. Marcus handed him his own glass of the dark red liquid from which Marcus sipped and Dominick tasted it cautiously. So much of what Marcus fed him made him sick. “Do you like it?” Marcus breathed against his ear, his tongue drawing a tingling line down the lobe. “I like everything you give me, Master,” said Dominick dutifully. “What is it?” Marcus chuckled, nuzzling at Dominick’s neck now, teeth lightly touching the scars there where Marcus had first made him a vampire. “Drink up,” Marcus said. Dominick did so immediately and felt the effects almost as quickly. His vision flattened and the colors in the dim room seemed to pop and vibrate. “My monk,” purred Marcus, talons running up and down his naked thighs. “You taste oddly… wrong, my dear.” “Wr…wrong, Master?” “Mmm,” Marcus’ tongue swept across Dominick’s collar bone, his hands sliding into his crotch and fondling Dominick’s cock and balls with familiarity. “What have you been doing, my childe?” “Master?” said Dominick. “I only… Master, I have done nothing.” The panic was so intense that Dominick began to pant, the effect of the drug he drank and Marcus threatening growl combining. His vision was throbbing, his blood raced and his cock filled quickly and almost painfully. Marcus’ hands, where they touched him, seemed incredibly present. “You have a way about you,” said Marcus, his lips finding Dominick’s ear, fangs darting bright fire through Dominick’s brain, talons scratching light rivulets of intense sensation up and down his thighs. “As if you no longer respect me.” Dominick made a frightened squeak and Marcus chuckled again. “Oh, you will enjoy this, I think,” Marcus said.

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***

He hadn’t enjoyed it. Dominick regained consciousness some hours later. He was lying in a damp, cold corner and Marcus was nowhere in sight. His head throbbed and the abrasions on his body stung. When he moved, he felt the sharp pain in his anal sphincter and knew he had been probably fisted or maybe Marcus had used something larger. Dominick was thankful that he couldn’t remember quite yet. There were two new bodies in the room, completely drained, their milky eyes staring at the ceiling in horror, their bodies savaged. At the sight of them, Dominick felt a well of violent nausea. He wondered what had been in the liquor Marcus had given him. It wasn’t unusual for his master to offer strong intoxicants to his childer. In fact, it seemed of late that his Master was always under the influence of some sort of enhancement, but it was unusual for Dominick to feel sickened and fearful at the sight of drained bodies. He heard whimpering in the corner and found Lawrence there under a splintered chair. His child was covered in the blood of the corpses on the floor and maybe some of his own, and he seemed almost in shock. He flinched away from Dominick initially when Dominick had tried to help him stand and Dominick found himself assuming the role of Master. “Stand up,” he snapped harshly. It worked. Lawrence shook himself and rose slowly. Dominick stepped over the corpses, careful not to look at them, trying not to smell them, and found clothing to cover them both. Clearing the bodies from the room proved to be difficult. Lawrence was too in shock to take orders properly and Dominick found he could barely touch the cold flesh without wanting to fall to his knees and vomit up whatever he had been forced to drink. Eventually though, they finished and were able to exit the chamber. Dominick tasted the clean air with relief and looked up into the starlit sky. If his sense of time was correct, it was late Saturday evening. The heavy bells of the Catholic churches in the valley below began their slow tolling call to Saturday evening mass and an odd pang suddenly joined the disgust and nausea in Dominick’s chest. He turned to his childe, wrapping a supportive arm around Lawrence and urging him in the correct direction. “Come now, childe. I will take you to Poinsettia,” Dominick told him. “She will care for you while I do my business.” With a thirst very like the one he had for blood, Dominick suddenly needed to hear the sacred music. ***

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George was pacing. He knew it. The guys were all shuffling around up there in their spots on the lifts and he would generally be standing at the podium, putting the music in order, reading out agenda issues and memos. Instead, he was marching up and down the stage. On his third circuit he made himself stop dead and very purposefully approach the podium. “Okay, um…” there was a loud thud as the auditorium door swung open. George had to concentrate to turn around slowly. The figure at the back was only a silhouette, but George could trace that silhouette from memory. Heck, he’d dreamed about that shadowy outline, and woken up sweaty and in a wet spot. “Oh, yes. Gentlemen, we have a new… Dominick, you are a tenor, are you not?” Dominick’s face, a worried pale white disk, appeared as he drew closer to the stage. “I was, when I sang. But it’s been a long time…” George could hear his heart thudding over his own voice. That oval face with its wide dark eyes and mobile, sensual mouth; that small cleft in the chin, lifting from a clean strong neck; short dark hair, endearingly curling at the ends. George suddenly became aware that he was just standing and staring with everybody looking at him. He shook himself hard. “So, come on up. You can stand in, you don’t have to sing.” George could see himself fussing like an old hen, but he couldn’t help it, gathering up sheets of music, thrusting them at the young man. Dominick took them, those long fingers seeming pale even against the crisp white sheet music. George noted the narrow gold ring flashing a ruby red from his forefinger. Then Dominick climbed shyly up to stand near Andrew, his lead tenor. “We’ll begin with the Pange Lingua,” said George, trying to wrench his eyes away from Dominick. The men began. It was a classic piece and they sang it like the angels they were not. Somewhere in the second Canto, George heard a new voice join. Sweet, pure, its tones rising and falling in the swell of voices, fitting in and adding to them, like the gold thread that ran through the altar cloth. He caught Andrew’s eye and saw the twinkling there, sympathy for George as well as a certain pleasure at hearing the lovely voice beside him. He’d known Dominick would sing like an angel. George allowed himself to nod, smiling at Dominick and once again caught the flash of dark eyes, that rare beauteous smile. The moment was perfect, as moments in music sometimes, but rarely, are. George raised his baton and felt the sanctity of it, a swell of beauty as angels’ wings buoying him up. And Dominick’s voice was all through it. ***

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“So, will you join our choir?” George thought his heart would probably never resume a normal tempo. He would always be breathless, always flying on this endorphin high. Dominick looked startled. “What? But… I thought you understood. No church. I will not…” The disappointment was so sudden it was like being hurled to the concrete from a second storey window. George couldn’t quite control the expression of crushed disappointment on his face. “Oh,” was all he could get out. He looked away. He felt Dominick’s hand, then, on his arm, skin cool and dry, fingers strong, wrapping around George’s forearm. “I’m sorry, George. I have enjoyed this night. More than I can express. I am so grateful to you. But I can never enter a church again.” “Why?” George clapped his lips closed over this protest. It was so unfair. Any other man could question Dominick’s defection from the church. Ask him what had happened. But if George did it, their relationship immediately became professional. And he wanted more than anything that Dominick not see this as a professional relationship. “I… can’t explain,” said Dominick, predictably withdrawing his hand and turning away. “I’m sorry,” said George rapidly. “Sorry. Sorry, I can’t help it. Just… you obviously love the sacred music, Dominick; you’ve obviously sung it before. Why let the church take that from you?” Dominick looked back at him, expression slightly amused. “I’m surprised you don’t defend it.” “Defend what? The church?” George sighed. “You talk to any guy in this group, Dominick, and you’ll hear about a priest who told him he was damned, a family who sent him to a religious camp to be ‘cured,’ humiliation, threats of eternal punishment, hatred…” “Then why are you a member of it?” “This church is not like that, Dominick. That’s what I keep telling you. Christ preached a doctrine of love, pure and simple. Not all Christian churches believe that, but this one does. Don’t let their hatred steal your faith in God.” “Faith in…?” Dominick shook his head gently, as at a fond memory. “I am sorry, Father White, I simply can’t…” “Please call me George,” George begged fervently. “And don’t… Dominick, I’m not trying to convert you, I’m only trying to…” he inhaled sharply. Seduce you? Was that any better? “Be your friend,” he said finally, weakly. “Oh!” said Dominick, looking a little surprised. He produced a rueful smile that was just as beautiful as his other smiles. “I’d like to be your friend… George.”

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***

Dominick considered that he hadn’t spent this much time in the company of a human without feeding from them in his memory. It was charming in a strange way and a little disturbing. George was beautiful and smelled delicious. His arousal was obvious. Dominick should have taken him behind the building and had a lovely dinner of him. For reasons he could not perceive, he had no desire to do so. Even more bizarre was that George wanted to befriend him. The idea bewitched, charmed, and warmed that ever present pang in his chest. Although he knew he was being ridiculous and maybe even foolhardy, Dominick chose to entertain the idea instead of rejecting it as the ludicrous concept it most likely was. “We can go out for lattes if you’d like.” George’s cheeks were flushed a bright red as he stuffed the music into his briefcase. Dominick calculated the result of being seen in the company of a priest by any of Marcus’ childer and hesitated. It was one thing to play-act, another to be seen with this man publicly. Marcus would surely disapprove. George glanced up at him, and then looked back at his briefcase quickly, playing apparently needlessly with its lock. “Maybe another night.” “I’d be delighted,” Dominick was surprised to hear himself say. He was rewarded with a dazzling smile. “Great. I know just the place.” Outside the door of the establishment, George touched his collar and said to Dominick. “Um, don’t be surprised if we get a couple of rude remarks. It’s not directed at you. The, um, collar makes people nervous,” he said, shrugging. “Lot of kids at this place have had bad experiences with clergy.” As they were escorted to their seats, Dominick observed boys holding hands and girls kissing. He did see some of the humans looking at George strangely, but he noticed more than that; some of the young men were giving him and his companion overly appreciative looks. George noticed Dominick looking around. “It’s a GLBT coffee house,” George said as he sat down. “You don’t mind?” Dominick thought he was as likely to be seen here as any other place. Marcus’ childer were not discriminating in their hunting practices. “I don’t mind,” he said.

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Those blue eyes sparkled with their seemingly endless energy. The creamy cheeks, pink with pleasure, crinkled up in an attractive smile. George ordered lattes for them both, and biscotti. Then he winked at Dominick. “I can be very bossy,” he warned. “Don’t let me order you about.”

“I don’t mind being ordered about,” Dominick admitted. “I’m accustomed to obedience.”

George’s whole face went red. It was very attractive. “Huh,” was all he said. He looked about the

room and seemed overly thankful that the coffees arrived at that instant.

“So.” George took a big gulp of coffee and cleared his throat. “Uh, where did you sing before?”

“In a choir, of course,” Dominick nodded gently at the obvious.

“A church choir?”

“Yes.” Terse answer. Tense expression.

George chose not to pursue this line of questioning. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” Dominick was surprised at how good the praise made him feel. “I enjoyed your

version of the traditional music.” He studied the handsome face across from his and chose his

words and tone carefully. “I particularly enjoyed taking direction from you.” There went the blood to George’s face again. And the beginnings of arousal, a tendril of scent in the air as well. This teasing courtship was a practiced method of hunting, but Dominick was surprised to realize he felt an answering desire. He generally responded to human’s blood. To the feed. The sexual feelings almost an afterthought. But with this man, the attraction was physical in the old way. He suddenly longed to touch those lips, caress the golden hair, stare into those blue eyes as they sparkled and danced like the sun on a distantly remembered Mediterranean Sea… “To hear you sing that song again…” he murmured.

George looked startled. “What song?”

Dominick felt himself suddenly pinned to the back of the booth. “I’m sorry,” he began

immediately.

But George didn’t seem upset. “You heard me singing, Dominick?” Georges smile creased his

glowing cheeks.

“You were singing in the chapel. Alone.”

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George blinked at him for a minute. “Oh, when I was testing the acoustics. You heard me then? Wow. I’m embarrassed.” Dominick thought George looked less embarrassed than shyly pleased. “Your voice was lovely. Very masculine and… and sensual.” George looked away. “Man. The things you say.” “I am sincere. And you sang a song I’ve never heard before.” Dominick hummed the bars. “Music of the Night.” The lovely blood suffused George’s cheeks again. “Contemporary Rock Opera is one of my guilty pleasures, I’m afraid.” “I’m surprised to hear you have any.” “Pleasures? Why? ‘Cause I’m a priest?” George looked slightly offended and a little sad at this. “I’m a guy, Dominick. With a vocation, granted. But I’m still a man.” “I see that,” said Dominick, thinking he understood now why priests were so dangerous to his kind. It wasn’t the collar or the book or that little gold cross that he could see lying against the beat in George’s throat. It was that purity of feeling; as compelling and seductive as vampire thrall. George was now shyly fingering the handle of his coffee mug. “…and I have a CD of the opera in my apartment.” He looked up at Dominick, an odd look of determination on his face, his lips opening, when there was a loud sound at the front of the restaurant and George looked over Dominick’s shoulder. “Uh-oh.” “What?” Dominick turned and watched as George jumped to his feet and trotted to the front of the restaurant. Two boys were wrapped around each other in some sort of wrestling struggle. Another boy sat back in a booth holding his hand to his face. George just leapt on the pair, and was swatted in the eye immediately. “Hey!” He grabbed a shoulder and twirled one boy free of the other. He was rewarded with a punch to the gut, which he narrowly avoided by jumping back. “Stop that!” he yelled. Dominick expected to see, now, a display of George’s strength and dominance. George was definitely the larger and stronger male of the group. The young men had apparently committed some transgression, judging from George’s reactions, and the general reactions of the other humans in the establishment. Dominick expected George to now beat the younger males and teach them a lesson. Instead George pushed the boy he held by the shoulder down into the booth, accepted another swat from the boy still standing, before grabbing his arm and turning/twisting the boy about so

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that he held him firmly for a minute. “Stop,” he said loudly, into the boy’s ear. Dominick saw the

boy’s entire body go suddenly limp and George released him.

“What’s going on?” George asked.

The boy gestured at the one he’d been fighting. “He hit Steve for no reason.”

“Stupid faggot, should stay away from my brother!” spat the boy whom he indicated. He glared

malevolently at the injured boy, who still held his eye.

“Go home, Sam,” pleaded the first boy.

“Just wait till I tell Dad!” shouted the boy who was called Sam.

“Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa,” said George. “Everybody take a breath. C’mon you guys.”

As through a mirror darkly, Dominick sometimes recalled images, sounds and places from his

life. Now, he saw quite clearly the shield on an artisan’s wall of St. George killing the dragon. It

was an English version, no doubt. Golden hair was flying from beneath his very English helmet.

Fiery blue eyes focused and courageous as he plunged his spear through the center of the dragon

that groveled at his feet.

He watched George talking to Sam, to the other boys. His eyes were blazing and fierce, the force

of his personality quelling their argument and finally, the glow of triumph as he saw them

reconcile.

The boy called Sam rose from the booth and extended his hand towards George. “I’m sorry,

Father,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” said George. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam seemed to writhe a minute with discomfort. Then he squared his shoulders and

extended his hand towards the boy he’d hit. “Sorry, Steve.” He only turned slightly pink when

Steve took his hand and gave him a quick handshake.

“No problem,” he said.

Sam nodded at the boy’s face. “Yer gonna have a shiner.”

Steve gingerly touched his bruised cheek. “Yeah, my old man’s gonna have a fit.”

“What’re you gonna tell him?”

Steve shrugged. “It happens all the time. He doesn’t get the ‘turn the other cheek’ thing. So, I’ll

just tell him I got in another fight. And lost.” His smile was slightly twisted with chagrin. “He thinks it's cuz I’m queer, you know. That I don’t know how ta fight back.”

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Sam looked a little sick. “Sorry,” he said again. George cleared his throat. “Hey, Sam, sometimes ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it, does it?” Sam gave him an uncomfortable look. “No, I guess not. But what do want me to do, Father?” George nodded. “What do you think you should do?” Sam’s mouth remained open, as he considered this. “Ummm,” he said finally. “I think I should talk to Steve’s old man here. Tell him I want him to punish me.” Steve and Sam’s brother began protesting this, but George held up his hand. “Would that make you feel square with what you did, Sam?” “Yeah. Yeah, I think that would be fair.” George rose from the booth and walked the boys to the door. He waved at the owner, who had been watching the exchange, then came trotting back to Dominick, all effusive apologies, his skin flushed. “Sorry.” He shoved his hair about on his head in embarrassment. The effect was devastatingly attractive, thought Dominick in shock. “I’m afraid I can’t stay out of things,” admitted George, pulling out his chair and sitting again. He sipped his coffee and grimaced. “Cold. Man, I’m sorry.” He looked up at Dominick, the blue of his eyes gone suddenly dark. “You forgive me for abandoning you?” Dominick nodded his head helplessly. That pang in his chest like a knife. What was happening to him? George’s eyelashes were reddish brown, he noticed. The man was looking down chewing his lip, those lashes veiling his eyes. When he looked up, his expression was a little apprehensive. “I have more coffee at my apartment.” He cleared his throat and licked his lower lip and Dominick felt the small movement like the flick of a blade. “Do you want to come over and have a cup?” George smiled nervously, his eyes bright. Pierced. He was stabbed through, thought Dominick. And wondered why he didn’t turn to ash. “I’d like that,” he said. *** George’s ‘apartment’ was actually a small private set of rooms off the rectory. Not on church grounds, Dominick observed as he stepped carefully through the picket gate George held open for him, but nearby. George didn’t look at him when he said. “It’s small, but very private.”

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“It’s charming.” Dominick scanned the attached yard, the darkened and apparently abandoned church building nearby. Behind the building, the dark expanse of the church parking lot, it was indeed very private. George would be in great danger should he ever invite someone unsavory to his home. “Will you invite me in?” George was struggling with his keys for some reason. He finally got the door open, glancing at Dominick and wetting his lips. “Yes,” he said huskily. “Please come in.” Dominick met his eyes. The vein was pulsing in George’s neck, his lips slightly open. “Thank you,” he said. Dominick hadn’t thought what to expect. The attraction between them had reached a pitch of intensity that he could taste and he half expected George to fall on him as soon as the door had closed. Or he expected the hunger to overwhelm him, and he to fall on George. But as they entered George flicked on the lights and seemed to almost hop back, as if afraid to touch him. And Dominick was surprised into inaction by what he saw. The entire interior was covered with holy objects. George was poised in the doorway to another room. “So, what can I offer you to drink? D’you still want coffee?” Dominick smiled and thought of all the liquids George might offer him, consciously or no. “Actually, I’m fine, George.” “Oh. Uh.” George seemed to rock a little with indecision. “I… could use some water. Hang on a minute.” And he ran out of the room. Dominick waited for him to return patiently, looking around the room, curious and a little disturbed. He recalled a vow of poverty, but George seemed to own much. An old, but obviously well made piano. On top of it, a large carved wooden cross, several small images of holy men; a pile of music; an organ with ivory keys and a faded velvet seat cushion on the attached chair. The entire wooden structure of the chair was carved with Celtic crosses and scrollwork. The walls were adorned with portraits of Christ; shelves filled with CDs, apparently vinyl records, and sheet music. A large worn chair and an equally large couch with cushions askew and covered with yet more sheet music completed the room. Dominick noted that much of the music was newly written. “I’m sort of an audiophile,” George said, coming back into the room with a plastic bottle of water and following Dominick’s looks. “I’m an easy Christmas and birthday gift. Crosses and CDs, you know? I get so many I give them to the kids at church. And the organ was my grandfather’s. He was the organ master at his church when I was a boy.” “Ah.” said Dominick.

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George almost toed the floor in his obvious nervousness. It was charming. “You want to have a seat?” he asked, gesturing at the sofa. Dominick settled himself into the couch and watched George twitch around for a second before finally sitting as well, at the other far end. He set his water on the table, contemplated it for a minute and then laughed and turned that smile on Dominick. “I don’t do this much,” he admitted sheepishly. “Can you tell?” Dominick purposely misunderstood, just to see George with that high color in his cheeks, his hands nervously pressing together. “Don’t drink water? Or…” He was delighted to see George’s color heighten, his head turning away showing Dominick the back of a strong white neck, hair curling at the top of it. “Yeah.” George coughed. “Don’t have a lot of guys come up here either.” “I’m complimented then,” said Dominick smoothly, trying to think what he wanted to do next. George looked so vulnerable and so utterly edible; Dominick felt his desires warring with some other sensation, that aching feeling both painful and sweet. It was addictive. And it compelled him to draw out the conversation instead of jumping George where he sat. “You said you had that song here,” he suggested. “Ah!” George popped to his feet, quickly going to a small stereo and an extensive shelf of narrow plastic cases, which he seemed to know the contents of intimately. “Here it is.” George slipped the slim plastic case from between its brothers, opened and fed it to the slot of the machine in front of him. George bit his lip and pushed a button on the machine. Very soon strains of music, slow and sweet filled the tiny room. Dominick smiled to himself. A rough masculine tenor began to sing the familiar song that had filled Dominick’s head for days. He looked up at George. “You sing it,” he whispered. George shook his head. “Please,” said Dominick. Looking surprised, but also a little pleased, George opened his mouth and began to softly sing along. The music threw the net over him again and Dominick stood and walked to a window, looking out at the night and listening to the sweet voice behind him begging someone to give into his

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darker dreams. A seduction, a bewitching offer to someone, to let go of the life he’d known, let his soul take flight… “Dominick?” George was beside him, arm resting lightly on his shoulders. “Are you all right?” Dominick ducked his head and rubbed the moisture off his cheeks and felt George’s arm tighten and draw him closer. “Hey, I know my voice is rough, but I’ve never reduced anyone to tears.” George’s tone was light, but he sounded worried. He was warm and smelled clean with an underlying spicy odor that Dominick indulged his fantasy to believe was church incense. It was irresistible and Dominick felt himself turning into the man’s embrace. George’s other arm immediately encircled him, holding him close. “This okay?” Of course, this was not okay. Dominick was a vampire and Marcus’ childe. And the human who cradled him in long arms was a priest. An enemy of his kind. Dominick should devour him now. He willed his fangs to descend. Nothing happened. This was utter madness, some kind of dangerous game. He felt George swallow, and a warm hand moving up his back. Dominick could count the beats of George’s heart; he could feel the pulse of heat at neck and groin. He closed his eyes and let himself lean into it. George’s lips touched his forehead now, just a whisper, and an experiment. He shifted and the hold he had around Dominick became more secure. Dominick felt their hips lining up against each other, felt George’s stuttering exhale across his cheek. He was utterly mad, he thought, turning his lips to meet George’s mouth. The lips that covered his were strong and sure, with that confidence Dominick associated with the dominance of his Master. But George’s lips were gentle and when he broke the kiss, his smile was sweet. “Ah, Dominick, you feel so good,” breathed George, running possessive hands over Dominick hungrily. “I… I want to…” “Yes,” breathed Dominick, feeling himself ripple under the strong hands. George cocked his head back and gave Dominick an amused look. A thumb made circles on the small of Dominick’s back. It felt like someone repeatedly pressing his ‘on’ switch. “What are you agreeing to?”

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George’s tousled hair encircled his head in an aureole of gold. His eyes a warm blue, like sunwarmed water, scanned Dominick’s with a kind of gentle happiness. Dominick felt himself melting, sinking, until he was on his knees, his hands wrapped around the rough denim on George’s thighs. He nuzzled the warm bulge at George’s crotch. *** George had to focus to breathe, that beautiful mouth just inches from his hungry cock, which seemed to be trying to reach through the zipper to feel it. Dominick’s body pressed against his legs, pliant and eager. “Dominick,” George’s voice was strained. “We don’t know each other well enough…” Dominick looked up at him, hunger in his eyes, and George’s voice failed him. George’s hands were foreign entities suddenly as they fumbled at his fly until Dominick reached up to help him. Cool hands reached into his slacks, gave a little squeeze. Dominick licked his lips and George moaned. “You don’t have to. I… I…” A coy pink tongue just emerged from those lips; Dominick’s head tilted forward and his lips touched the end of George’s cock. George gasped and found his hands in the silk of Dominick’s hair. Dominick hummed approvingly, arching his head just so to rub his scalp against George’s palms, and beginning to suck at his cock. George made a very embarrassing sound and fought not to shove into the cool wet suction. Dominick’s tongue was the devil, thought George wildly. It fluttered and stroked and seemed to wrap around his cock, finding the sensitive tip again and again. Dominick’s head bobbed now, George having to force his fingers to loosely follow. His knees were turning to water and he could feel his thighs shaking. Dominick pulled off with a lovely wet slurp and looked up at him, lips swollen and red and an inch from George’s pulsing dick. Dominick’s eyes were liquid and wicked. Those lips moved and George was so taken with their erotic display, it took a minute before he understood the words. “Do you want to sit down?” George made another helpless sound and Dominick helped him to step back a couple steps and sink into a nearby chair. He gently urged George’s knees apart and bent to his task again. George moaned and fought his desire to grab Dominick’s head. For an innocent, the young man had amazing oral skills and George had had nothing but his own hand in so long that he was almost immediately fighting the need to come.

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Cool fingers stroked his sacks. A gentle tug and white noise surged to the top of George’s skull,

harmonizing perfectly with the voice of the tenor who still sang in the background.

When his vision cleared, Dominick was sitting between his knees, smiling and wiping his mouth

like a cat would lick her whiskers.

“You… you… wow,” breathed George. Dominick shuffled forward so George could take him in

his arms and kiss that amazing mouth. “What about you?” George asked against his ear.

“I was satisfied by your pleasure,” said Dominick.

“You came?”

Dominick smiled at the expression. “Yes.”

“Okay, good.” George nuzzled his cheek.

Dominick touched his chin. George looked up, his eyes searching his face.

“I must go home,” said Dominick.

George went stiff. He nodded. “Oh. Okay.” He stood quickly, brushing his hands on his pants

and looking about his own apartment as if he didn’t know where he was. “Right.”

“I had a lovely evening,” said Dominick, standing.

George nodded, one arm crossed his body to hold the other in a defensive posture. “Me too.” He

walked Dominick to the door and stood in that same position as he watched Dominick leave.

Dominick turned at the gate and waved. George waved back.

*** “Pat.” It was amazing how much misery a man with a trained voice could pack into one syllable. She poured the tea and handed it across the coffee table. George took the cup from her and studied its contents. “Maybe if I hadn’t had sex with him.”

Pat considered how many adolescent girls had said those words to her. “There’s no way of

knowing.”

“I didn’t even use a condom.”

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Pat sighed. George glanced up at her, his mouth in a rueful grimace. “Not that he’d be at risk. I

haven’t had sex in… years, it seems.”

“Still,” said Pat simply.

“Yeah.” George set down his cup. “I’m a slut. And a dog. I’ll never see him again and it’s my

own fault.”

“George, you don’t need me to tell you that if you had simply gotten to know him better you

wouldn’t be wondering because you could just call him up and ask him.”

George seemed to sink a little more into her sofa. “Yeah. “

“What are you doing today?”

George rolled his eyes. “Adult bible study. It’s my stint at the parishioners meeting and…” he

pulled out his day runner and thumbed through the pages. “I’ve got a stack of meetings. Oh,

crud.” He leapt up so quickly he almost dumped his tea. “First one’s in ten minutes.”

“We’ll talk tonight?”

“Yeah. Your sister cooking again?”

“She expects you.”

George stopped in the doorway. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, Pat.”

She waved him off, smiling.

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Chapter Three “Where have you been?” The voice was accusatory. In the shadows behind the door, Lawrence crouched like an undead gargoyle. His face half demon, eyes still yellow green slits, fangs protruding over his lower lip. His skin grimy. “I had business.”

His childe’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. “Business with humans.”

“Yes,” said Dominick curtly, pushing open the door. His childe rose and he noted the state of his

clothing, the blood and tears on his cheeks. An odd feeling of guilt rose in Dominick. “You’re filthy. Are you hungry?” “Yes.”

Dominick sighed. Well, something must be done about that. “Poinsettia?” he called, his voice

echoing down the passageway.

“She went out.”

Dominick turned and stared at Lawrence, surprised. “Poinsettia never goes out.”

The man crossed his arms across his chest and glared. “Well, she did. Somebody had to find

food. ” Lawrence shook his head hard, restoring his visage to fully human and blinked angry,

dark eyes at Dominick.

“Very well, then. She will bring back dinner. In the meantime, we should find you something to

wear. Your clothes are a disgrace.”

“You weren’t here,” said his childe, pouting. “Nobody was. She… she left and it’s been hours and I’m hungry. It’s cold here,” Lawrence ended, eyes darting up and down the dark passageway and something very like tears shining in his eyes. “All right, all right,” Dominick proceeded down the hall towards the room where they kept human clothing. All along the walls were the torn bodies of rats and mice. Dominick chuckled, shaking his head. “She has been teaching you bad habits, I see.” “She took care of me.”

Dominick nodded. “She does me as well, Lawrence. But she is mad. Don’t forget that.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Dominick took a step back and regarded Lawrence with raised eyebrows. “Hmmm.”

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Lawrence followed him into the “wardrobe.” He was a pretty vampire, even more attractive than he had been in life. The turning always gave one a peculiar glow and the man had had beautiful skin in life already. Dominick found slacks and a silk pullover that had proved too small for him and offered them to Lawrence, watching him dress, and noting the man’s lovely buttocks, wellturned legs and pretty penis as he disrobed. Lawrence stopped, clothing in hand, and looked levelly at him. Dominick saw the childe’s penis begin to fill. “Do you want me, Master?” asked Lawrence. He did not. And that was very strange. Dominick frowned and shook his head. Lawrence fidgeted and Dominick realized how unnerving it must be to the young vampire to have his master so disinterested in him. “I have been ill,” he said. “It is not your fault.” Lawrence nodded, a look of wariness still in his eyes, but he resumed dressing. Poinsettia entered with her customary noise and clattering of boot heels, the door slamming against the wall. “Dommie!” She hurtled towards him, dressed as a Victorian child: multiple pleats in the simple skirt, a wide sailors collar, her hair in pretty ringlets with ribbons in them. Her mouth was stained with blood and she held a young woman’s hand that she pulled along behind her like a puppy. “I’ve brought dinner.” The woman was pale, her eyes dark with thrall. She was young and very plump, with glossy dark hair, as tasty as a Cornish hen, and she should have made Dominick’s mouth water. Instead that peculiar nausea rose in his gorge again. “Lawrence is hungry, Poinsettia. Let him feed instead?” “You don’t like her?” Poinsettia pawed at the woman’s hair, trying to make her offering look a little more appealing. “She’s… of course I do, my love.” Dominick knew he should feed. His last meal had been Lawrence, some days ago now. That clenching nausea in his stomach would not abate, though. And the way the female looked at him, even with her thrall dulled eyes, made him twitchy and unhappy. “You and Lawrence go ahead, my dear. I might have a few swallows later.” Lawrence was ravenous, as the newly turned usually are, and Poinsettia had to restrain him long enough to get the childe’s shirt off and show him the proper way to hold his meal so there wouldn’t be a bloody mess everywhere. Even with instruction, though, Lawrence chewed upon the girl’s throat awkwardly; his feeding and slurping making Dominick’s gorge rise. Poinsettia joined him and finally, when the

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woman’s eyes had shut and she no longer breathed, Dominick was able to kneel beside her, raising one slim wrist to his lips. The blood was slow now, pooling on his tongue like dark fudge and trickling down his gullet. Dominick realized only as he tasted it, that he had been starving, and the clenching in his belly eased somewhat as it filled. He gave into his hunger and only looked at the body again when it was drained. “Take it away,” he said, rising. Poinsettia dutifully stood, wiping her chin daintily, and leaning over to grab the woman’s feet. Dominick and Lawrence watched her drag the dishes from the chamber. “Master?” Lawrence’s voice was husky, and when Dominick glanced his way he saw his childe staring at him with eyes dilated, mouth still bloody and hand clutching the bulge at his crotch. Of course, Dominick was hard also. Feeding always made him so. And his obligation to his childe’s need was unquestionable. He made himself smile with encouragement, and unlaced the tie at his collar. “Go to the bed, childe,” he said. Lawrence shed his pants and eagerly climbed back onto the bed where he had sat to feed. Dominick plucked the sheets up and folded them so he could not see the blood still splattered there and wondered at his own finicky feelings. Lawrence lay back, legs wide, arms raised, hips moving eagerly as his cock swayed hard and already oozing from the tip. Dominick made himself focus on the beauty of the body spread before him, shedding his clothes and climbing atop Lawrence. Dominance was not Dominick’s favorite role, perhaps one of the reasons he seldom turned a childe, and he was feeling less than amorous at the moment. But the warmth of blood in his belly pooled in his cock and he stroked the silky skin of Lawrence’s belly and thighs, letting the sensual feelings arouse him. “Roll over.” In his mind flashed the memory of the man he had killed, as the body of that man now turned eagerly, presenting small round globes to his hands to knead and press open, revealing the small pucker there. It was a strange juxtaposition of images in his head, and Dominick’s movements stuttered to a halt. Lawrence moaned, hips rubbing his penis against the sheets, hands clutching at the mattress to either side. “Master…” he begged. Closing his minds eye to everything, feeling almost numb, Dominick placed the head of his cock at the man’s entrance and pushed.

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Lawrence cried out at the entry, but with pleasure. His hips writhed. Dominick, his mind still strangely blank, pulled his penis partially out and then shoved forward again, harder. Back and forth he sawed, feeling like a dutiful woodsman, cutting boards. Beneath him his childe cried and begged and humped the mattress. After what seemed an eternity, Dominick felt his balls drawing up and the surge of heat flashing through him as he ejaculated. “Come,” he whispered, as Lawrence cried out yet again, pumping his release into the sheets.

They lay there for a while afterwards. Dominick petting and carding Lawrence’s hair, unable to

look at him, as his childe mewed and purred in contentment, curled against him.

Dominick was relieved beyond belief when Poinsettia came clattering back into the chamber.

She barely noted the naked men entwined on the bed.

“My head is aching,” she complained, searching the cupboards for the wine they kept there. She

put a glass on the table and poured. “Those terrible bells are ringing and ringing and ringing…”

“Bells?” Dominick sat up and began drawing on his slacks.

“The terrible church bells,” she said, covering her ears as if she could still hear them.

A peculiar feeling, a strange anticipation, coiled in Dominick’s belly and he stood, reaching for

his shirt and dressing rapidly.

Poinsettia set down her glass and studied him with those insane eyes. “You are in a hurry,

Dommie.”

Dominick pulled a new leather belt through the loops at his hips. “I have an appointment.”

“You’re leaving? Where are you going to now, Dommie?” Poinsettia glared, shaking her head in

displeasure.

“I … I…” Dominick could think of no good reason to be leaving the lair so soon after a feed. “I

want some air,” he said.

Poinsettia’s eyes narrowed. She was mad, perhaps, but she was not stupid. “What for?”

“I like to taste it,” said Dominick. “It is a peculiar pleasure of mine.”

Poinsettia smiled, little baby canines glinting. “Peculiar pleasure,” she repeated, delighted.

“Yes,” said Dominick, donning his coat. “I won’t be gone long.”

Poinsettia made a disgruntled noise, pouting, but she said nothing more to him as Dominick

finished dressing and opened the chamber door.

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“Master?” said Lawrence, raising a sleepy head from the bed. He reached towards Dominick and

Dominick saw the rivulets of blood still staining the man’s arms.

“Clean him up, please,” he said, huskily, to Poinsettia. He avoided both their eyes as he shut the

door behind him.

*** Pat’s sister was, to a small degree, a bit wicked, thought George as he studiously worked open his front gate. He was a little drunk on the peach brandy said sister had foisted upon him with dessert. Not that it was her fault, he lectured himself. He had chosen to drink too much brandy. His house looked more empty than usual and he stopped at the top of the steps, regarded his own door, and sighed.

“Good evening, George.”

George yelped and whirled about to face the voice as its owner stepped out of the shadows.

“Dominick!” He smiled and held out his arms, far too drunk to pretend that he wasn’t pleased.

“Dominick, what are you doing here?”

The young man looked pensive and as if he might sink back into the bushes from which he had

emerged. “I don’t know, perhaps I shouldn’t…”

“No no no no,” George waved his hands in wide expression of negation. “Anytime. Of course.”

Dominick walked up slowly, “I’m sorry to just show up without having made arrangements with

you.”

“You mean without a date?” George grinned. “No problem.” George took an awkward step back

and kind of fell against his front door. “You wanna come in?”

Dominick regarded George’s front door with such caution that George turned to look at said door

himself, wondering what it was about it that worried the other man so much.

“I suppose I could,” said Dominick. He took a step back.

“Wait.” George pushed his hand through his hair. “Listen, I shouldn’t have said that… you want

to… I mean, you want to go get coffee? Maybe… you want something to eat?”

Dominick licked his lips. George was the most appealing thing he had seen all day. “No,” said

Dominick. “I had a light supper earlier.”

“Oh,” George rubbed his chin. “Me, too. Well…” he looked back at his door.

“I’d like to hear the music again,” said Dominick honestly.

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“Oh!” George bounced a bit. “Oh, sure. I’ve got a new CD from the Benedictines somewhere in there.” He turned, fitting his key into the lock. “You don’t have to worry Dominick,” he said as he swung the door wide. “I promise,” crossing his heart messily and repeatedly. “Promise I’ll be a gentleman.” Dominick laughed. “I believe you, George.” *** “Wow,” said George. He stood in his kitchen doorway, his second cup of coffee in his hands, and grinned at Dominick, who sat on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Dominick couldn’t believe it either. He didn’t even know how he had found himself there; his feet seemed to have traveled of their own volition. George sipped his coffee and set it down carefully on the piano lid. “I’m glad, though. I thought I blew it last time.” “Blew it?” “You know…” George waved in the general area of the window, where Dominick had given him the mind blowing blowjob. He blushed, grinning sheepishly. “I know it’s a little late to protest my innocence, but I don’t usually do that.” “Oh.” Dominick had no idea what the issue was. George looked positively embarrassed. He wondered what the man was supposed to have done. “I tell my guys that sex is more than a bodily function and then I go and… and, well, use you like that. I’m sorry. I didn’t…” George was turning so red, Dominick feared his head would burst. It was beautiful. “You didn’t use me, George.” “I didn’t?” “Perhaps I used you.” George grinned, toeing the floor. “H’okay, not complaining here.” His skin glowed with the blood rising to its surface and the scent of his arousal filled the small room. Suddenly Dominick knew why his feet had compelled him here. His cock was filling and his skin was tingling, much as it did in the presence of his Master. He patted the seat next to him. “Will you sit down?”

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“Um,” George crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “I should probably stay over here.” Dominick wondered briefly if George knew what he was and feared him. But then the man wouldn’t have invited him into his house. “Why?” George laughed nervously. “Afraid if I get too close to you, I’ll jump you. “ Dominick considered this, a puzzled look on his face. He was hard again. George was semi-hard as well, standing there with his hips canted to hide this information from Dominick. “What would be wrong with that?” George ruffled his hair several times before he spoke. “Seriously don’t believe in casual sex, Dominick. I’m probably the last gay man you’ll meet who would say that. But I want to get to know you as a person first.” There was little chance of that, Dominick considered to himself. But if George required some sort of interview before they had sex, he could manage that. He sat back; arms spread out to either side of the couch back and spread his legs so that George would see the bulge between them, if he chose to look. “What do you want to know about me?” “Really?” To Dominick’s surprise, George appeared to be determined to stay where he stood, still talking. “Okay, first of all, what do you do for a living?” This was like hunting, thought Dominick. “I don’t need to work,” he said. “I have everything I need.” George’s eyebrows rose at this. “Where do you live? “I have my own home in the city,” said Dominick blithely. “I’ll take you there, if you’d like.” Of course, that would be the day he decided to eat George, and that seemed less and less likely of late. “You aren’t married? No boyfriend?” Dominick smiled, quelling an outright laugh. “I am alone for the most part.” “Oh. Oh, good,” George grinned. “Good.” Dominick stood. He tugged his shirt out of his slacks and tossed it on the floor. “That’s settled.” George stared. “Whoa. Wait. I mean it, Dominick. I… I’m not the casual sex type.” He gripped the doorjamb to stay steady. Dominick’s skin was white and perfect. His muscles outlined like a marble statue.

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Dominick studied the staring priest who stood before him. He had no idea what he was hoping to achieve, but he wanted the man to touch him now. He hungered for it until his whole body throbbed with want. “I don’t feel casual,” he said, his voice husky. Holding George’s gaze, he unbuttoned, unzipped and dropped his slacks, then went to the bed and sat gingerly on its edge. George’s stunned brain seemed to make the connections necessary for action and he jerked his slacks off with little grace, dropping his shirt somewhere as he hopped and slid across the room and, still wearing his socks, stood, weaving a bit, in front of Dominick. “You sure about this?” George whispered. Dominick nodded, crawling backward onto the bed until he was sitting in the middle of it. He had been heading here all day, he realized. He just hadn’t known until he arrived. He held out his arms. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he said to George, knowing the truth of it as he said it. He lifted his hips and pulled off his boxers, watching George as he did so. George’s eyes were darkening to black, his mouth opening as he breathed. “Wow,” he whispered. And he crawled up on the bed until he knelt between Dominick’s thighs. Dominick pressed up against the headboard. Wide lips smiling, legs spread, one hand resting on an inner thigh. Just lying there, not touching the long white cock that lay against his belly. George opened his mouth, but no words came out. He touched Dominick’s calf and ran his hand up the cool smooth skin. He shook his head hard and it seemed he found his tongue somewhere in his mouth. “You look like an angel,” he said. Dominick tipped his head back and laughed and George catapulted at his throat, teeth biting up the side, worrying at a scar there as Dominick melted beneath him. George’s body found its perfect fit against the plains and valleys of Dominick’s body. Their cocks slid side by side, hips arching and canting just so and George set up a rhythm. Dominick spread his legs wider, lifting his knees. And he felt George pulsing, like a heartbeat, against Dominick’s hole. George bowed his forehead to Dominick’s, closing his eyes. Dominick shuddered beneath him and George raised his head. “You’re cold? Dom? Do you want a blanket?” “You warm me,” said Dominick, his hands of their own volition traveling up the back of that strong young neck and burying themselves in the silken golden mass on George’s head. “George, warm me…”

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And those lips devoured his mouth again - the passion and emotion so palpable in the kiss. More than sensual, this man gave his feelings in his kisses and Dominick could hear his thoughts almost, feel his heart. He lifted his knees again, thrusting into the heavy sweet heat there and when George drew back again he managed to gasp. “I want you…” Those beautiful blue eyes, so like the sky he hadn’t seen in centuries, so solemn he could see the man’s soul in them. “You’d let me?” “Please,” groaned Dominick, arching against him, suddenly wanting to be filled with this passion, with this aching emotion George gave to seemingly everything. His music, his life, his hands and mouth… “I want to feel you.” George was a whirlwind then. The bedside drawer produced condoms and lubricant. Dominick allowed the vanity, no sense in telling George they were useless. Strong fingers plumbed him. Sure, gentle. Then the blunt head of George’s cock, his face over Dominick’s so full of that emotion again, such depths of feeling in his eyes. “Ready?” It was a reverent whisper. And then he was full of warmth. Not hot demon-driven need, but sweet aching warmth. Smooth, sensual, George’s cock moved within him as George’s body moved on top of him. Easily, luxuriously, like a velvety fist pushing into that place that sent Dominick helplessly arching into wildness. Gasping, moaning, head twisting, he felt more than heard George babbling endearments against his neck, his movements now fierce and needy. And Dominick felt his fangs descending. He clamped his mouth shut. Could not help but stiffen up. “Ah. Dominick, please…” George was wild now. That fair skin completely suffused with blood, his face lifted, the veins pounding in his neck down his sweat-glossed chest, the gentle rhythm of his hips devolving into desperate force. The fullness inside Dominick shoved again and again at his prostate until the world was filled with light and George’s voice calling his name. Mouth firmly shut; Dominick turned his head when George bent to kiss him. A little sob of grief, George too far gone to stop himself, and then he was shuddering, his cock pulsing within Dominick. *** “I’m sorry,” said George when he could breathe again. Dominick looked up at him. Raised a hand to touch his face. “Sorry?” “I hurt you. I felt it.” “No, you didn’t hurt me. I was afraid of…” Dominick bit the confession off.

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“You were afraid of me?” George looked heartbroken. Dominick could see the hurt, like it had a physical presence. “No, no, not of you. George, I could never fear you,” said Dominick. Wondering at himself. He should fear this man. This priest. He should. “I was afraid of showing my... of losing control.” “Oh.” George hugged him. Resting his head on Dominick’s chest, he said “You should never be afraid of showing me yourself, Dominick.” Dominick purposely did not hear the implied future in that statement. It didn’t look as though George was focused on it either. “Some things are best kept hidden,” Dominick said. His fingers played in George’s hair. “I need to get back to my home. I’ll be missed.” “Missed?” There was that little flinch of withdrawal. George’s head raised again, a look of genuine concern in his face. “Dominick, you aren’t… you don’t have a family, do you? You said you weren’t married.” “No.” Dominick laughed. “No, George. I just have… relations who worry.” “Oh. Oh, phew. You know adultery’s one of the top ten. I know some men think it’s not cheating if it’s other men, but I do and I usually ask just to be sure…” George looked suddenly embarrassed and bit his tongue. “I’m babbling,” he said. “Sorry.” “It’s charming,” said Dominick, honestly. “It’s all your fault, you know.” George’s eyes were bright again. “You fried my brains, Dominick.” And George bent to kiss him. The burn of his bristle against Dominick’s cheeks and lips seemed even more intense and sensuous in the aftermath of passion. He could taste the nuances in George’s mouth now, happiness, and surprise. He had to concentrate to pull away. “I really must go.” “Okay.” George rolled so that Dominick could get up, then lay there, his chin resting on his forearm, watching Dominick find his clothes. “Do you need a ride?” Dominick shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair. “You can use my shower if you want.” George’s voice had a pleading whine to it and when Dominick looked at George, he saw the man cast his eyes away as if in embarrassment. “I need to get home quickly,” Dominick said. It would be dawn soon. “Okay, I understand. I… I’m really glad you came over, Dominick.” George’s face was cherubic with pleasure. Dominick felt that ache again, sharp and pointed right where his heart once had beaten.

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“As am I.” Dominick resisted the impulse to cross the room and touch George again, to ruffle his fingers through the mussed hair on George’s head. A swell of tenderness in his breast surprised him. George lay looking up at him with open wonder. He thought George was going to ask him something, but instead he closed his lips together and just smiled. He was still lying there, comforter drawn up around him, face flushed and happy, eyes glowing, when Dominick pulled the door closed behind him. *** She heard the happy voice singing in the hallway long before the knock. “Fac me tibi semper

magis credere…”

Patricia carefully placed a long ribbon in the center of her book and closed it, before rising to

open the door. George stood there, his face lit from within.

“Hi,” he said. “You busy?”

“I’m indulging in an Aquinas analysis by a Breton priest who obviously worshipped him,” said

Patricia, head cocked to one side as she scrutinized her friend. “His adulation makes his

appalling Latin somehow sweet.”

“Love transforms all things,” said George.

“Oh dear.” Patricia stepped back to wave him in. “I’ll make some tea.”

George floated to the overstuffed sofa and nestled his way in between the books and the pillows.

“He showed up,” he told her when she handed him his tea.

“Yes, I surmised as much,” said Patricia, moving her books and sitting opposite him on the sofa.

“He sings beautifully,” gushed George.

“Of course he does.”

“Oh, Pat.” George just looked at her, eyes wide and helpless. He looked so dangerously

vulnerable. Like a six year old with a new puppy. Patricia gritted her teeth and prepared to throw

water over the happy conflagration that was her best friend.

“So, do you know his full name now?”

George blinked at her. Patricia sighed and set down her teacup on the edge of a coffee table

mounded with books and magazines. “Did he give you his phone number, perhaps?”

George shook his head. “I gave him mine.”

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“Of course, he knows where to find you.”

“Yes.” George smiled wide and beatifically.

“He knows what you do, who your associates are. What do you know about him?”

“He’s been hurt, Pat. He’s so hesitant.”

“Hesitant?”

“We… when we made love. He was so afraid to let me see how he felt. But so sensitive…”

George was obviously remembering, his cheeks heating.

Patricia closed her eyes, schooling herself to patience. “You’ve slept together already.”

“I’m in love, Patricia.”

Of course he was. “George. Tell me you were careful.”

George’s smile was happy. “Yes, mother.”

Patricia sighed with relief. Well, at least her friend’s body was safe. Now all she had to worry

about was his heart.

“Did you tell him how you felt?” she asked, trying to keep the dread out of her voice.

“No,” said George.

Patricia felt another surge of relief.

“I should have,” said George. “But it was all so sudden. We were talking and it just kind of came

over us…”

“George, that is called lust. You are the only man I have ever known who still confuses lust with

love.”

“It wasn’t just lust, Pat,” said George, pouting. “And I do know the difference.”

“Okay, okay. Well, are you going to see him again?”

George was shocked. “Of course, at practice if not before. I… Oh.” He looked at her and

frowned. “I don’t know where he lives.”

God needed to help her, thought Patricia. George had graduated with honors, taken a PhD in

theology at Berkeley. Yet here he sat like a smitten fourteen-year-old girl. It was simply beyond

a mortal’s power to help. Divine intervention was required.

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“You can ask him when you see him at practice,” she said. *** The blow knocked Dominick across the room. Before he could recover, two strong hands hauled him to his feet and fastened his hands together behind his back, the steel barely clicking in place when another fierce blow landed in his solar plexus. He fell to his knees, spitting blood. “Ingrate!” Marcus spat. The saliva hit Dominick’s forehead and slid down his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lawrence and Poinsettia huddled in the corner. He had barely entered his lair when Marcus had attacked. “Master?” he croaked around his broken lip. “Whore!” Marcus yelled, the blow coming on the tail of the word. The world spun sickeningly, Dominick’s one eye immediately beginning to swell. “I will teach you a lesson you will not forget, my monk!” screamed Marcus, his eyes insane and drug riddled. The handcuffs jerked sharply, pulling Dominick’s hands up painfully behind his back and he realized he had been chained to some kind of wrack. Another blow landed against his head, this time with a booted foot. Dominick’s head hit the wall and a bright jolt of white pain shot across his vision before everything went dark.

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Chapter Four “Is he dead?” Dominick heard Lawrence’s whisper from somewhere nearby. Dominick’s eyes were swollen and blood filled his mouth, but he could feel his arms and legs, so it could have been worse. “You are such a baby,” he heard Poinsettia whisper. “If he were dead he’d be dust. Dommie?” Dominick made a supreme effort and nodded his head. “Master Marcus is gone,” whispered Poinsettia. “You have to leave before he returns.” Dominick agreed with her wholeheartedly. He only wished he could comply. He made an effort and managed to open his broken lips. “Blood,” he said hoarsely. “You need blood?” asked Lawrence.

“Of course he does,” Poinsettia told him. “So he can heal.”

“Where can we get blood?”

“You silly child,” said Poinsettia. “We have to go hunting.”

“No.” Dominick raised a hand enough to grab hold of whoever stood near him. “No, no time. I…

I need.”

An arm was at his mouth, cold as stone and dead. “You may have my blood, Master.”

Dominick remembered feeling devoted in this same way to Marcus. He wondered what had

happened between them. He wondered how long until he was torturing Lawrence. “Thank you my childe,” he said, and bit. *** Dominick only stopped running when he realized to whom he was running. Why, out of all the denizens of darkness whom he knew in the city and outside it, he would seek out George was beyond him. The building where the men practiced their sacred songs stood across the way, vagrants and men ill with drugs wandering, sitting, and sleeping outside. Dominick stopped behind a dumpster and considered himself. He could feel the blood on his face, and his clothes were a mess. He was still confused and healing poorly due to the tremendous loss of blood at Marcus’ hands. Nearby, a plump man with blue drawings all over his neck and arms, slumped over in an apparent coma. Dominick approached him slowly. “Whaddaya want, fella,” slurred the man, seeming to wake suddenly.

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Dominick squatted next to him in a friendly manner. “Are you under the influence of some

drug?” he asked.

The man’s one eye sank slowly closed while his other one stared. “Wha?”

“Are you high?” asked Dominick. He’d have to find a place with water to wash himself. He

couldn’t see his face, but his hands and feet were filthy.

“Just had some Thunderbird,” the man whined peevishly. “Aint no law against that.” “No,” said Dominick, grabbing the man’s throat with a quick and deadly movement. “No one could blame you for that.” *** The man’s feet had been the right size and the t-shirt under his filthy outer coat was fine once Dominick had soaked it in the bathroom sink. He felt his face for dirt and combed his hair with the expertise born of over a century of doing so without a mirror. The skin on his hands was mottled with greenish bruises, but almost healed. His face was still tender, but he couldn’t see to

discern how badly damaged he was, so he decided just to brave it out.

The men had already begun their warm-ups when he pushed through the auditorium doors. They

all almost immediately stopped singing, staring. Dominick looked down quickly at himself to see

what was amiss.

“Oh my God!” squeaked Andrew.

*** George played with his music, tapping it straight repeatedly before replacing it in the portfolio. He didn’t know how to begin what he knew would be a difficult conversation. Every man in the place had seen the bruises on Dominick’s face. Livid green and dark purple, up one side of his face. His neck a mass of scratches. The black eye looked brand new. No one had said anything, all eyes going to Father White. No one except Andrew. “You look like a prize fighter,” he hissed as Dominick stepped up next

to him. “I hope the other guy looks worse.”

Dominick’s heart sank.

George proceeded solemnly with the rehearsal and then waited until the others had left.

“Dominick?”

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Dominick came slowly down from the pier, his eyes cast down. George sighed. “You know I

have to ask what happened.”

Dominick gave him a quick look. Dominick had been avoiding his eyes all evening. No mean

feat when one was taking vocal direction, but he’d managed it. “Do I have to answer?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“If I answer, I’ll lie,” said Dominick simply.

George wanted to hit something. Or weep. He settled for setting his briefcase down a little harder

than usual. “Will you tell me who did this?”

“It won’t do any good.”

“Will you at least tell me…” George took a deep breath. “I mean, Dominick, was it a boyfriend

or something? Are you protecting some guy?” Man that had been hard to ask.

Dominick was silent, looking at the floor.

“A boyfriend?” said George weakly.

Dominick shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”

“You told me…” George went over to a seat and sat. He leaned forward burying his head in his

hands, then leaned back. His eyes were bright. “You told me…”

“Someone from my past,” said Dominick. “He has… a hold over me of sorts.”

George leaned forward again, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry, George.”

*** George looked up. Dominick stood in front of him, head down a frown creasing the bruised face.

“Sorry?”

“I can see I’ve disappointed you. I... I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what he had hoped for, but it

was clear to him now that he’d have to leave. Dominick felt coldness where the ache had been residing. Without the music. Without this man. Suddenly he saw eternity stretching before him, endless and impossible. The strangest sensation in his eyes. An itching burning feeling. “Dominick?” George was there. His arms were around him. “Dom, don’t … oh God, help me,” George’s voice was definitely addressing the deity he had mentioned. A warm hand cupped the

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back of Dominick’s head gently, George’s cheek resting on Dominick’s head. “Don’t apologize,

love, don’t…”

Dominick wrapped his arms around George and hung on.

*** “This is a ridiculous ritual.” Dominick sat in a big bathrobe in the broken down reading chair in George’s apartment. He had a bandage on his neck and was holding a slab of cow flesh against his eye. That last had been at George’s insistence. “It works, trust me.” It was hard for Dominick to discern George’s current mood. He still seemed angry, his movements stiff, his face dark and frowning. “George I really do heal quite quickly. This is entirely unnecessary.” “It helps me to do it,” said George. “So shut up.” Dominick shut his mouth. “And the soup is almost ready.” “Soup?” said Dominick with distaste. His internal organs were still somewhat mashed. The last

thing he wanted was to attempt to process some human food.

“Mother’s remedy for everything.”

Dominick sighed.

“And then we’re going to call the police and report that asshole.”

“What?” Dominick half rose from the chair.

“I’ve tried, Dom. I’ve really really tried not to butt my nose into your life, but wherever you’re

from it doesn’t matter, because in the United States of America, it’s illegal to beat people up.”

“George, you don’t understand.”

“What do I need to understand, Dominick?” George was almost shouting; face bright red, eyes

hot. “Tell me, please, because I really want to know.”

Dominick looked up at him. He was so pale under the bruises, thought George furiously. So…

vulnerable. “I can’t tell you, George,” said Dominick.

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George turned his back to him. It actually hurt Dominick in his chest to see George do so.

“You don’t trust me,” said George. His voice was husky.

Dominick didn’t answer him. He supposed George was right. “I am trying to,” he said as

honestly as he could, realizing even as he said it that it was the truth. “I really am,” he said in

wonderment.

“I’m a peaceful guy,” George addressed the wall. Dominick could see George’s hands, wrapped

around his own ribs, the fingers clenched. “It's hard for me to be this angry.”

A small lump of unhappiness formed in Dominick’s throat. He swallowed around the thickness.

“I’m sorry, George,” he whispered.

“Not at you,” said George, turning and shaking his head.

“You don’t trust me, either,” Dominick observed.

George stared at him, a dozen expressions washing over his face. “Why do you say that?”

“You think I’m protecting someone, or that I lied to you. I haven’t lied to you and I’m not

protecting anyone. Even those I probably should,” he added, thinking of Poinsettia and Lawrence

worriedly.

“Oh,” said George. He shuffled over and knelt on the floor at Dominick’s feet and took his

unmarked hand. “Trust is hard, huh?”

Dominick nodded. George’s eyes were like the sea again. Emotions tossing across them like the

light on the waves. He could gaze into those eyes for all of eternity. With a start, he realized that

he truly wished to do so. The thought was disconcerting.

“What’s wrong?” George raised his hand and pressed it to his lips, watching Dominick’s face.

“You are so very beautiful," said Dominick.

George blushed. Even his eyelids blushed. He kissed Dominick’s hand again. “Back atchya,” he

said. Dominick curled his hand so he could touch George’s chin, his cheek, one finger touched

his lips.

“George.” Dominick tugged at him. George came eagerly forward, closed on him but then

stopped inches from a kiss.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never could,” said Dominick, surging up to meet him.

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Their kisses were gentle and so sweet they made Dominick ache. George’s breath quickened and he made little moaning noises into Dominick’s mouth. Dominick pulled him down into the chair, George so careful of his bruises and scratches but hot and hard against him. “Bed.” Said Dominick finally. “Please George, take…” and George was up and helping him stand as if he’d been waiting for the request. They tumbled onto the mattress, already entwined, and Dominick laughed as the robe fell loose and George’s hands ran over his ribs, down his belly petting and caressing and finally wrapping around his cock, eyes glowing at him as he stroked so carefully. “George,” gasped Dominick, his hips surging to meet George’s strokes. He caught George’s hair in his hands, ran the palms of his hands over hard nipples and pinched one until George gasped, head back chin up, bright pink across his cheeks. “Dom,” George whispered, head rolling to nibble up one of Dominick’s arms, skirting a bruise to nibble down across his chest, around his navel. Tongue toying and tickling, hand still stroking softly up and down Dominick’s cock. “Want to taste you,” George whispered. George laid his head on Dominick’s hip and licked the side of his cock in one long sweep that made Dominick quiver all over. “Oh,” George looked up at him, lips red and around the tip of his cock. So debauched and alluring it made Dominick moan again. And then George’s head sank onto his cock. The warm heat of his mouth sucking hard and Dominick’s hips writhed beneath his strong hands. Dominick watched, enthralled, as George’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes closed in pleasure, cheeks flushed, eyelashes and hair alight with gold. George’s tongue was a little rough and played over his cock in strong swipes. He was being devoured by a young lion, Dominick thought deliriously. Hands played at his sacs, ran over his torso, tweaking nipples, scratching lightly. Dominick felt himself floating on the gentleness and the care and then he felt George gently touching his hole and his orgasm rose in him like a tidal wave. When he opened his eyes, he lay in warm arms with dark blue eyes gazing down at him with unveiled affection. “I love you,” whispered George. Dominick closed his eyes. “Sorry,” said George softly. “I guess. I shouldn’t have…” “No,” whispered Dominick, eyes still closed. “It’s just that I can’t…”

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“Of course,” he heard George say. His voice strained. “Of course, Dominick. I understand.” Lips

pressed once, lightly to his forehead.

“You should sleep now,” said George. A cover was drawn up over him. Dominick sighed and

nestled into the warmth and safety of George’s arms.

“I should leave.”

“No. You’ll stay and sleep. And then… you can leave if you need to.” Dominick nodded and

dutifully closed his eyes, evening his breathing out and waiting until George’s heartbeat told him the man slept. George was still propped up behind him, one arm arched over him, as if to protect Dominick as he slept. He slid out from under that warm cave, pulling on his bloody and torn clothing very quietly and tiptoeing from the house, sliding the door silently behind him, as quiet as the dead. *** George waited until the door closed then got up and padded to the window to watch Dominick walking across the park. The lover in him who wanted to run across the lawn in his boxers and drag Dominick back warred with the counselor who knew better. He was standing there, in an agony of indecision, when he saw the man walk up to Dominick on the path. Dominick stopped and spoke to the man. He began to back away. The man stood in a dramatic pose, pointing and shouting. George grabbed his shirt as he ran out the door. *** Dominick was lost in thought as he strode across the park. He’d have to get Lawrence and Poinsettia out of the lair, of course. And then perhaps they could find someplace distant for a time. He stopped, head bowed in thought. He was just shaking his head over the difficulties of this when he felt Marcus' presence quite near him. He froze, not even daring to blink.

On the path before him, Marcus suddenly appeared.

“Master,” said Dominick, knees turning liquid, skin tingling, but with fear.

“I know what you do, my childe,” said Marcus gently. “I am your Master.”

“Yes,” Dominick nodded, his eyes unblinking as he watched Marcus, waiting for his move.

“Yes, you know everything about me.”

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“You consort with the enemy.” “Yes,” nodded Dominick. Marcus eyes were cool and the green seemed to glow in the dim moonlight. He was perfectly still, but Dominick knew Marcus could move faster than the eye could see. Marcus' arm whipped up in an accusing point and Dominick jumped in his skin and almost screamed. “You are mine!” roared Marcus. Dominick nodded, his head bobbing up and down like a mad doll. “I am. I am yours, Master. I… what would you have me do?” Marcus considered him, head tilting sideways. A small smile on his lips. “You are wonderful when you are penitent, my little monk.” Dominick felt a sickening chill in his gut. “I can be wonderful for you, my Master.” The thought of what Marcus might require of him was less awful than what he might do should Dominick displease him. But not much. Marcus dropped his arm and took a swaggering step forward. He gestured meaningfully towards his feet. “Time to pray, little monk.” Dominick nodded, swallowing hard and went to his knees. “Hey!” Dominick jumped anxiously again, but Marcus merely tipped his head, gazing unsurprised beyond Dominick, fangs glinting this time when he smiled. “Good evening, priest,” he said, hissing on the ‘s.’ “We were hoping you’d join us.” *** George went from protective fury to confusion as he watched Dominick regain his feet. “Marcus,” said Dominick, not even sparing him a glance. Dominick went to the beautiful redhead that stood there in the path and wrapped his arms around him, rising up on tip toe and kissing him right in front of George. The man, the beautiful tall sexy man, smiled down at Dominick when the kiss was over. George felt like an intruder. “George,” said Dominick, still looking up at the man he had called ‘Marcus.’ “Go home.” “Oh, no,” said Marcus. “I want to meet your new friend, Dominick.” He smiled winningly at George. “Dominick and I share everything… did you say your name was George?”

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“Please, Marcus,” said Dominick. “I’m sorry. I am so very…”

“Is this the guy?” George growled. “Dominick, is this the guy who beat you?”

*** “George, go home,” snapped Dominick. “Marcus,” he crooned. “I will do anything.” He could feel Marcus’ body, rigid and cold and angry. But his Master’s eyes were clear and Dominick hoped there were no drugs in his system. His Master was a pragmatic and clever vampire, when not under the influence of the drugs he had been taking. One did not become ancient if one were not. A sane rational Marcus would think twice about eating a priest, especially if he were motivated otherwise. “I will please you,“ Dominick sang in a whisper, kissing Marcus again. “You already do,” said Marcus, smiling. His eyes went up to George again, who stood there in a

state of combined heartbreak and concern.

“I…” George rocked on his feet, indecisive. “Why were you kneeling, Dominick? Why…”

“I fell, George,” said Dominick flatly. “I’m tired and I tripped and fell.”

“You fell.”

Dominick looked up at Marcus who returned his look with a gleeful gleam in his eye. His

options were clear. If he didn’t chase George away permanently, and now, Marcus would make

sure that George never touched another of Marcus’ children again.

He turned, keeping Marcus’ arms around him, so that he faced George with his Master there at

his back, holding him possessively. The expression on George’s face made his entire chest ache.

“Yes, George, I am tired and I stumbled and fell.”

In the moonlight, George’s eyes looked black. Dominick saw him shoot Marcus a suspicious

look.

“Marcus came to drive me home,” said Dominick.

“Right,” said George. He crossed his arms. “So, like, when did you call him?”

“We’d already made the arrangements.”

“You’d…?” George moved his weight from one leg to another.

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“Before the choir practice. Marcus dropped me off, I told him to meet me here after a few hours.” George’s lips were a thin closed line. “Dominick,” said Marcus in affectionate tones, shaking his head, “needs his variety and I need my Dommie to be happy.” Dominick could see George’s chest rising and falling as he breathed. He could hear his heart beating hard. “I don’t know what’s going on here,” said George, “but my bullshit radar is beeping like crazy.” “Oh, cut out the ‘terribly perceptive’ act, George,” said Dominick in a bored tone. “Dominick! Don’t be rude," said Marcus. “Perhaps George would like to join us?” Dominick’s insides turned to ice. He suddenly saw the corpses from that previous evening, staring with the opacity of death in them, and George lying amongst them. “I don’t wish him to,” said Dominick. He wriggled his buttocks seductively against Marcus’ hardening cock. “Go home, George.” George stood stoically in place. “No.” Marcus rumbled dangerously. “He doesn’t want to go home, Dommie.” Dominick sighed, with a pretense of immensely-tried patience. He looked George in the eye. Those beautiful dark blue eyes, like a storm at sea, gazed back into his as if they could see his thoughts. “You are too much into this for me, George,” said Dominick clearly, willing disgust and weariness into his gaze. “You are like a girl with your words of love and your swooning.” The blood in George's face darkened it. He held Dominick’s eyes, searching them. “You don’t mean that.” “Of course I do,” said Dominick. “You just aren’t listening to me, because you want some fairytale. Well there is no fairytale here, George. It was just sex.” He snapped his lips closed and turned into Marcus’ embrace again. “Go home.” He almost fell to his knees in relief and gratitude when he heard George turn and walk away. “Very well done,” hissed Marcus at his ear. “Now we can go home and celebrate your conversion.” ***

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“He didn’t mean it,” George said to himself for the thousandth time. He was walking across the quadrangle towards the quarterly diocese meeting, repeating those words like a mantra. He’d had to walk away last night. He was sure of it. But he hadn’t believed a word of what Dominick said, not really. Not all of it. At least, not most of it. Unless. Unless it was true. George closed his eyes for a second, then opened them and kept walking. It was like he was holding his breath, waiting to find out what he should feel. “If he comes to practice tomorrow night,” he thought to himself. “Then I’ll know.” *** “He followed you,” said Lawrence in a whisper. Marcus had tied him up this time. He had, apparently, a room full of enthralled and bound humans from which to feed very nearby and no longer had to leave the lair. Dominick felt hopeless and heartsick. Both Poinsettia and Lawrence had been ‘punished’ for releasing him. Dominick was becoming so accustomed to feelings of responsibility and guilt he no longer even wondered at the feeling of grief he had at his companions’ trouble. His own punishment had been thorough. He had been choked so severely he hadn’t been able to speak for several hours and even now his throat ached with every breath. Both arms and a leg were broken. He suspected, his face felt bizarrely misshapen and he noticed that Poinsettia could not look at him, so he imagined it must be grotesque. None of this worried him as much as the blood letting though. He was so utterly drained he was sure one more wound would dust him. And all he could think was how George must be feeling now. Of what George must think of him. They could hear the sound of Marcus’ boots in the hallway even before his voice. “There you are, my monk,” sang Marcus happily. “I thought you might have left already.” He laughed merrily at his joke. “Why do you call him that?” asked Lawrence. “Why do you call him a monk?” “He was a monk, in a cloister, when I turned him,” said Marcus. And Dominick heard him spit. “A mewling, pathetic little whining priest who sang and sang all day. Until he saw me and then all his vows were naught, were they not, my little monk?” A glimmer of understanding lit where the pang had lived in Dominick’s chest. He took in a deep breath. “Yes,” he croaked. “I broke my vows for you, Master” he whispered. A booted foot prodded his side. “You swore to be mine.”

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Dominick nodded miserably.

“You broke your word, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” said Dominick.

“And I hope you are remorseful.”

A tumult of emotions, old and new, flooded Dominick’s breast. “I am.” He croaked honestly

Marcus chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it, my little one. But you still must be punished. I could

simply destroy you, but that would not serve my purpose. I will… retrain you, my dear one. It may be humbling,” and Marcus’ laugh was delighted. “At least for you. But you will thank me one day, Dommie. Obedience is a virtue, after all.” *** George had gone from hopeful anticipation, to dread, to horrible depression in less than an hour. He rested his baton carefully on the podium and gathered up the sheet music there with hands

that actually ached with the misery he was feeling.

“Where’s our star?” asked Andrew from behind him.

“Oh, I guess he decided it wasn’t his thing.” George managed a casual shrug.

“Was he okay the other night?”

“Yes. No.” George frowned. “Dominick has a lot of issues, I guess.”

“Doesn’t every man,” said Andrew. “Did you find out what happened?”

George shook his head.

Andrew tsked. “George.” His hand rested comfortably on George’s shoulder. “The guy is

gorgeous, and his voice well, it’s almost as good as mine. But you can do better.”

“Really?” George felt that he didn’t want to do better. Actually he felt that he didn’t want to do

anything to anybody ever again. “You think?”

“Sure.” Said Andrew, cheerily spreading his arms wide. “There’s me, for example.”

George smiled for the first time all evening. “What about Richard?”

“Richard would understand,” said Andrew. “He knows you’ve always been my first love.”

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He wrapped his arm around George and gave him a little squeeze. George let another smile

appear on is lips. “Thanks, Andrew.”

“Don’t mention it.”

*** That mouse was scratching at her door again. Pat sighed and slid the People magazine under a seat cushion. God might understand, but very few parishioners wanted to know that their ministers were obsessed with the goings on of Brad Pitt. George stood at her doorway his face a picture of despair. “Hey, Pat.” And his voice broke on

her name.

Pat swung her door wide and went for the brandy.

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Chapter Five Dominick no longer knew what day it was. The numbering of years means nothing to the immortal, and days of the week or months were useless to creatures who had little transaction with worldly business. But he thought perhaps at least one of the Saturdays had passed since Marcus had imprisoned him. The thought deepened the despair that seemed so much part of his being now. He hadn’t realized how much he had craved the music, or George. He closed his eyes and saw ingenuous happy eyes, cheeks flushed, crinkling with smiles. The sentiment in George’s face as he held Dominick, his fingers on his face, his arms and body warm against him. From his position on the floor, arms and legs bound together, head restrained, he could only see Marcus’ leather boots as they circled him, randomly delivering blows and stabs as he stumbled a bit now and then. Whatever intoxicant Marcus had discovered seemed to have rapidly become a favorite. He was almost always severely inebriated with it when he visited Dominick for another ‘lesson.’ Poinsettia and Lawrence had been removed from the room. Dominick dreaded for their safety until Lawrence was sent in with a bowl of fresh blood. “What drug is he taking?” he asked Lawrence, after his fledgling had let him feed. “We don’t know,” said Lawrence, at a whisper. “Poinsettia says it’s like no drugs the children eat. She says he has gone mad.” Well, if anyone would know it would be Poinsettia. “She says we must free you.” “No.” said Dominick. “He would destroy you.” “You would care?” Lawrence sounded genuinely surprised. Dominick was able to lift his head enough to gaze into his childe’s face. “Yes.” Lawrence set down the bowl. “What should we do?” “Tell him…” a fit of coughing overtook Dominick, and he tasted blood. “Tell him I want a confessor.” He could hear them speaking before they entered the room. Marcus entered with long steady strides. Perhaps the drugs had worn off. “What are you dwelling on now, dear one?” Marcus voice sounded suspicious.

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“My disobedience,” said Dominick immediately, “and my sorrow at displeasing you.” Marcus halted in front of him. Dominick could smell the polish on his leather boots. The clean scent of his wool long coat. “I want to be your childe again, my Master,” he said in his roughened voice. He tried to raise a hand in supplication, but of course, his arms were bound. “Loosen his bindings,” Marcus commanded and Lawrence hurried over to do so. Dominick caught his childe’s eye and willed him to slip the knots free, leaving them apparently still tied. Lawrence had turned out to be cleverer than Dominick would have hoped, it seemed. He did as Dominick willed, giving him a wink before stepping back. Marcus dropped to one knee and touched Dominick’s chin, bringing his head painfully up to meet his eyes. Even now, Dominick felt the surge of adulation and attraction that Marcus always engendered in him: those beautiful eyes, even reddened and half-mad; the hair like a halo. “What shall I do with you, my little monk? Are you truly sorry?” “I am, my Master.” It might have worked, thought Dominick, if Marcus were not so ancient and if he had not held Dominick in his power for so long. Marcus might have believed him and set him free. As it was those intense green eyes studied him and narrowed. “Liar.” His head was jerked viciously. He thought he heard a bone snap. He was barely able to flinch away before the blow came to his head. He heard, over the pain, Lawrence yelling and then Poinsettia’s scream, suddenly cut off. There was a terrible chilly silence as if some evil wind swept through the chamber. Ash floated in the air above Dominick’s head. “Oh, Poinsettia,” he whispered to her remains. Then Lawrence screamed again, this time the sound ungodly and seemingly endless. Dominick arched his head up and saw his small childe struggling to push a metal pole through Marcus middle. It was hopeless and in seconds Marcus would be free and Lawrence would be dust, but Dominick had enough time to get to his feet, unraveling the ropes from his body, and leaping to Lawrence’s side. “Run!” He screamed at Lawrence, kicking Marcus in the chin to keep him down a few precious seconds as he and his childe ran through the doorway and down the passage. Marcus roared behind them immediately. Dominick was half blind with blood loss, but fear drove him. And he knew this place so much better than his master. “Right," he commanded Lawrence, hard on his heels. “It’s a long dro…” his voice faded as Lawrence, yelling, fell through the sewer hole.

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They splashed and spluttered and kicked and finally swam, the water dulling Marcus' scenting of them just a little. When they emerged on the other side, Dominick only paused long enough, dripping and swaying, to let Lawrence tear his shackles free. “I can still feel him close,” he told his childe. “Run the opposite direction of me. Go to the Park on the Green we showed you. The guild is there. Claim sanctuary under my name. They may not refuse you.” “What of you?” asked Lawrence, his eyes wild. “I have a friend,” said Dominick, hoping it was still true. *** “Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody,” sang George, plopping his latest crop of mimeographed music down on an auditorium chair. A laugh preceded Richard and Andrew as they came through the auditorium doors and down the aisle. “Feeling mopey, Father?” Richard called out in that rich baritone. “Naw.” George shrugged. “Feeling lucky. Life’s good and Heaven’s gonna rock. So I’m through sulking, you know?” Andrew gave him a quick hug and picked up a sheaf of music. He scanned the title. “Oh no.” George grinned. Andrew held up the sheet music so that Richard could see it. “He’s back. The evil priest is back.” Richard brought a pair of heavy spectacles out of his pocket and peered at the music. He guffawed. “Depeche Mode? In a church?” George smiled to himself. Andrew was reading through the music and hopping around with excitement. “You’ve got the harmonics down. Wow, George this’ll sound…” he kept reading and giggled. “Down on my knees when I see beauty? George, they won’t let us sing this.” “Words,” sniffed Richard, expressing fluently his opinion of anything that wasn’t music. He hummed the refrain and Andrew chimed in. “…trying to sell the story, of love’s eternal glory…” More members were streaming in now. George handed out music, asked after health, jobs and life in general. They began warming up. Scales. Andrew showing off in his way before he brought his excitement down enough to harmonize. George was watching him with a grin when he saw the tenor’s eyes widen and his mouth freeze, still open. “Oh God,” he heard one of the men say. They were all staring beyond George to the back of the auditorium. He whirled around.

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The lights from the street pricked out a familiar silhouette. The figure stumbled forward even as George dropped his baton and ran to the edge of the stage. Dominick came into the lights, blood on his face, across his shirt, stumbling, hanging onto the seats for support. George heard the thump of feet behind him as he ran up the aisle and caught the man as he fell. The others crowded around them, George cradling Dominick’s head against his chest, calling out demands for water, a medical kit. Searching Dominick’s torso for wounds, He kept Dominick’s face out of sight, away from the eyes of the other men. His mind reeled with confusion and shock because, as he’d held Dominick, he’d seen the long sharp teeth, pink and red and the bruised mouth filled with blood. *** “Where am I?” Dominick rolled on his side and wondered why George smiled at the words. The priest sat beside his bed, head bowed, Bible in hand and open to some page. He looked like he had been there awhile. “I guess a cliché is only a cliché when it’s no longer valid,” said George cryptically, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table. “You’re in my apartment.” Dominick’s eyes rolled around, an expression of recognition gradually appearing on his face. “I didn’t know where else to bring you.” Dominick closed his eyes briefly with relief, then opened them wide. He sat up, reeled, lay down again. He looked up at George who was leaning over him in concern. “It is not safe for you if I stay here.” “Safe? From what? What’s going on, Dominick?” “I need to leave.” George sat down now, on the side of the bed. He reached up and gently stroked Dominick’s less bruised cheek. The caress was so gentle and loving. A sensation Dominick hadn’t felt in so long, and that almost forgotten ache throbbed again in his chest. Dominick closed his eyes against the longing that rose in him. “You know, given my fascination for mystery men, telling me that I’m in danger and not telling me why is not apt to drive me away, Dominick. Besides. I think that you’re sick and I can’t in good conscience let you leave until I’m sure you are well.” “Sick.” “One of the guys is a deputy.” George stroked his hair now. Dominick met his eyes. Their clear blue bright and intent. “I convinced him that he didn’t need to report this. That you were

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susceptible to nosebleeds due to your blood condition. I told him that I’d take you to the hospital.

That I knew your doctor.” George heaved a heavy sigh. “Everyone believes a priest.”

Dominick blinked up at him, not sure what to make of this.

“I lied for you, Dominick. And I couldn’t even tell you why. But now I think you owe me some

sort of explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” asked Dominick slowly.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could tell me how you manage to live without a pulse?”

“Oh, that,” said Dominick, looking like he’d been presented with a difficult math problem.

“And I’d love to meet your dentist,” said George, failing to mask the acidity in his voice.

Dominick’s brow furrowed. “Yes, I suppose you would.” He looked up at George with the

expression of an adolescent trying to think of a plausible explanation for the disappearance of the

family car.

George had seen that expression far too often. He frowned. “Are you going to lie to me?

Because, don’t even bother to talk to me if you are.”

“No. Not lie. I just don’t know where to start.” Dominick felt himself sinking into the bed. He was weak and in pain and now the condemnation of the only being he had thought to go to was just taking all his remaining strength away. “You could start by telling me whose blood was all over you. Apparently inside you. On your

teeth, Dominick, under your fingernails.”

“I’m not sure,” said Dominick slowly.

“Dominick, did you hurt somebody?”

He blinked up at George. “Yes.”

George swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I’m a priest. You can tell me and I can’t tell

anybody else unless you allow me.”

Dominick nodded. “I know that.”

“It’s…” George had to stop for air. Still his shaking hands. “It’s the sacred rite of confession.

Even Anglican priests honor it.”

“I know, George,” said Dominick calmly. “I understand. Father, forgive me,” he said

breathlessly, eyes wide. “For I have sinned.”

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George bowed his head.

“It has been eight hundred years since my last confession,” Dominick continued. George raised

his head and looked at Dominick, an expression of sorrow and hurt in his eyes. Dominick raised

his hand with some effort and clasped George’s arm to prevent him standing and walking away.

“Please, George, I’m not mocking you.”

That hurt lay in his eyes, still, but George nodded. “Go on.”

“I am a vampire,” said Dominick very clearly. “A demon damned for all eternity.”

George remained utterly still.

“And I need your help.”

*** “There’s nothing in there,” said Dominick gently. He was sitting up in bed now. He’d donned some old sweats of George’s and a t-shirt that proclaimed, ‘men of the cloth do it faithfully.’ George had retreated, in a manner of speaking. He sat in his reading chair, immersed in the Bible. “There’s demon possession, of course. But nothing that could be even remotely construed

as relating to vampires.”

“How do you know?” said George testily.

“I know the whole thing by heart,” said Dominick. “I didn’t for a long time. But it’s come back

to me. All of it.”

George looked up at him with that intent look that was like blue fire. It seemed to be a permanent

expression, now, when he regarded Dominick. It made Dominick feel sad and tired. “Prove it.

Recite John 1.”

“In the beginning was the Word…” began Dominick and stopped, coughed.

That hot/cold gaze narrowed. “Go on.”

“I can’t,” Dominick admitted sadly. “It burns my mouth.”

George closed his eyes. “Dear Lord.”

Dominick tiredly rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “It was a mistake to come here. I

should go.”

“You can barely walk,” said George, setting his Bible aside, and leaning his head back on the

chair, his eyes closed. “And you were in trouble, or you wouldn’t have come to me.”

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Dominick wanted to say, “I would have come to you anyway,” but he was sure George didn’t

want to hear that now.

“How did you think I could help you?” George sat forward in the chair and buried his head in his

hands.

“My… Lawrence… all of Marcus’ childers throughout the city could be in danger. I ran

away…”

“Lawrence?” George asked the floor, voice strained.

“He is a creature like myself. I am responsible for him.”

George rubbed his forehead with one shaking hand. “Creature? Another… another?”

“Vampire? Yes. I made him. He is mine. Marcus was pursuing us both when I came to you.”

“You made him?”

George’s eyes seemed to burn through him again. Dominick found an inner resolve that gave

him the strength to swing his legs over the side of the mattress. He looked around the room for

his clothes. “I can see now that I shouldn’t have troubled you. I will go.”

“Where will you go?”

Dominick wished George would say. “Don’t go. I want to help you.” He’d hoped for something

like that, he realized, dismayed at his own stupidity. What had made him think this man, this

amazingly good man, would think Dominick worthy?

“I wasn’t thinking,” he said. “I… I don’t know.” He couldn’t think now what assuredness had

led him to George’s doorstep. What mad emotion had made him so certain that this man was his

refuge? “You really don’t need to concern yourself with me,” he said now.

George shook his head slowly. A wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose. “I can’t pretend

you don’t exist, Dominick,” he said softly. “And I can’t bear the idea of you out there with

nowhere to go. I can’t bear the idea of you hurt,” he said huskily to the floor.

Dominick’s chest ached. “It would be worth it. To know that it mattered to you.”

George lifted his head and stared at him. And now his eyes weren’t steely hard and defensive.

They were shocked and scared and swimming with tears. “Why do you say things like that,

Dominick?”

Dominick shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “You… it’s you… I… I

want…”

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“You can’t,” said George. “Neither can I. Why do we?” Dominick shook his head again. Impulsively reached out one hand. “Please,” he said, not even sure what he asked for. But George knew. George came to him, gathered him up in his arms. All warm human strength and rushing blood and heartbeat against his chest, warm breath against his ear, soft gentle lips. “I’m here, Dominick.” Dominick nodded his head against George’s chest. “I missed you.” George made some sound, his mouth pressing into Dominick’s hair, his arms tightening around him. “I thought I’d imagined this feeling.” “I, as well. It seemed like something I had dreamed.” Dominick lifted his face, eyes closed, lips seeking their way along George’s chin, finding George’s mouth and the warmth he remembered there. George opened to him, like a welcome home. George’s tongue meeting his, sure, calm, full of love. “Love,” choked Dominick, gasping, pulling away. “I love you, George.” A gentle thumb drew the line of his cheekbone. A mouth pressed to his head. “I know. I love you, too.” “But… but…” “I know,” sighed George. “It’s impossible,” said Dominick. “Yes.” “Insane.” George’s chuckle vibrated against his ear. “Most definitely.” Dominick touched with wonder the soft skin at George’s throat, the vein with its blood rushing under the surface and felt protective. His fingers wandered to the pink ears, followed a row of pale freckles to George’s nose, down the shallow dip across stubble. Touched his lips. Dominick’s mouth followed his fingers, tasting George’s worry and exhaustion and also his exhilaration and joy, tasting all the flavors of George’s love. His teeth nibbled and pushed and were answered with urgency, George cupping his head with one hand and pushing him back with the hunger of his kiss until Dominick was lying amongst the rumpled covers, t-shirt rucked up, moaning and George suddenly stopped.

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“Wha…” Dominick was groggy with blood loss and desire. He cracked an eye open and peered

at George.

George’s fingers skated across his chest. “You’re covered with scars.” His voice was hoarse. “I

saw them when I washed the blood off you. How did this happen, Dominick? Your skin wasn’t

marked before.”

“They heal,” said Dominick gently. He petted George’s hair, ran a finger over the cup of his ear.

George was thoughtful, the pattern his fingers stroked leaving little trails of pleasure over

Dominick’s skin. “You say that like it’s happened before,” said George.

Dominick sighed. “It doesn’t matter now, George.”

“Of course it matters. Who did this?”

“Marcus.”

George appeared to be struggling with something. “He that boyfriend?” he asked finally, his

voice rough.

“My Master. He owns me, George. He has the right.”

“He owns you? Dominick, you’re a slave? He beats you? No wonder you…”

“It’s not like that. He made me.”

“Made you?” George’s voice was only a whisper and he lowered his forehead to Dominick’s

chest. “Like you made your… Lawrence?”

“We say that of the one who turns us. Makes one into a vampire. He is my Master, then, and I am his.” “No, you’re not.” And George’s body covered him, careful but complete. He gently grasped Dominick’s wrists and held them to the mattress on either side of his head, looking down into his eyes serious, steady, sure. “You’re mine.” And George bent to fasten his mouth to Dominick’s, kissing him thoroughly and possessively. Dominick grinned when they parted for George to breathe. “Yes, master,” he said.

George flushed, his pupils flared. “Huh.” he said, looking stunned.

Dominick wriggled under him. “You like submission, don’t you, George?”

The evidence of George’s feeling was firmly pressed against Dominick’s hip so there was no

sense in denying it. “Apparently so,” George said.

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“I can be very obedient,” said Dominick slyly, purposely lowering his lashes to gaze up at George from beneath them. He wriggled again, spreading his thighs and licked his lips slowly. Or at least he meant to. George’s mouth was on his again, filled with a moan and a rather desperate tongue. George’s hands greedily ran over him, stopping again when they reached the scars. George rolled to his side. “Never again, Dominick.”

Dominick felt a spike of panic. “Never again what?”

“No one will ever beat you again.”

It was so sweet. So simple and naïve and dear. Dominick fought back the stupid weak tears and

petted his lover’s face. “Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

George held his gaze, and Dominick was content to watch the shift of colors in the beloved face.

The pink and red glowing like embers beneath the fair skin. Blue eyes, with their specks of brown and green, going dark as the pupils dilated with every feeling. Reddish blonde stubby eyelashes that matched the bristle of hair over his lip and on his chin. “You’re so beautiful,” Dominick breathed.

George grinned. “You’re delirious.”

Dominick exhaled a short laugh. “I probably am. I haven’t fed in days and with all the bleeding,

I’m probably going to be comatose very shortly if I don’t feed.”

“Feed?” George sat straight up. “What are you saying?”

“I have to feed, eventually, George. Or I’ll die.”

“Die?”

“Become dust.”

George had an expression on his face of near panic. “Feed? As in kill somebody?”

Dominick watched George. He couldn’t answer.

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“Of course,” George stood up, took a short step towards the window, another short step back. “Of course, you told me that. Vampire, demon, damned, sucks blood.” He stopped. “Dominick, does it have to be human blood?” Dominick’s eyes widened. “Of course.”

“Oh.” George paced some more. He raised his hands and ran them through his hair as he paced.

“So, if you leave here, first it would be to find someone and…” he inhaled deeply, his pacing

quickened.

“I would choose someone you don’t know.”

“What?” Blind panic in George’s eyes when he turned to stare at him. “I can’t. You… can’t.”

The pacing started again.

Something clarified in Dominick’s mind, then. “George,” he said gently, feeling suddenly at

peace. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill anybody. I know you’d feel responsible.”

“But you said…”

“I will give you a certain address, though. Please. I’m not sure what you can do, but others are

enduring what I endured and it must stop.”

“This Marcus guy? You want me to stop him?”

The last feast rose unbidden to Dominick’s mind. A strange twisting tension in his chest

accompanied it. “Human beings are dying, George.”

“Okay,” his knight said fiercely.

“Be careful. He is very dangerous.”

“What will you do?”

Dominick pushed himself onto his elbows and then sat up slowly. He was feeling better for the

moment. The sex endorphins had animated him almost as well as blood would. Of course the

effect would be temporary. “I’ll go somewhere safe and wait.”

“Wait.” George’s voice pitched towards horror now. “You mean you’ll go somewhere and wait

to die. No! Hold on!” he snapped his fingers. “A blood bank. You don’t have to drink straight

from a human, do you?”

Dominick gaped. “I don’t know.”

“I have a cousin in nursing, I’ll call him.” George was across the room and dialing the phone in a

flash. Then he slammed the receiver back into the cradle. “Wait. What will I tell him?”

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“That you need blood?” “Oh yeah, that’d go over well. ‘Hey, Patrick, gotta sudden craving for type O neg, think it’ll be a big hit at the next church picnic. You gotta coupla cases I can take off your hands?’” “From your tone, I can only surmise that blood is a rare commodity amongst mortals,” said Dominick dryly. “Pretty suspicious is all, unless you’re a hospital. I wish I could just tell him the truth.” “That you have a pet vampire?” Dominick asked cheekily. George flashed him a look. “You,” he said darkly, “once we’ve figured this out. Are going to pay.” Dominick gave him a saucy smile. “Promise?” And George was across the room again, on his knees on the bed, kissing him and licking him and holding his face in both his big hands. “You’re a brat. And a distraction.” And George bounced back off the bed. “But I know what I’ll tell him.” He snatched up the phone again, dialed from memory, pacing as he spoke. “Patrick! Hey man, I’ve got a problem and I need a solution. A red tape free solution and I thought you might know a fix. There’s this guy here who needs transfusions but the hospital has issues with his lifestyle. Yeah, the bastards. Anyway. Thought you might know a clean and legal source? Semi-legal?” George winced. “Okay, I guess I can live with that. Where? He have a number? Oh, that kind of semi-legal. Shit. Well, gotta do what ya gotta do I guess. Uh-huh. On Greene street? Out in the open like that? What the heck is this world coming to? Oh. Right.” George rubbed his neck, looking sheepish. “Patrick, you’re the bomb. Do they still say that?” George laughed. Then, indignantly, said, “Who’s old? Thanks, man.” He rang off and waved the slip of paper in the air. “We’ve got blood.” *** Blood was completely ick. George had once heard one of the kids he counseled use that expression to describe something disgusting in every way. He felt it was appropriate. A logjam of emptied plastic bags, still semi-pink and damp, lay in his sink. A trail of nauseatingly stringy red drips covered his counter from the sink to the microwave, where the result in the first failed experiment still stained the edges of the door with crusty rust. The entire kitchen smelled liked burnt flesh. He didn’t know why, but it was as disgusting as the trash bin behind a fast food restaurant.

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He sopped the rest of the blood from the table and squeezed the sponge out in the bag-clogged sink. Dominick had tried to drink from the mug, as George had seen a vampire do on television once, but he had proved once more the fallacy of media when his fangs had been unable to absorb the nutrient without dribbling down his chest and splattering it all over the table and floor. Discouraged, practically in tears with frustrated hunger, Dominick had retired to the bathroom with a makeshift ‘sucking bag’. A milk container emptied and filled with the remaining warmed blood. He sat in the tub, messily sucking as much as he could from the bottom of the jug. George had stayed long enough to be sure it was working and then wandered back to his ‘completely ick’ kitchen to begin clean up. He wondered how many times a week, a day, whatever, they were going to have to do this. He wondered how many times a week, a day, a month, whatever, he’d have to go down to that van parked behind the Greene street mall and surreptitiously pass cash to a rheumy eyed horny old man named ‘Rick’ who pinched his ass when he passed the purchased blood back to him. George sat down wearily at his kitchen table and thought he probably needed a new kitchen table. He’d never be able to eat anything at this one again. Dominick appeared in the doorway. He’d removed his t-shirt. The sweats had droplets of blood on them, but compared to the mess everywhere else, they seemed clean. “That was not pleasant,” said Dominick. “All different types mixed together, and luke-warm, almost coagulating.” He looked slightly nauseated. “So sorry,” snapped George. Dominick looked immediately chastised. He shrank. “Oh. Dominick, I didn’t mean…” George jumped up and gathered the unhappy man in his arms, making Dominick relax into the hug. “Was it enough? Are you okay?” “Yes, thank you, George. I’m sorry. I should be more grateful.” George closed his eyes, rocked them back and forth. “Gratitude is implied,” he said. “And constant apologizing isn’t healthy.” Dominick smiled against George’s throat, his nose rubbing George’s Adam’s apple. He wiggled his hips in closer to the warmth at George’s center. “You apologize every week at mass, Father White. You exhort your parish to apologize also.” “Smart mouthed brat,” said George, swatting at the tight little bottom swaying beneath the loose sweatpants. “And then you feed them blood,” Dominick giggled, getting free of his arms and running off before he got another smack.

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“You really are a demon!” roared George, racing after him. He caught Dominick in the bedroom. Or rather, he caught up to Dominick and found him sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth and holding his hand as if it had been injured. George skidded to his knees next to Dominick, gently taking the hand and studying the cross burnt dark and blistering, second degree at least he thought, into the tender flesh. “What the heck?” “My fault,” hissed Dominick. “My fault. I came around the corner too fast, grabbed the bureau.” George’s eyes went up to the bureau. “Oh.” His large wooden pectoral cross. A gift from his graduating Confirmation class last year. “I knew it was there. I’d seen it. I knew not to put my hand there, but I’d forgotten.” George’s eyes scanned his room. A cross over the door. Rosary’s and cross-emblemmed boxes on the bureau. Notebooks, letter openers, a robe even, with the St. Mark's crest, a cross in the center of it. The apartment itself was part of a rectory and so there was a folly of crosses over light switches and even carved into the table leaves. “My whole apartment is booby trapped,” he said. Bent over with the pain in his hand, Dominick still laughed. “No one would think to find a vampire here.” George looked at the hand again. Already the burns were fading, only pinkish now. The blistering fading away. “Okay, that’s good. Creepy, but good.” “Because of the blood. I heal faster when I have fed.” “Well, that makes it all worth it, then.” George nestled up close to Dominick, there on the floor. He wrapped an arm around Dominic, kissed his head and ran a hand up his arm. Dominick tipped his head back, looking up at George with wonder and warmth in those richly brown eyes and smiled at him just before George’s mouth closed over his lips. The desire that had banked at the need for blood flared hot suddenly and they both surged together in the kiss, sprawling across the floor, hands all over each other. *** “Bed,” gasped George, on an air intake break. He sprang to his feet and pulled Dominick up and onto the bed with him. Dominick shimmied out of his sweats and they both applied themselves to the fastenings on Georges slacks.

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Dominick ran his fingers over George’s belly, watching the flushed skin rise and fall as George breathed, his fingers arching down towards the dark wet bulge in George’s boxers. “No crosses hidden there?” he asked breathlessly, fingers slipping in and down. And the skin of George’s body automatically clenched tight, allowing him more access. George’s voice was rough and breathless with denials and pleas until his fingers closed around the hard wet shaft and pulled. George’s hands were on him now. On his side, kneading the ribs and muscles there, on his neck, his arm, pulling in his hip, the whole of George’s hand across one buttock clenching and rubbing. George’s mouth was on his face, and Dominick dragged his eyes from the beauty of George’s cock, red and eager and jumping in his fist, to George’s eyes, half-lidded, hot blue flame beneath those lids, breath puffing on his face between savage kisses. Dominick pumped faster, feeling George’s hips roll and pump into the motion. George’s mouth open, his tongue out, flicking across his lips. Pre-come flowed over his shaft, slicking Dominick’s hand, letting him increase the speed and pressure, George’s wandering fingers finding nipples and twisting and pinching, even as he pulled their hips together. With a gasp and a shuddering wail, George pumped all over Dominick’s hip and belly and cock. His eyes opened. Dominick had a second to gaze into that banked blue fire and then George pushed him over. Dominick tumbled under him, a sensuous bundle of silken muscle and skin. George nuzzled his neck, long licks, working his way down. “Want to taste you,” he warned just seconds before taking Dominick into his mouth. Dominick lay back, his whole body arching into that soft sucking heat. Somewhere in the vast catacomb of his memory, his cock remembered all the hot wet places it had entered. And now knew that none had been like this. His cock had only known release that came with pain, humiliation, and fear. George’s tongue swirled around the tip of Dominick’s cock and his head came off briefly far enough for him to whisper. “Don’t think I’m kinky or anything, but your foreskin is a real turn on.” His hand pumped gently, drawing the skin back and forth, leaning forward and circling the exposed area with his tongue, sliding the skin back again. Repeating the process. Dominick gasped and wriggled and smiled at the ceiling. Then he groaned when George swallowed him down again, sucking now in earnest, his other hand lifting and tugging Dominick’s balls. Until quite suddenly Dominick was falling again through space, throwing both arms out across the mattress to hold himself there, whole body leaping into George’s loving mouth.

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A kiss landed on his nose as he came circling down from his orgasm. He blinked and looked into sated, happy eyes. “I’ve gotta go,” said George. He raised one arm and peered at the wristwatch there. “I’ve got mass in two hours.” “You must be joking,” said Dominick, unable to even imagine this debauched happy man in vestments, enacting the rigidly scripted Eucharist in two hours. George shrugged. “Won’t be the first time I went for days without sleep.” Of course Dominick hadn’t meant that, but now he thought of it he felt ashamed to realize that he had indeed kept George up all night. “Surely someone could take your place this one time?” George drew a line down Dominick’s nose with his pinky. “You don’t get it. I like the Eucharistic celebration. I look forward to it. It’d take a lot more than sleepiness to make me miss it.” Dominick watched him quietly as George rolled from the bed and padded towards the bathroom. He flicked on the light there but paused, looking back towards the bed. His outline was dark blue from the bathroom backlight, his features unintelligible. “When you come, I can see your fangs.” The door clicked shut. Dominick lay back in the sticky crumpled sheets, watching the morning light gradually bleed across the bedroom ceiling, the sounds of the shower and sink drowning out the sounds outside of the world of men waking up. That drowsy drugged feeling overtaking him, he managed to crawl back into clothing. Strip the mess from the bed and roll himself in a blanket on the dark side between the bed and the wall where he was sure no sunlight could find him. By the time George emerged again from the bathroom, Dominick was fully at rest.

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Chapter Six One of the great things about his vocation, George would sometimes tell people, was that he had almost no time to think about his own life. He’d spent a few awful minutes staring at the dead body lying in his apartment as he dressed. And was still feeling surreal and more than a little disturbed as he closed and locked the door behind him. But by the time he’d greeted Mrs. Green, whose son had just deployed to Iraq, in the rectory hallway, and picked up all the memos and magazines from the ‘in’ box and unlocked his office door to let Mr. Schuch, who had a very somber look on his face, enter, his troubles were forgotten. Mr. Schuch sat down in a chair. He was about seventy, with three or four wisps of hair carefully combed in place and wearing a freshly laundered and ironed shirt. “It's Mrs. Schuch,” he wheezed asthmatically, before George was even seated. “She says she wants a divorce.” And so his day went. “Father White?” George whirled around, mid-flight. He had fifteen minutes before his next appointment and he’d thought he might actually be able to wolf down a sandwich. In the doorway stood one of the boys he’d confirmed the year before, Adam Sanders. Actually, Adam didn’t stand exactly, he lounged. Everywhere George had ever seen Adam, he had been draped across something. He lounged across the arms and partially across the cushions of chairs and sofas; he slouched in a slow sideways movement down hallways. He reminded George somewhat of a Salvador Dali painting. Adam leaned now, shoulders aslant and the heel of one shoe perched against the wall, oversized black band shirt and torn baggy jeans and about twenty piercings climbing up the outer edge of one ear. “Adam! How are you?” Adam sucked in a thoughtful way at a silver barbell that pierced his lip. “’Kin I talk to you?” “Sure.” George lifted his hands and shoulders and cocked his head to one side. “What’s up?” Adam looked up and down the utterly empty hallway. “Not here.” “H’okay.” George led the way to the office where Adam proceeded to drape himself half over the end of his couch. “Everything okay, Adam?” Adam looked around the room. “I guess. Except…” George waited. Adam gave him a measuring cautious look. “How do you know if you’re gay?”

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George pondered the young man before him whom he had watched for two years now chasing

every female brunette in the church school. “Do you think you might be gay, Adam?”

“Maybe.”

“Have you met a boy you are attracted to?”

Adam looked puzzled. “No. “

Well, then, what in the world… George’s people-centric memory spun through its metaphorical

database. “What about… Nancy? Aren’t you dating her?”

Adam chewed at his lip, the piercing waving back and forth like a little tail. “She dumped me.”

“Oh?” If he had a dollar for every time he used that word for want of any other, George would

have broken his vow of poverty.

“Because I, you know, don’t wanna do nothing with her.”

“Do nothing. Like go to movies? Or…”

“No. Shit, Father White.” Adam grinned. “S’cuse my French. No. Like I don’t wanna fuck her.”

George scrutinized Adam for a minute, trying to gauge how much of this was just Adam looking

to shock him. He’d known the boy for a while though and beneath the air of excessive casual ennui, he seemed genuinely concerned. “You don’t want to have sex with her? Are you attracted to her?” “Hell yeah,” said Adam. “She’s hot. Any guy would be.” George had a sudden intuition and followed the small string of it, cautiously. “You aren’t any

guy, though, Adam.”

“No,” said Adam sadly. “I’m, like, gay I guess. Like you.”

“Adam, do you like Nancy?”

One black eyebrow rose so that it disappeared behind the boy’s shaggy bangs. “Whaddaya mean.

‘Course I like her. She’s … I dunno, she’s a cheerleader and she’s real smart…”

“But do you like her as a friend?”

Adam blinked at him.

“Do you have interests in common, or do you enjoy spending time with her, talking to her?”

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Adam laughed. “You don’t talk to girls, man. Shit.”

George’s memory was flying through that database now. “You talk to Debbie Cartwright all the

time.”

“Deb’s a friend, man, not a girl.”

“Have you ever dated her?”

“No!” expostulated Adam, looking horrified. “I mean, that would be, like, embarrassing!”

“Adam,” George wondered how to put this without insulting the boy’s fledgling sense of

manhood, “Maybe you are one of the lucky men, heterosexual men, who actually need to be in

love to enjoy sex.”

Adam was watching George as if he spoke Swahili.

“Do you understand?” asked George helplessly.

“Nope.”

“Some men even wait until they’re married.”

Adam’s laughter went on for a few minutes. “Damn,” he wheezed after a while. “That’s scary.”

“Having an emotional connection to someone to whom you are physically connected is

something many people need, Adam. Sex isn’t just physical, you know. It’s emotional,

spiritual…” George heard his own words and was distracted by them enough to stop talking.

“You saying I don’t wanna do it with Nancy cuz I don’t like her?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said.” Adam resumed sucking on his piercing. George decided the habit

was very much like an old man sucking on the stem of his pipe. It had a contemplative air about it. “So, you’re saying I’m probably not queer?” “You are the only one who knows that, Adam.” Adam studied him for a while longer. “’Kay,” he said finally, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. He hopped up from his chair and sloped towards the door. “Uh, Father?” Adam turned in the doorway. “Yes, Adam?”

“You didn’t think I was, like, coming on to you or nothing did you?”

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George almost choked. “No, Adam.” The boy rolled his eyes. “Phew. See ya, Father.” *** Their organ player was in the loft, pressing the stops and trying chords, but George had a few moments to himself in the main asp and he needed it. “Hey, fella.” George sat down in one of the benches to the side of the altar, clasping his hands in a casual attitude of prayer. He smiled up at the Christ there. His church’s Christ was seldom depicted in the act of sacrifice. This Christ was the good shepherd, in sandals and simple robe with that welcoming and beatific smile. He was a guy George could easily imagine meeting someday in the flesh, so to speak, and shaking his hand. Now he grinned at the representation and nodded. “Yeah, well, you know how it is.” He frowned to himself. He’d always thought of his life as an entertaining spectacle that God might switch on and watch as on a television. He hoped demons couldn’t block or distort reception. “I love him,” he whispered, defensively. “What do you want me to do?” He sat there in silence for a long while. He never really expected an answer as such, and was more often than not pleasantly surprised when one arrived in his head. “Loving him is easy,” he said, smiling at his clasped hands. “It’s the rest that’s hard.” He looked up again at his God. “Of course, a guy could say that about you, too. Not,” he raised a finger quickly, “that it’s the same thing at all.” He imagined the figure might have smiled a little at that. George rubbed his eyes. “Man, I’m tired.” He had meant what he’d said to Dominick about the celebration, but the rest of his day was booked solid until late afternoon. He couldn’t even think about it without feeling weary. The endorphin high was still there, though, a steady buzz in his blood. No doubt lay in George’s mind about what was in his heart, about what he felt for Dominick. He had always had that gift: the ability to read his feelings clearly. He guessed it came from God. His love of Christ was a clear simple fact that he threw himself into with the joy and confidence of a boy throwing himself into the deep end of a swimming pool. It had always caught him, always buoyed him up. Gave him that light and sparkle that he himself wore unaware and that drew people in trouble toward him. Christ’s love was available to anyone who would accept it. He preached that. He believed that. But he wondered if Christ could love Dominick. If he even knew of Dominick. “Why would you send him to me if you didn’t want me to love him?”

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It occurred to him then, a coiling horrified thought, that maybe this time, Christ had not been the one to send someone to him. The idea gave him a congealed and chilly sensation in the pit of his stomach. But he quickly shook the feeling free. “No,” he said, to himself and to the thought. “You can’t scare me.” He stood then, brushing the cassock down and tugging his chasuble into place. One of the ushers was coming up the aisle, straightening hymnals in their racks and picking things up that had been left behind from the Sunrise service. George went down to help her. *** Patricia celebrated the 11 am Eucharist often because so many of the younger people attended the later service. The most Reverend Reginald Burns, their senior minister, gave the sermons, of course. And it was his hand that raised the golden chalice and dish for blessing, more often than not. But when she stood at the railing, the teenagers streamed to her side of the church. It wasn’t a vanity that it pleased her. She and Reggie both knew that the kids might not show up at all if she weren’t there, simply because their natural distrust of all things adult had only been laid aside in her case. No, her pleasure was in knowing that God chose to use her to keep His flock. She was trailing down the hallway after her last group, her satchel full of memos and permission letters for their latest retreat. Her head was full of names and conversations; her heart just full, when she saw George loitering in a rather obvious manner around the door to her office. He was pale and enervated and worried. She could see that at a distance. She ran through her mind all the possible events that might have affected George recently. She’d thought he was past his mournful pining after the lost tenor, but last night had been a choir practice. He noted her step in the hall, then, and straightened. “Hey, Pat.” There was something about the looseness of his stance, something beyond exhaustion. It was that light in his eyes. “He came back,” she said. George reacted slightly. “Whoa, Pat. You gonna set up a psychic network soon?” She shook her head, muscling her satchel through the door and onto a chair in her office. George followed her in with that shy dancing manner he assumed when he wanted a favor. “I need to talk to you,” he told her needlessly. “Shut the door,” said Pat. She went to her little kitchenette set up and searched for the coffee maker plug. “Did he show up at choir practice, then?” She put the normal scoops of coffee in the basket, then doubled the amount. “In a way. He fell through the door.”

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Pat turned to look at him. “Fell?”

“He’d been beaten. Was a mess.”

“Oh, George! Is he all right? Did you take him to the hospital? Who beat him? What happened?

Sweetie, are you alright?”

George’s head sank under the deluge of questions, until she took a breath. “Yeah, he’s alright.

I’m all right. No. No hospital. He’s at my place.”

“You didn’t take him to the clinic?”

He shook his head in the negative. He was avoiding her eyes.

“George, what’s going on?”

“Pat, I need your advice. Your theological advice.”

Pat found herself sitting down. “Theological?”

“Yeah.” George appeared to be thinking of his words, he rubbed his eyes as he spoke slowly. “In

theory, even Satan could return to Christ, right?”

Foreboding filled Patricia’s belly. “George, what kind of trouble is your young man in?”

George sighed. “I can not begin to explain.” He put his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes.

“I think you should try,” said Patricia. She reached across the space between them and took his

hand. Noted how cool and unsteady it felt. “You haven’t slept,” she observed.

“Yeah, well there was the amazing sex.” His eyes opened and met hers. The blue was surrounded

with red. “Of course, that was after the trip to get semi-legal blood.”

“B…blood?”

“Which was not fun. But, you know, interesting in a kind of sociological way.”

“George…” said Patricia, her voice a growl.

“Pat, you aren’t going to believe me.”

Her hand holding his wasn’t comforting now, as much as vice-like. “Try me.”

“He’s a vampire.” George’s laugh pitched slightly high. “Don’t hit me, yet. Let me explain.”

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“I would never hit you,” said Patricia. His skin damp, George’s hand was shaking violently. He was scared and shocky and Patricia was honestly concerned for his sanity. “Tell me what happened. One event at a time, George.” But he shook his head rapidly. “You won’t believe me. You can’t. Because it’s unbelievable.

You’ll have to see him, to understand.”

“See him.”

“Uh, yeah, come take a look at him. Then you’ll understand.”

“At your apartment?”

“Yeah. He’s sleeping there right now. Or… at least, it looks like sleeping.” George shuddered.

“It looks like sleeping? What is it really, George?”

“Um, don’t know what they call it. You know, what vampires do…” He gave that weird laugh

again.

Patricia’s feeling of foreboding was rapidly turning to dread. “What have you done, George?”

But the eyes that met hers were guilt free. Tired, shocky, brilliant with adrenaline and something

else, but she could never believe that the face that she looked into had harmed another being. She

knew it in her gut.

“Take me to him, then,” she said.

*** The sensation of rising that a vampire experiences is less akin to waking up and more like that of

a drowned corpse finally rising to the surface of a lake.

Bloated, uncomfortable. Dominick groaned and fought the feeling for a moment.

“Oh, my God.” A whispered irreverence by someone not George. His eyes popped open.

A pretty young woman. Masses of curling hair and glinting rimless spectacles. She leaned over

him, her mouth open.

Dominick sprang to a seated position, his feet scrabbling him back into the corner of the tiny

space, his hands protecting his sternum.

“It’s okay, Dominick.” That was George’s voice, his face peering over the shoulder of the

woman’s. Dominick’s head still spinning, he lowered his hands slowly, staring up in incomprehension.

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“This is my friend, Patricia,” said George, reaching down to clasp Dominick’s hand and raise him to standing. Dominick instinctively stepped toward the comfort of George’s warmth, feeling the long strong arm wrapping around his waist. Patricia stared at him. “How do you do?” said Dominick. He held out his hand. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before Patricia seemed to regain herself and wrapped her fingers around his. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said. And then laughed, a little wildly. “We should all sit and have some coffee,” said George, tightening his arm around Dominick’s waist, his fingers stroking Dominick’s hip. Dominick looked up at him. George had that dissolute, exhausted and unshaven look that Dominick was coming to love. His eyes scanned Dominick’s face hungrily, then came back to gaze into his own, twinkling in their depths with a kind of mad joy. “Patricia is going to help us.” “I am?” “Pat!” And George gave her a look. Dominick had seen it before and knew its effect. George needed her, believed in her. Dominick was helpless against that look and assumed any mere mortal would be as well. Patricia sighed. “Of course I am.” *** “You drink coffee?” Dominick set down his cup and nodded. “I can.” “But does it affect you? I mean, does it make you hyperactive or less sleepy?” Patricia was much more detail-oriented than George, and more focused, it seemed. She seemed more likely to think things through and less likely to trust her instincts. He’d stood patiently while she pressed first her hand and then her ear to his chest, hearing the lack of heartbeat. He’d rolled his eyes and forced his fangs to descend so that she could touch them with one finger and gasp. Now they sat at a table while Patricia made a list of points and questioned him. “Do drugs affect you?” She made a bullet on the little notepad in front of her and numbered it ‘19.’

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“Drugs do affect me,” said Dominick. “I can’t tell you if it’s the same as with mortals or not. I

had never had stimulants before.”

Patricia scribbled away. “You remember your life?”

Dominick shifted uncomfortably and slid a glance at George. “Sometimes. Bits.”

“He was a monk, weren’t you, Dominick?”

Dominick looked at the tabletop. “Yes.”

Patricia scribbled in her book. “And certain objects can harm you? Holy objects?”

“Crosses burn him. If he gets too close to the Bible, he gets nauseated. And Scripture burns his

mouth…” George and Patricia were exchanging a look across the table that made Dominick feel

ugly and stupid. He focused on the tabletop again.

“Is it only Christian symbols, Dominick?” asked Patricia, still making her little dots and

numbering them.

“I don’t know,” said Dominick hoarsely.

Patricia puzzled over her list. “Do you eat food? Or is it only blood?”

“I can eat,” said Dominick, schooling his voice. “My body digests the food much more slowly.

And I don’t derive nutritional benefit from it. It is something one does…” he pressed his lips

together. He had been going to say, “It is a way to hunt humans”. “It is more like a ritual than a

necessity.”

“And only human blood,” said Patricia, smoothly. “Huh.” She set down her pen and those sharp

eyes peered at him from behind the glinting lenses. “Do you want to eat us, Dominick?”

He flinched, startled. “What?”

“We are food to you, right? A meal?”

George laughed, a short embarrassed sound. “Pat…”

“No, George, I’m serious. Dominick, do you want to eat us? Are we, I don’t know, like

cheesecake? Are you just resisting the urge because you like us?”

Dominick glanced at George, who was frowning at the tabletop, bright spots of color on his

cheeks. He glanced again at Patricia, who still fixed him with that penetrating stare. “I don’t…”

suddenly he couldn’t bear the way they were looking at him. Concern, pity, suspicion. He

couldn’t bear that George should look at him like that. He pushed himself back and up. “I

can’t… excuse me.” And he bolted for the bathroom, where he knew he could lock the door.

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***

There was a moment of silence after the reverberations of the slamming bathroom door. George broke it with a sigh. Pat tossed her pen down. “I am a bitch. I’m sorry, George.” “No. No, don’t apologize. It was a question you needed to ask. I guess it’s a question Dominick and I should have discussed. It’s just… Pat, there are things you trust in someone you care for, you know?” He looked up at her, slid his hand across the table and clasped hers. “I mean, every heterosexual man on this planet looks at women with lust. And I suppose the rest of us look at men with lust. We’re wired that way, right?” Pat managed to crack a small smile. “Beasts," she said softly. “Adorable, shaggy, smelly, beasts.” George laughed. “Yeah, we’re beasts. But when you love a man, you know without asking that he won’t attack you, rape you. Right?” Patricia looked up at him, studied him for a long time. “I hope so, George.” *** “Dominick?” George’s knuckles wrapped lightly on the door again. He’d been coming to the door periodically and asking after him: always polite and always patient. Dominick couldn’t answer him yet, so he didn’t. Amazed, secretly, that George didn’t break down the door or bellow threats, as Marcus would have. Ashamed, also, that he almost wished that George would. “Dom? I’ve got to go to bed, love. Wake me if you need something, ‘kay?” And at Dominick’s continued silence, he added, “Just let me know you’re okay.” George’s voice was weaker on that request. Unsteady. Dominick raised his hand and rapped three times, softly, on the door. “Thank you,” said George. “I love you. Good night.” And Dominick heard him move away. When he finally emerged from the bathroom and went into the bedroom, he stood for a long time at the foot of George’s bed, watching the man as he slept. George slept as he lived, as he loved; the protection of the blankets pushed away, arms wide open, a peaceful expression on his face. His chest rose and fell, the shadows under his ribs deepening and decreasing with the movement. Eyelids flickering as he dreamt. His head moved slightly and one arm arched, the fingers seeming to reach for something. He mumbled in his sleep and Dominick imagined the sound he heard was his own name.

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That ache rose unbearably in his chest again. Love, he had recognized it finally. An impossible emotion to have found tenancy inside a demon. Like a rose suddenly blooming on the parasite that had laid it low. It had been there even before he knew the man, he realized. The music, like some spell, reaching from that chapel and snagging his dead heart like something from a fairy tale. Of course he desired George. Dominick could smell George’s blood from here. Could tell you how sweet it would taste. What type he was and how many white blood cells he had. Of course. In the world of vampires, George was essentially a Ghirardelli chocolate truffle. But the thought of hurting George caused him unbearable pain. He could no more contemplate eating his lover than a human male could contemplate hurting someone he cared for. Of course the thought was there, now. A niggling doubt in himself like a twisting wire in his head. And he hadn’t the surety in himself that a man with a soul might have. He had had a background, in life, of shame. Had, in truth, proven false to his beliefs. What would stop him now? He should leave. “Dom?” George was suddenly awake and watching him. His eyelids barely open, dazzling blue shining through the slits. “Coming to bed?” He shifted on the sheets, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning over at Dominick. “I was dreaming about you.” The leer in his voice, the bulge in his boxers left no doubt about the contents of the dream. George shifted his hips on the bed again, grinning broadly. Dominick felt that fairy spell reaching across the room and he grinned back. Played with the edges of his t-shirt with both hands and then teasingly pealed it up and over his head. George chuckled, laying a hand on his belly, sliding it beneath the elastic of his boxers. “Tease,” he said, breathily. Dominick gave George a secretive look and pushed his boxers over his hips so they fell in a pile onto his feet. His erection sprang up and George groaned. “Come here.” George opened his legs, his hand moving in his shorts. Dominick shook his head and slid his fist casually up and down his own organ, spreading his feet slightly, raising his chin and watching George now desperately arching up, sliding down his boxers and pulling on his erection in earnest. Dominick pumped faster, letting his hips naturally thrust into his own fist, raising one hand to pinch and twist his nipples, grinning with pleasure as George groaned and pulled on himself in a kind of wild frenzy, breath coming in great gasps, hips twisting on the bed, hand flying now over his shaft.

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Dominick put two fingers in his mouth and sucked, watching the glisten of pre-come steadily streaming now from George’s slit, his hand slapping noisily in the wet and Dominick turned around, let his hand slide to his cleft, thrust his dampened fingers in and turned around to watch George, head back, body thrashing against the mattress, come spurting up and splattering across his belly chest and the coverings on the bed. George lay there, gasping, his eyes fastened on Dominick as he crawled up the bed and settled over George’s face. His erection was so hard, it throbbed and pulsed in his hand and when he came, Georges mouth open and greedy, his tongue reaching out to capture the spurts, Dominick cried out with the beauty of it. “Can I see them?” George had gathered Dominick up against him, like he was trying to roll his

lover in a ball and pull him into his heart.

“See what?”

“Your fangs.”

Dominick didn’t know how to reply.

“I mean, you can pop them out at will, right?” George’s fingers traced Dominick’s lips.

“They are weapons, George,” said Dominick, feeling ancient and tired. “Not toys.”

“Oh.” George was silent. Fingers still painting little swirls and eddies over Dominick’s face.

“But they come out when we fuck.”

His use of that word. George generally said ‘make love.’ His tone. Dominick knew George felt slightly rejected by Dominick’s reluctance to share his demonic face with him. He uncurled himself from George’s embrace and sat up so he could look directly at him. “It’s an involuntary response,” he said. And leaned over to kiss George softly, in case he felt hurt by this. “Usually sex leads to feeding.”

“You mean you would…” George’s eyebrows met in the space above his nose. A look of pain

and sorrow.

“Rape and kill.” Dominick held his eyes. “Don’t forget that, George. Don’t ever forget that.”

George withdrew a little. Not physically, but Dominick felt it. “When we… make love. Do you

want to bite me?”

“No. I want to give you pleasure, George, not pain.”

“It hurts then? It’s not… erotic?”

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“No more erotic than being stabbed in the throat with a fork,” said Dominick harshly. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t. I’m sorry.” George’s hand on his back was warm and gentle. George’s voice was frightened and confused. Dominick couldn’t get rid of the thickness he suddenly felt in his gut, though. “I need to feed, George. May I have some money to go to the blood seller?” There was a silence behind him and he turned to see his lover lying there looking sad and tired. “Sure,” George said finally. “Take my wallet. Keys to the car are on the table.” And he rolled over, curling around himself, his face to the wall and his back to Dominick. “Thank you,” said Dominick and rose to dress himself.

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Chapter Seven Newly made vampires are like children in many ways. They need protection, instruction, adult supervision much of the time. And, like children, they know this and yet rebel against it. Lawrence stood in the pyramid of shadow at the corner of a public men’s room, trying to look casual. He’d gone to the Guild, as Dominick had instructed him to do. They’d provided him with clothing and a meal. Lawrence tsked to himself. They’d asked him a lot of questions. Gossiping vicious old women is what they were. He’d thought they’d help him help his Master, but they’d seemed to only think it all a big joke. They’d been insensitive and cruel about Poinsettia. And then they’d been too stupid to even notice when he ran away. He’d gone in the direction he’d last seen Dominick, wandering aimlessly, really. Except a fledgling’s sense of his maker will pull him toward his Master even when he has no desire for him or her. Lawrence had wandered haphazardly all evening until he had found himself, hungry and more than a little frightened, in the park across the street from George’s church. Lawrence heard the dragging steps of a big human on the damp cement outside. He turned to the sink nearby, turned on the tap, so that he appeared to be washing his hands when the man shouldered his way into the room. There was the usual silence as the man unzipped himself, did his business. Lawrence busily yanked a dozen paper towels from the holder, making a great job of wiping his hands, when the man stepped up to the sink near him. “Evenin’,” he said gruffly. Lawrence glanced at him and nodded. The man washed his hands, but kept looking at Lawrence. Then the man stood at the sink, hands dripping, and gestured with a nod of his head at the paper towel dispenser, which hung at an equal distance between the two of them. “You wanna hand me some of those towels?” Puzzled, Lawrence did as he was told. The man carefully withdrew the towels from Lawrence’s fingers, still holding his gaze and then a peculiar odor started emanating from him. A little sweaty and salty, like fast food, a little sour. His eyes definitely raked up and down Lawrence’s torso, stopping again on Lawrence’s face. “Nice night,” he said. Lawrence couldn’t believe his luck. He’d come into this building to hide, really, and his dinner had come to him instead of his having to hunt it. He filed the information away in his practically empty drawer of survival skills and smiled at the man widely, licking his lips.

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The man answered with a slow smile and a quick glance towards the door to the bathroom. “Hang on a second,” he said, and trotted over to thrust a long pole in the handle of the door, effectively blocking it. “See they’ve kept this,” he said of the pole. “Haven’t been here in a while, but guess someone found a use for it.” He came strolling back, eyes hungry now and caressing Lawrence’s body with their want. “So,” the man grasped the bulge that had grown between his legs and nodded at Lawrence. “What…” Lawrence dropped to his knees, still smiling. “Oh, yeah, baby, you know what I like,” said the man happily, stepping up and drawing out a long thick penis. Lawrence scooted back so the man could lean over him; his one elbow resting on the tiled wall, his other hand just laying on Lawrence’s head as he fed his cock into Lawrence’s waiting mouth. His penis was warm and meaty. Not at all like his Master’s and Lawrence made an appreciative noise, sucking at the thick vein on the underside of it, blood pulsing against his tongue. The man groaned and rocked his hips a little, fucking Lawrence’s lips. Lawrence grasped the man’s thighs with both hands and sucked harder, waiting until the oozing tip of the cock was at the back of his throat, his nose buried in the mans pubic hairs, before he allowed his fangs to descend. The man made a noise in his throat at the prick of teeth. At first pleasure and then shock. And then he screamed as Lawrence gripped his thighs in his viselike talons and bit into the pulsing vein. *** Dominick was studying the car keys, trying to recall what he knew of driving a motorized vehicle, when he heard the scream of a human being eaten. He wouldn’t have thought much of it, actually, beyond its reminder of his own hunger. But it was accompanied by that peculiar tingle he got in the presence of related childer and his Master and that made him raise his head and look towards the sound. To see Lawrence emerging from a public bathroom. *** There was mess everywhere. Dominick sighed and grabbed wads of paper towels from the holder. “You can’t leave this here,” he told Lawrence, nodding at the lump of human in the corner.

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Lawrence pouted. “I was going to clean up. But then I thought I heard something.”

Dominick tsked. He dampened the towels and began swabbing down the wall and mirror where

the femoral artery had sprayed its contents. “You wasted the best blood, childe.”

Lawrence was dragging the body to the door, but he paused and glared at Dominick’s back.

“Thanks for teaching me, Master.”

“You’ll learn the way I did,” Dominick snapped back, still swabbing away. By the time

Lawrence had disposed of his victim and returned, Dominick was wiping the last dampness from

the sink. He tossed the towel into the waste receptacle and turned towards his childe.

“You disobeyed me,” he said sternly.

Lawrence’s almond eyes went huge. “I did what you told me to.”

“I told you to stay with the Guild.”

“You told me to go to the Guild. I went. I got bored. I left,” said Lawrence belligerently.

Dominick crossed his arms and frowned at Lawrence. This was a problem. Normally, he would

have swatted his childe against the wall a few times, maybe even drained him a bit. A little fear, a little dominance. It was what he’d learned to expect from his Master, and what he’d always presumed was the correct method of training a childe. Given his relationship with Marcus of late, he was no longer sure of that. Yet, obviously, something needed to be done to keep his childe in line. An uncontrolled fledgling was a danger to himself and could draw unwanted attention to the entire undead community. “Marcus is still at large,” he pointed out, thinking hard. Lawrence nodded, looking a little mollified. “I know. I was looking for you, Master. I… I was

afraid for you.”

By Satan, that was sweet. And utterly insane.

“You need to be punished, Lawrence,” said Dominick. He was struck by a strange thought.

“What do you think your punishment should be?”

Lawrence stared. He licked his lips. “Uh, what do I think?”

Dominick nodded, watching him.

Lawrence looked around himself. “Well,” he shrugged. “You should probably beat me. I… I

think you should, right?”

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“I can do that,” said Dominick. “Is that all?”

Lawrence grinned, a crooked devilish little grin. “You could fuck me ‘til I begged for mercy,

Master. That would teach me a lesson.”

The little demon. Dominick felt a certain pride. And then he remembered. “Your punishment

will have to wait, childe. I have to feed.”

Lawrence grinned and spread his arms to indicate the men’s room. “We can just wait here;

Master and our dinner will come to us.”

Dominick sighed and shrugged. “I have to buy mine from a man.”

Lawrence was young enough to assume this was something normal of which he knew naught as

yet. He nodded, looking blank. “You may follow me if you are obedient.” Dominick rolled his eyes at Lawrence’s eager acquiescent nod. He knew better than to expect it, but what could he do? *** There was something ignoble about paying for food when he had always hunted for himself, thought Dominick distastefully. He felt toothless, almost impotent. The blood seller smelled of rottenness and disease. Dominick thanked his luck that he didn’t have to breathe if he chose not to and handed over the wad of required bills. “Need twenty more,” wheezed the one called ‘Rick,’ the yellow corner of his left eye twitching

spasmodically. Dominick searched the wallet and dutifully handed over another twenty.

Those eyes were ill-looking but sharp. Rick’s glance flashed to the picture of George sealed

under the plastic in the flap of the wallet. “That ain't you, buddy.”

Dominick shrugged and slipped the wallet into his pocket. “It’s my friend.”

“Your friend?” Rick wheezed in and out when he laughed. He lifted the small box and shoved it

into Dominick’s arms. “Good friend, let you steal his wallet.”

“Steal? I didn’t.”

But Rick wheezed and laughed and, really, Dominick didn’t care what the man thought so he just

took his blood and loaded it back into the trunk of George’s car, Lawrence following, wide eyed.

“Is your friend the one that Marcus was mad about?”

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Dominick stopped mid-gesture, and turned to stare at Lawrence. “What?”

Lawrence gulped and took a step back. “I mean, I don’t know, he was mad that you fucked one

of them.”

“Why should he be?” Dominick fitted the key into the car door.

“The guy was a church guy, he said. He said you were ‘reverting’.”

Dominick climbed into the driver’s seat of the car and stared out the windshield at the full moon,

waiting for Lawrence to climb in the passenger side. “Did he really say that?”

Lawrence shrugged. “So, is that where you were? When Poinsettia and I…” his voice trailed off

and he looked out of the car window.

Dominick fit the key into the ignition. “We have to get back quickly,” he said.

“To where?”

“My friend is in danger.”

*** “There’s nothing like the smell of baking blood in the morning.” George stood in the kitchen

doorway, rubbing his head and blinking swollen, sleepy eyes.

Dominick lowered his makeshift feeding bag, twisting the corner tightly so it wouldn’t leak.

“Sorry.”

“Hey, no problem. I appreciate you taking care of yourself. Shows initiative.” George padded

across the floor and stopped, staring down at the corner. “Hello?” he said, cocking his head

sideways.

Lawrence raised his chained and bound hands from where he had been restrained in the corner

and waved his fingers in a tiny greeting. “Hello.”

George whirled on his heel. “Dom?”

“Ah, yes. George, this is Lawrence,” said Dominick carefully. “Lawrence, this is Father George

White.”

“Lawrence?” said George. “This is one of those…”

“He is my childe,” said Dominick. “I found him outside. I couldn’t leave him running about the

city, George. I’m sorry. I will dispose of him shortly but I needed to feed…”

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“Dispose of?” squeaked Lawrence, while George was saying “Found him outside?” Dominick sighed and raised his bag of blood to his mouth again. He was too weak for this. George tsked, shaking his head and rubbing his hair into a frenzy. “Not before coffee,” he muttered finally, wandering around the kitchen, pulling containers down, coffee makers out, and slopping grounds into the maker on a kind of autopilot. He leaned against the counter for a few minutes as the coffee hissed and streamed into the pot and then eventually turned, sleepily surveying the kitchen. “Less mess, this time, at least.” “I may have a discovered a method,” said Dominick, lowering the bag in a kind of selfconsciousness. George regarded him for a moment. “Go ahead.” he waved a hand. “You can eat it in front of me.” Dominick raised the bag again. He’d had enough already that his body could produce heat, and he felt the flush in his cheeks as George watched him bury his fangs in the large plastic bag and suck hard at the contents. After a minute George turned back to the coffee maker. “Man,” he said feelingly. He poured a cup of coffee, the back of his neck flushing red, then carried it out of the room, not looking back. Dominick lowered the now empty bag, shame coursing through his body, an unfamiliar and wholly uncomfortable feeling that he was only recently beginning to remember. He followed George into the living room, “I’m so s…” “I mean…” George, back still to him, spoke in a whisper. “I know you say it isn’t erotic, but I got to tell you, Dominick…” George shook his head, sighed. “Man.” Dominick felt his face heating with an entirely different sensation. “You are not repulsed?” George turned around, laughing. His face was pink and his sleeping boxers bulging. He pulled at his t-shirt, trying ineffectively to cover the evidence. “You should see yourself, Dominick. With that skin and those eyes and lips and…” George drifted off, his eyes following the list and getting stuck on Dominick’s mouth, which undoubtedly had some blood on it. Dominick licked his lips nervously and George bent a little, as if pained. “Tease,” he whispered. “I never have seen myself, of course," said Dominick.

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“No?” George strode towards him and, glanced quickly over Dominick’s shoulder toward the kitchen door, then pulled him close by the waist fiercely enough so that Dominick exhaled a little ‘woof’ of air. “No reflection. Mirrors, cameras, none of it works.” He was whispering against George’s mouth now.

“If you saw yourself, you’d make yourself hard, Dominick. Trust me.” George’s hands ran

possessively down Dominick’s back, across his hips.

Dominick had to laugh. “I doubt it.”

“Master!” Lawrence bellowed from the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

George’s eyes went wide. “He calls you Master?”

“It’s traditional.”

“Master?” Lawrence’s voice was now a petulant whine.

Dominick growled.

George stepped back enough to put a little air between them. “Dominick, why is he chained up in

my kitchen?”

“Yes, well as I said, George, I found him outside…”

“Let me be more specific,” said George carefully. “Why is he chained up?”

“He’s a vampire, George,” said Dominick in surprise. “He can’t be trusted.”

Now George entirely released him. He even took a few steps in a little semi-circle around

Dominick, regarding him. “I see.”

“He should be elsewhere. I have a place that will care for him.”

“Like doggie daycare?” George stopped circling some feet away from Dominick, and folded his

arms.

Dominick’s shoulders slumped in despair. “George. I didn’t know what to do with him.”

“Master? When do I get my punishment?”

There was a silence during which Dominick could not even look at George. Then George spun

on his heel and headed towards the bathroom. “I need a shower,” he said curtly.

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***

Lawrence smirked and shook his chains a little. “Is your priest angry with you, Master?”

“Silence,” said Dominick. He cleaned up what was left of the blood bags, disposing of them in

their own container, next to the one where George put garbage. The feeding had made him hard,

as it usually did. George’s touch had only heightened his arousal. From the floor, Lawrence

grinned up at him, his eyes merrily taking in Dominick’s bulging need.

“Are you going to fuck him now?”

“Silence!” roared Dominick in his Master voice.

Lawrence obeyed. Dominick could hear the shower running in the bathroom. “I will be back in a

moment,” he said. “Remain silent, childe.” *** “George?” George heard the rap of knuckles at the door but pretended to himself that the shower masked the sound. He ran the soap over his chest again, watching it run down his legs and swirl

at the drain.

“George?” He heard the squawk of the bathroom door being gingerly opened.

George turned his back to the door, stepping under the spray. He scrubbed at his head and then

leaned against the shower wall with both hands, face full in the spray.

When he turned around, Dominick was sitting, fully naked, on the toilet seat.

“Oh man,” said George weakly, and leaned against the tiled wall. After a minute, he slid open

the shower door.

Dominick looked up, wariness in his expression. “Will you let me help you cleanse yourself?” he

said plaintively.

He had a naked, beautiful, fully aroused vampire sitting on his toilet, George realized suddenly.

This was something they had never discussed at seminary. The idea made him smile and then, at Dominick’s look of confusion, start laughing. “Did I word that incorrectly?” asked Dominick.

“Ah, no. I get your drift,” said George. He jerked a shoulder towards the still opened bathroom

door. “What about your… whatever he is?”

Dominick stood and George’s eyes were caught by his fully erect penis, swaying before him as he pushed the door closed and stepped back towards the shower. “Can we talk about him later?”

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George blinked, snapped his lips closed. “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “Good,” said Dominick, stepping over the rim of the shower enclosure. *** “Fuck. Oh. Ah, yeah! That. That again. Oh, Dom…” Dominick smiled around George’s cock. He sucked as hard as he could, which was significantly harder than mortals could suck. An unearthly sound issued from George, his hips starting to pump, his breath harsh and Dominick heard the slap and scrabble of George’s hand on the wet tile behind him as he tried to hold himself to something solid while the whirlwind of orgasm carried him away. Hot human semen pumped into his mouth, George’s cock jumping and surging against his tongue. Water poured over his face, his eyes, and plastered his hair flat. George’s hands grabbed hold of his head and Dominick opened his throat, encouraging the use of his mouth, feeling the pubic hairs in his nose again and again. The taste, pure hot and salty, poured down his throat, burnt in his belly and seemed somehow to sink into his cock, which he grabbed just as it sprayed semen across the shower floor. Only when George had begun to flinch with sensitivity did he draw back, looking up at George through the spray. The man leaned against the tile, breathing hard, eyes on fire and staring down at him. “Holy… whew, Dom, that was. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I think I kind of lost it, there.” Dominick smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t need to breathe. And I like to feel you take me.” George’s eyes flared yet again. His tongue came out, quickly, nervously, licked his lower lip. “Wow.” Dominick found his feet again, feeling wobbly and leaning into George. “The taste of you made me come,” he said. George leaned into the spray and they shared a long wet kiss. “Love you,” he said, reaching for the soap. “And now I’ve gotta boogie. The lady’s auxiliary does not appreciate tardiness.” *** Monday was a long day. Patricia and George both had paperwork ‘up the Yazoo’ as he said. The church’s financial quarterly statement was due in two weeks and all ministers had to submit financial statements, check stubs, receipts and explanations of the same for every week of the quarter.

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They also both had classes in the afternoons: Patricia’s adolescent confirmation classes,

George’s adult Bible study. Then there was the daily meeting with the other clergy and Father

Reggie. And then, of course, Patricia had to go work on the paper she would present next

symposium, and George would try to fit in some music composition and somewhere in there

would be a panicked search for some form or other that had disappeared in the vacuous

wasteland of Patricia’s office.

It was well past dark when George finally closed and locked his office door and headed, with a

jauntier than usual step, down the hallway.

“So he’s out of the bathroom, I take it.” Patricia came down the hallway towards him. It was the

first time, since last night, that she had said anything about Dominick, a fact which had been

disturbing George on a subliminal level all day.

“Out and proud,” he said, giving her that devilish grin of his.

“I’ve been thinking about this, George.”

“Eek,” he said. He figured that pretty much expressed it.

“Indeed,” said Patricia, not smiling. “Eek and yikes and a lot of other things I’ll not say because

I’m clergy.”

“And a lady,” said George.

Patricia regarded him. “You think it’s all quite funny?”

“No,” said George. “I think I am going to lose my mind.” His voice tumbled over itself on the

last words. He took a deep breath. “He’s full of light, Patricia. How can he be evil?”

“Light? I’m not sure what you’re seeing. I’m not sure what I’m seeing when I look at him. I’m

not sure that we shouldn’t both be checking ourselves into a psychiatric facility.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Patricia was silent, obviously honestly contemplating this question. “Do you believe in angels,

George?”

George thought immediately of Dominick’s ‘second angel on the left’ and smiled sadly. “Yes.

They are biblical. And rational. In a metaphorical manner of speaking.”

“And demons, of course.”

“Well, I do now.” His laugh died and he sighed instead. “But, theologically, evil is supposed to

be degraded good, right? So, yeah. Angels imply devils, I guess.”

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“So, given the metaphorical and theoretical plausibility of the existence of these beings, I am willing to suspend my disbelief and address the matter at hand in a purely pragmatic way.” George turned and looked at her. “You frighten me, Patricia. Quite often.”

“Well, that’s just a sign of your wisdom.” Patricia dug around in her huge satchel and drew out a

torn book that reeked of mildew. “I found this and thought you should read it.”

“I take it this isn’t the latest ‘Father Greeley’ mystery.”

“George! I understand that you use humor as a dodge, but I need to get home and take a shower

and I’m PMSing my head off, so would you kindly shut up and listen? Now, it’s in Latin,” she

glared down his incipient groan. “So I know you can read it, George. And don’t give me that ‘I

only read the dirty bits of Cicero’ jive. I’ve seen your Berkeley transcripts.” She shoved the book

into George’s hands. “Read it tonight.”

“It's Monday night football,” muttered George weakly, then shrank under her look. “Okay,

okay.”

“And make him read it, too.” Patricia re-fastened her satchel. “I’d love to hear what he has to say

about it.”

“He has a name,” George mumbled, but she had waltzed off. He hefted the book and peered at

the title. Worn gilt over a black binding. “Great,” he said. *** “Marcus Aurelius, you old demon! What have you been doing with yourself lately?” The old vampire who kept the doorway to the Guild was thoroughly enjoying himself. He stood, casually enough, arms folded and one green-stockinged leg thrust lazily across the threshold. Marcus glared down at the barrier, which of course, magically barred his way. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard, Cassius,” he said grumpily. “Is he here?”

Cassius widened his eyes, elegant eyebrows arched with supposed confusion. “He?”

“My Childe.”

“You’ve made so many childer, Marcus,” Cassius said cattily. “I lose track. Which one…?”

“Dominick,” snapped Marcus.

“Ah,” said Cassius. “No. He isn’t here.” Cassius hugged himself happily, thoroughly enjoying

this opportunity to embarrass the great Marcus. “You should be more careful where you hunt, Marcus,” he said. “Humans take the strangest drugs these days.”

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Marcus eyes narrowed. “They do.”

“Really, I’m surprised that you would have been so careless.”

Marcus regarded the floor for a long moment. Cassius was fully expecting him to fly into a rage.

He was even looking forward to the spectacle. But when Marcus looked up, an expression of humorous chagrin was on his face. “Really, it’s very embarrassing.” He laughed at himself, shaking his head. Cassius eyed him. Really, Marcus was quite the most beautiful vampire he had ever known. With that mane of reddish gold hair and the emerald eyes. Way out of Cassius league, of course. Usually. “I’m probably a laughing stock,” said Marcus looking worried.

Cassius clucked like a mother hen. “Now, don’t worry Marcus. Your friends will stand by you.”

“You think?” Marcus brows wrinkled apprehensively, pretty lips pursed. “I consider you a

friend, Cassius. You… you know that, right?”

Cassius wasn’t stupid, but even a manipulative flirtation from one such as Marcus was a delight

to experience. “Of course, my dear. Always.”

Marcus looked relieved. He allowed a happy smile to light up his handsome face.

Cassius just melted. “Sweetie, you look famished.”

Marcus nodded. “I haven’t been able to feed…” he gestured vaguely. “The incident…”

“Of course, of course.” Cassius rose, withdrawing his leg. “I’m sure we can find something you

can stomach,” he said. “Come in, my dear.” *** It hadn’t been that hard, after all, for Dominick to convince Lawrence that he should return to the

Guild. All he had to do was let him taste a bag of the purchased blood.

“Ugh,” Lawrence shivered and gagged, jerking his mouth from the bag. “Master, why don’t you

just beat me, instead? I prefer that punishment.”

“This isn’t punishment,” Dominick said. He raised the bag to his lips and fed until it was empty.

Lawrence watched him with a look of disgusted horror. Dominick lowered the bag and

meticulously folded it, put it in the trash. “This is how one feeds when one lives with a human.”

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Lawrence’s eyes skipped around the room. He sat in the corner of the kitchen, safe from the fatal pools of light that lay here and there despite the closed blinds. “Then why live with them, Master? Eat your priest and come home with me.” “I have not finished here,” said Dominick.

“Finished? What do you need to do?” Lawrence asked plaintively.

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe that bad blood has confused you,” said Lawrence. “Maybe you need me to go find you

something decent to eat. I can hunt now, Master,” Lawrence reminded him proudly.

“No!” said Dominick urgently. “You must not hunt in the priest’s domain, Lawrence. I have

given my word.”

Lawrence blinked at him. “So?”

A valid point. A demon’s word was really a joke. Especially given to a human. “It is a sort of

truce, as during a campaign,” said Dominick, hoping his wise childe had learned enough to

understand the rules of war that his kind honored.

Lawrence nodded sagely, either understanding or pretending to.

“You may stay, but you must honor the rules of the ‘truce,’” said Dominick. “Blood only that is

bought. No hunting humans, for food or fun…”

“May I fuck the priest?”

“No!” said Dominick. “He is mine.” He pointed at Lawrence. “You may choose to stay,

according to these rules, or I will return you to the Guild at dusk. They have a banquet some

evenings,” he added, shuddering inwardly at the memory.

“A banquet?” Lawrence licked his lips, the constant hunger of the newly turned in his eyes.

“An orgy first,” said Dominick, watching Lawrence’s face. “Many young females, Lawrence. I

have observed that you like those.”

Lawrence stood immediately. “I choose the Guild,” he said.

“Excellent.”

***

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It was just as boring here as Lawrence had remembered, and the gossip was worse. The old vampires had been reserved and respectful in Dominick’s presence, but the minute his Master had left, they had descended on Lawrence like a pack of coyotes. “What a lovely childe,” one said to another, plucking at his clothes and touching his hair, his skin. “Whatever possessed Dominick to give him up?” Lawrence growled. “He has not given me up,” he said. “My Master will return for me when he has finished his business.” “Darling,” said another one. “He has left you here. Face it; he has grown tired of you. But I think you are very pretty. Come, let me console you,” he said snapping crooked yellow fangs. “Oh, don’t listen to old Petros there,” said another equally ugly vampire. She bent her face to Lawrence’s, blinking her lashes in a truly unbecoming manner. “Let me care for you, little one.” Lawrence leaned back and away from her attentions. “I am hungry,” he said. “Leave my grandson alone so he may feed, you old bats,” he heard the voice from across the room, his spine tingled with recognition and he straightened, whirling, to face its owner. “Darling,” said Marcus, arms out, fangs gleaming as he smiled. “What a relief to see you safe.”

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Chapter Eight Dominick touched the book experimentally with one finger. “It doesn’t burn me,” he said. “Maybe it’s only the Bible that burns you.” George put a mug of cocoa in front of Dominick and a mug of coffee in his spot. He pulled out his chair and sat down. “Or maybe, since it was supposedly written by demons, it should be burning me.” He turned the book and read off the title again. “Libri Malum.” He spun it around again. “Hardly grammatical.”

Dominick stirred his cocoa idly. “Demons are seldom erudite.”

“You are.”

Dominick turned his head aside, pursing his lips.

“It has pictures,” said George. Dominick looked up at him, something pleading in his eyes. “You

want to see them?”

“No.”

“We’ve gotta face this, Dominick.”

“You don’t need to face anything, George. You shouldn’t have to. I can leave.”

“Not an option.” With a look of fierce determination, eyes blazing so that for an instant

Dominick thought how much like the Saint George his lover truly was, he flipped open the book

and began to read.

“Herein shall be written the names and crimes of those denizens of hell who shall in the last days

be called to judgment before the thrones of Lucifer…” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Whatta

ya think, Dom? The word is ‘citizen’ but you can’t be a citizen of hell, can you?”

Dominick sighed. “No one has ever tried to collect taxes or encourage my vote, so…”

George’s eyes flashed at him. “You can joke?”

“I see no other alternative.”

George grinned. “Okay, then. Forward through the… what is this word?”

Dominick peered. “Lewd. Roughly translated, of course.”

“Ah. Hmm. Those creatures whose lewd and…” he spun the book again, “what’s that?”

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“Give me the book, George.” “Hey, I can do this.” “Obviously. Give me the book.” Dominick took the volume from George’s hands, sat back in his chair, propped it on his lap and began to read easily, his Spanish accent rising and thickening with the familiarity of the Latin phrases. “Those creatures whose lewd and obscene acts have damned them to hell, human and from the other realms. Idolators, worshippers of the flesh, eaters of men and those who lie with them…” He looked up at George. “Go on,” said George. “Doomed to eternally burn in the flames of their beastly desires and unrepentant unremorseful still cry eternally for that God from which they are forever foresworn.” Dominick paused, thumbing the edge of the book nervously with one finger. There was a somber moment of silence and then George rallied. “Hey,” he said. “Sounds like what they say about queers on the 700 club. Keep reading, Dom. Patricia said we need to read this.” They spent the night pouring over the book, Dominick’s voice, melodic, fluid and beautiful rising and falling over the terrible words. There appeared to have been more than one author, although all of them seemed to take a great pride in their own hideous crimes. Jaw set grimly, Dominick showed each illustration. Nodding tersely every time George would ask, “It’s really like this?” Finally, well into the last quarter, they found the lists of demons and a confusing and contradictory list of the ‘vanquishments.’ “Vampira,” read Dominick, and paused to look up at George. “I made it into the book, George. My mother would be so proud.” “Your humor is getting a little dark, Dom,” said George. “What are the ‘vanquishments?’” There were, as it turned out, quite a few. Dominick peeled through the list. A list he evidently, George noted, knew by heart. “Cross and Bible, holy sword, holy water, blade of purest silver, garlic and fire.” “Yeah, well, fire and garlic will pretty much vanquish me, as well,” said George. “George, please. To sever the beaste from his head, a stake of holly wood or ash shall be pushed through the heart. If the soul be redeemed and returned to the bosom of the beaste, then he shall…” “Hold on!” George waved his hand frantically. “Read that last part again.”

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“George, I hope you understand that this is a little grim, even for me.”

“Read it, Dom.”

Dominick sighed. “…ash through the heart. If the soul be redeemed and returned to…”

“That part!” yelped George. “Is that true, Dom? Can your soul be redeemed?”

A peculiar feeling, like a tickle at the back of his throat, uncomfortable and strange, came over

Dominick. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Skim the rest, Dom. Does it say how to do it?”

“George, it’s in the list of ‘vanquishments.’ Obviously this is not a thing one wants to do.”

“Not if you’re a demon and ‘thrilling in thy evile deeds,’ Dominick. Of course not.”

Dominick’s eyebrows arched. He scanned the page. “There’s something here. It’s… a list of

ingredients.”

“A recipe?”

Dominick’s eyebrows arched even more. “Apparently.”

“Let’s write it down. Tomorrow I’ll talk to Patricia and we’ll see what she thinks.”

“As you wish.” Dominick wrote down the items in his lovely script. Folded the paper in half and

handed it to George who put it in his jacket pocket.

“I’m bushed,” said George, yawning dramatically and grinning.

Dominick pretended not to notice. “Ah,” he said. “Well, I shall be very quiet and try not to

disturb your sleep.”

George came around to his side of the table, leaning over and clasping his arms, putting his

mouth to his ear. “I’m ordering you to go to bed, Dominick.”

Dominick stirred in his chair, but still made a pretense of disinterest. George’s tongue drew a

circle on one ear. “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

Dominick smiled and closed his eyes. George’s fingers wrapped around Dominick’s wrists.

“Stand up.”

Eyes still closed, Dominick rose, George helpfully pushing the chair back with one foot, then he

drew Dominick’s hands behind him and held them with one hand while digging around in his

back pocket with the other.

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Dominick shifted from one foot to another. His cock was growing warm and hard and George’s breath the back of his neck was driving him crazy. George wrapped a cloth hanky around Dominick’s wrists and hugged him from behind, twisting and grinding his erection into Dominick’s bound hands. *** Dominick gasped and tilted back his head. George’s hands came around and cupped him easily, rubbing at the evidence of his pleasure in this game. “Don’t speak unless I give you permission,” whispered George in Dominick’s ear and felt his cock jump and pulse in his hand, the material becoming damp. He led Dominick gently to the bedroom, commanded Dominick to stand still while he stripped him, turned him, and pushed him gently onto the bed. George’s arousal was skyrocketing so fast he could hardly breathe. He’d never, never known he could enjoy this, enjoy domination or control. It was a complete and utter surprise and even more surprising was that Dominick obviously enjoyed it too. “Spread your legs.” Dominick did so and George moaned painfully and began ripping off his own clothes, his hands fumbling and seeming to take twice as long as they should. On the bed, Dominick, with hands still trapped under his back, eyes closed, long legs bent and opened outwards, kept moving his hips in little urgent circles. All George could hear was his own harsh breathing, but somehow the ‘Adoro’ seemed to be in there also. He scrabbled up onto the bed, wanting to simply grab hold and bury himself deep in the beautiful body but somehow managing to remain kneeling above Dominick, looking down into his face. “Dominick, open your eyes,” George whispered. Dominick’s lashes flicked upwards. In the dim room, his eyes seemed like bottomless wells of mystery. George felt dizzy and realized he wasn’t breathing. “I love you,” he gasped. A welcoming throb of emotion slid over Dominick’s face. His lips curved gently upwards. At that moment George’s whole body needed to be part of Dominick’s. His mouth and hands melded with Dominick’s face, his neck, his hair, and the smooth eternally hairless skin of his cheeks. George’s shoulders and chest slid against cool pectorals, rubbed pebbly nipples. The erotic charge from long wet kisses, tongues and teeth on the underside of his lips, in his mouth, spread to his own nipples, snagging with surprising little zings against the skin of Dominick’s chest.

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He settled his hips into the welcoming hollow between Dominick’s legs, his cock fitting up against Dominick’s belly, pre-come sliding against him already, pubic hair, and damp flesh and Dominick uncontrollably surged upward and it was almost too much. And Dominick molded to him. Like a duvet, except skin and muscle and a hard leaking erection thrusting into his belly, his entire body responding to every urgent thrust of George’s body. So completely responsive. Like a really fine car. George’s hips found a rhythm, sliding and pressing into Dominick’s and his lover mirrored it eagerly, their cocks sliding together like dancers. George could hear the music to which they danced, feel the strings playing up his spine, the timpani thundering distantly now in his balls. “Wait,” George tore his lips from Dominick’s mouth. “I want to be inside you.” And now he felt the pump of Dominick’s chest beneath him because the vampire was breathing.

Eyes black and wide-open helpless, mouth maroon and smeared wide with kissing.

“You may speak,” groaned George, illogically kissing Dominick again so that he was unable to.

“Yes,” Dominick managed to say into his mouth.

George had to lift himself out of the shared body of him and his lover to get to the supplies, but

he had barely separated their mouths when Dominick shook his head hard, asking something

urgent with his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Dom?” George bent his forehead to Dominick’s face. “You may speak.”

“You don’t have to use the…” Dominick gestured with one shoulder.

“Condoms? Oh, yes, my friend. I most certainly do.”

Dominick shook his head hard. “I can not carry or catch disease.”

This was a shocker and George actually felt a little hum of surprise in the overwhelming morass

of sensation in which his body swam. A hum and then a buzz of excitement.

“I’ve never…” he breathed.

Dominick grinned.

“Still need lube,” whispered George.

Dominick’s grin spread, he stuck his tongue out suggestively.

“Oh, man.” George had to make himself inhale. His whole body was shaking now and lit up. But

mostly his cock was about to burst. “Sensory overload, Dom. Put that back or I’m not going to make it.”

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Looking terribly pleased with himself, Dominick withdrew his tongue. George arched his hips up, sucking his own fingers into his mouth, getting them as wet as he could. He’d never done this with another man, but long ago in his adolescence before he’d had means or knowledge to obtain anything else, he’d used this method on himself. He pressed his wetted fingers inside Dominick, watching Dominick’s face for any hint of pain. But the vampire only arched against his hand, pupils dilating, face glowing with pleasure. A few more applications of saliva, his fingers spreading Dominick’s hole, which seemed alternately soft as silk and tight as a vice, and George lifted his cock head to press there, felt himself slide in as if Dominick were made of butter. Uttering inarticulate cut-off expletives, George tried to hold himself still. He could feel Dominick’s thighs on either side of him, cool, firm, shaking. Dominick wrapped around his cock like magic fingers, throbbing slightly, those eyes so still, lips parting and the glitter of fangs. George grunted and shoved and pulled back quickly again and shoved again and again and again. His and Dominick’s breathing, rough exhales synced perfectly, their hips rolling in contrapuntal urgency. Dominick’s chin tipped up, fangs biting into full lower lips and without thinking George plunged and forced his mouth onto those teeth. A bomb went off in his head. White heat seared him. His hips pistoning like a machine, his breath great rapid desperate gasps and the wave receded, the aftershocks clenching his balls as he finally actually felt the orgasm that had blown his brains out and saw the blood dribbling down Dominick’s face. It was like they were on a waterbed, he thought a little wildly, the waves still rocking them. Dominick stared up at him, eyes shining and reflecting a blurred image of George until he blinked and a tear released down one temple. His tongue came out, instinctively, licked at the blood there. “What did you do?” Dominick whispered. George opened his mouth but couldn’t find his voice. He shook his head, bent down and just touched Dominick’s lips with his own. The blood was sharp and tinny and tingled against his sensitized lips. He drew back, licking it away. “My blood,” said Dominick, his voice still hushed. “I bit myself. That was my blood, George.” A kind of dull awareness was returning to George’s torso. He lifted from Dominick’s sticky body, rolled onto his side, grabbing the corner of his sheet and swabbing the come from Dominick’s belly. “Yeah, well, you said you can’t carry disease…”

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“I’m a vampire, George. I carry a demon.” George stilled. “What?” Dominick wriggled his shoulders and drew his now unbound hands out from behind his back. He rubbed at one absently. George saw the shadow of a faint bruising there and felt a dull throb in his wasted cock. Wow. But Dominick was really upset. He sat up and buried his head in his hands, muttering about transference and blood and thirst and a lot of Latin that, yeah he had an ‘A’ in ancient language from Berkeley but this guy had been a Medieval monk and no way George could keep up with him. “George.” Dominick sounded tired. He twisted, laid a hand on George’s shoulder and gave him a sad, weary look. “I need to think about this.” “Think?” George figured his brain was out of action for the night. “What’s to think?” Dominick pushed his legs over the edge of the mattress and heaved himself to his feet. He stood there, pale and slender in the meager streetlight seeping through the blinds and seemed suddenly completely unreal. Like something George had only dreamed. And that sense of unreality and Dominick’s words suddenly shook him out of his post-orgasmic haze and he sat up. “Dom, what’s wrong?” Dominick’s back, a ghostly shape in the dark, shifted and walked further away. George saw him bend, pick up something, then draw the dark material up over his hips. Slide something over his head. His edges less distinct now, Dominick moved towards the bedroom door. George’s legs felt numb with a kind of dread. He couldn’t move them. Dominick paused at the door, his head half-turning back. “I have to think about this, George.” And he was gone. *** God is all things and exists in all places. He is basically the whole omni package. Omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent. But when George had been a small boy, and hadn’t yet plowed his way through the compiled theology of over 19 centuries, he had figured there was more God in the sacristy, in the presence of the host, than anywhere else. It was still his comfort zone, the place he went to when it all became too hard. He let himself in with his key, curling up in a pew, his eyes fixed on the perpetual red flame and his mind rolling prayers through his head like beads until there was nothing left but a soothing blank and the presence of Christ.

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He’d finally shaken off his shock and bolted from the bed, but Dominick had left completely, gone from the apartment, no trace of him outside. George standing breathless, in boxer shorts and bare feet in the damp grass, couldn’t see that silhouette in any direction. Dominick had said he had to think. Think about what? George’s brain was numb. He said the Lord’s Prayer again, watching the sacristy candle jerk and waver and flare. What had he done wrong? George crossed himself slowly, bent his head. “Listen,” he said softly. “I’m a mess. We both know that. And I’m in way over my head here. Nothing new about that either, I guess.” He sighed. “I just… please…” His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, “Kyrie eleison,” he whispered, which segued in his mind to the ‘Adoro.’ “Oro, fiat illud quod tam sitio, quod tam sitio.’” He heard himself and stopped. He looked up at the candle, at the little gilded box there that housed the host. “‘That for which I thirst?’ I don’t understand,” he said. *** Beverly Clark, Senior Daughter of the King, let herself into the sacristy Tuesday morning to do her weekly obligatory wax and polish. She almost screamed when she saw the man in the pew until she looked closer and saw that it was the young Father sleeping there. He was curled in a corner of a pew like a little boy, his head on a kneeling cushion, his mouth open and soft snores issuing from it. Beverly had been a devout Episcopalian since her girlhood, when she’d been a Junior Daughter of the King because girls couldn’t be acolytes and it was as close as she could get to the holiness. The church had changed so much since then. The high mass at the Cathedral was the only time one ever heard the Latin anymore. The beautiful heavily carved rood screens were gone. They ordained women as priests. And now her own granddaughter served as acolyte once a month, her little scrubbed face glowing up there, her hands pressed together as the Father led the blessing. The church had changed but the joy there had only increased. Beverly could feel it. And even though she had been a little shocked and worried when she’d heard about the new young Father, she’d seen his devotion, his faith pouring into everything he did. And the Bible told you to judge them by their fruits, didn’t it? Beverly slid a long piece of wood through the handles of the door when she left, and hung the ‘Sacristy Closed’ sign from it. Then she went off to find Mother Pat. ***

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The City Hall faced St. Mark’s church from the opposite side of the park. Dominick had climbed the side once and found a room at the top, just below the long ago silenced bell that stayed shaded all day and yet lent him a view of the parish grounds. He knelt there now, chin on his arm, gazing across the dazzling expanse of green lawns at the church, sparkling under the sun. He’d watched George enter it last night and hadn’t seen him leave. So he kept watch. Observing the business of that little hive of Christians. What had he been thinking? What had he imagined compelled and drew him to George? What wildly insane notion had set the idea in his head that he was in love? Obviously, obviously, this was the demon hungering for some deeper and more depraved evil. Dominick wasn’t accustomed, generally, to think of his demon as a separate entity, but he did sometimes feel it as a compulsion distinct from his own personality, instinctive and gut deep. Of course his demon would be drawn to the sacred music, to the young man burning with faith. Dominick watched a woman with an abundance of yellow hair and an armload of books hurrying down a cloister passage and letting herself in by the same door George had entered. Why then, if all his demon had truly desired was to bring this man down, had he tasted George’s blood, felt the bond as George tasted his, and instead of throwing the man down and taking him then and there, risen from the bed instead and fled? That ache, that longing rose again in Dominick’s chest. And, as he watched, George emerged with the young blonde woman. He was scrubbing his hair in that manner he had when he was distressed as he followed her back down the passage from which he had come. He stumbled a little as he walked and Dominick felt a wrench of pain as the ache in his chest tried to reach out and save him. What madness was this? *** “Go home and shower, George. You stink.” “Okay.” George didn’t move. He stood in the center of her office, looking around with a vaguely confused expression. “I’ll make excuses for you this morning. Reggie won’t care as long as you pick up the minutes from the meeting later, and your office hours don’t start today until noon.” George was nodding along, but she doubted he was registering anything she said. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket and then drew one hand out with a slim piece of paper between his fingers. “Oh,” he said.

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“George, you should go now, before there are a lot of parishioners running around who might see you. You look like you’ve been bar-crawling all night.” He was holding the paper out towards her, though. She took it, unfolded it. “What is this?”

“Recipe,” said George, his face wearing a strange, bewildered expression. “I got it from that

book.”

Patricia stared at the paper. “A recipe? For what? Demonic brownies?”

George actually smiled. A kind of demented, cracked grin. “More like soul food. Think you

could whip up a batch?”

Feeling sucked into the whirlpool of unreality which seemed to have already taken George,

Patricia scanned the list. It made her sick.

“George,” her voice was shaking, she could hear it and so could he, because he looked at her

with widening eyes. “This is black magic stuff, George. What the he….” she stopped, bowed her

head, the paper, clenched tightly between her fingers, crinkled. “What are you doing, George?”

“Black magic?” he repeated stupidly.

“Bloodroot? Wolfsbaine? Deadly Nightshade? This is either magic or the ingredients for a

virulent new street drug. I can’t believe you have this in your pocket, George!” Patricia’s voice

hit a note George would not have believed the sultry alto could reach.

“It was in the book you gave me,” he protested.

She blinked at him. “The book I gave you? George, did you not read what it said about… about

creatures like him and the people who associate with them?”

“Well, yeah. But I’ve been hearing that sort of thing all my life, Pat. Kind of loses its power after

a while.”

“It shouldn’t.”

A sullen expression slid momentarily over George’s usually open face. “I thank God that it has,

Pat, or I wouldn’t have survived this long.”

Patricia looked at the floor and heaved a deep sigh. “This isn’t the same thing, George.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

Reluctantly and against her better judgment, Patricia looked at the paper again. “Well, there’s

nothing particularly wrong with the ingredients. They’re just herbs. Deadly Nightshade is Belladonna, of course. It’s a strong narcotic. You aren’t supposed to ingest this, are you?”

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“No. Something is done to Dominick with it.” “And?” “And then his soul is redeemed.” He shook his head impatiently at her blank expression. “It was in that book, Patricia!” Patricia looked again at the paper. She carefully folded it and stuffed it in her pocket. “Go home, George. Shower and change and get your ass to your office. And bring that book back. I’ll have a look at it.” “Thanks, Pat.” He gave her a weary little smile. “Maybe it’ll help.” *** Dominick had found shelter in the tower of the city hall that faced the park, a block away from the church. It was a small dark crawl space, really, dominated by the electrical workings where the old bell had once hung and from which computer generated bell tones were emitted on the hour and half-hour. It created a small black room, in which the sunlight never showed. Dominick’s rest had come over him while there and he rose into a panic of darkness and disorientation until he saw the glint of moonlight on the brass bell hanging over him. He immediately scrabbled up into an observation position and looked out across the now darkened lawn. The streetlights dotted the space between himself and the church, with blind spots, but he still could see the starburst of light streaming across the grass and shooting its dissipating beam into the night. The voices of the men, more piercing than the light, set the ache in his chest to throbbing again and he was sinking into the simultaneous pleasure and misery of it all, when he noted a familiar figure strolling along the public side of the church property. Lawrence. Dominick leapt over the edge of the tower rails and scrabbled down the side of the building like a spider, then sped across the lawn. He was still half a dozen yards away, when he felt the change in his childe, Lawrence turning and seeing him, shifting nervously. Dominick looked around, feeling something amiss. “Why have you returned, Lawrence?” Lawrence folded his arms, feet spread and head bowed. It was a posture of submission he must have been taught by the Guild. “You said you’d return for me. You forgot, didn’t you, Master?” “I haven’t forgotten you.” Dominick scanned the bushes and shadows, his senses tingling now. He couldn’t tell if he was feeling others of his kind or only his own childe. Lawrence would effectively mask another’s presence, he realized, the hairs on his arms standing upright. “My business is not yet finished.”

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“Business with your priest?” “Lawrence,” said Dominick carefully. “What are you doing here?” Lawrence’s eyes, when he raised his head, were bright with fear and a kind of crazed anger. “You said I’d be safe,” he whispered. It was then Dominick felt Marcus’ presence. He spun on his heels, searching the shadows in vain. “He… he found me, Master,” said Lawrence. “He taught me much.” The last said in the bitterest of tones. “You led him here,” said Dominick. “I did not,” said Lawrence. “He brought me.” His head jerked up and those glittering eyes focused on a point just over Dominick’s right shoulder. Dominick spun in the direction in which Lawrence gazed. “Enough of this,” said Marcus, strolling towards them, hands in the pockets of his great coat, long legs kicking gravel as he walked. “I have tolerated your behavior quite long enough, Dominick,” he snarled, coming to a stop a few feet away. A feeling of weariness suddenly washed over Dominick. “Yes, I am done,” he said. “Oh, most certainly, my little monk.” Marcus nodded at Lawrence, standing behind Dominick. And with a sense of inevitability, as if he had foreseen all of this, Dominick felt Lawrence strong arms around his chest, and the undeniable sensation of a sharp wooden stake pressed to the center of his back. “You made me do this,” said Lawrence. “You shouldn’t have left me there.” “I’m sorry, Lawrence,” said Dominick. Marcus smiled, happily insane. “Your childe begs the honor of turning you to dust, my monk,” he said, coat whirling around his calves as he kicked at gravel, circling them. But you must remain long enough to see what becomes of your humans.” With vampiric speed, Marcus jumped and sped across the lawn towards the church. “No,” said Dominick. “Lawrence, we can’t let him.” “It was terrible what he did to me,” said Lawrence at his ear, the stake dangerously deep already in his skin. “All because of your priest, he said. All because of your addiction to them when you should have been with me…”

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Chapter Nine “How is Dominick?” asked Andrew the minute he came through the door.

George fiercely twisted the bolt on the underside of the music stand he was raising and did not

reply. He seldom lied. He neither enjoyed it nor was he very good at it. But he did not think he

could even say Dominick’s name let alone discuss his ‘health.’

So he just growled.

“Sorry,” said Andrew, giving him a wide berth as he made his way towards the stage.

“Don’t be.” George stood, banging the music stand into place with little patience. “I just don’t

think I can talk about it right now, okay, Andrew?”

“But he’s okay? I mean the blood thing…?”

Oh, right, his lie. See? You lie and you pay. “He still has the blood thing,” said George

truthfully. “But I don’t know what’s going on with him, Andrew. As far as I know he’s fine.”

He felt the tenor looking at him for a second and then Andrew completely changed the subject,

asking some inane question about the choir’s robes. “I know it’s Lent, George, but purple is just

so cliché!” And George was deeply grateful for the millionth time for the sensitivity of his

friends.

Halfway through his partially put-on fashion diatribe, Andrew stopped and chirped, “Hi,

Patricia!”

George looked up. Patricia should have been home hours ago. It was one of her few nights off.

“Hey, Andrew,” she said, looking at George. He saw the torn black cover of the Libio Malum

under her arm. She pointed at George. “You got a minute?”

George dropped whatever was in his hands and trotted up the aisle. “Did you find something?”

Patricia glanced at Andrew, gave George a chastising look and hefted the book. “Maybe.”

George looked back at Andrew, too. “I’ll come over to your office,” he said. “Gimme a minute.”

“Well, hurry up,” said Patricia. “I’m recording something on the history channel and I want to

get back and watch it.”

George gave her a look. “They having a Brad Pitt marathon?” he asked sotto voice.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to mock.”

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“Sorry. I’m a little… well, you know.” “I might have something that will make you feel better about… things,” she said, and glanced again at Andrew. “Okay, you go; I’ll be there in two.” “Oh oh, priestly intrigue,” called Andrew. “Just like ‘A Man for all Seasons.’” “Andrew, can you keep an eye on things for a few minutes? Tell the guys I’ll be here, just,” George glanced at his watch, “I’ll be ten minutes late, okay?” Andrew heaved an overdone, put-upon sigh. Then hopped down the piers and picked up George’s baton. “I’ll tell them you’ve made me assistant conductor,” he said. “You’ll tell them nothing of the sort. I let you loose on this group and we’d all be doing the ‘Cage Aux Folles’ for Easter.” Andrew brightened. “What fun.” George glanced urgently up towards the door and Andrew heaved another dramatic sigh. “Go, go. I’ll just sit here.” “Thanks.” George jogged up the aisle, out the door and then, to save time, sprinted across the small triangle of lawn where the city park intersected with the cloister proper. The lawn was used so frequently by members of the church that there was a small brown-earthed path worn into it. He turned a corner under the rose-arbor, dashed down two cement steps and rapped smartly on the glass window of Patricia’s door before swinging it open and popping his head inside. She wasn’t there. George stepped in and looked around. The desk light was on. He looked around the room. Everything looked as chaotic as usual. He didn’t see any black bound book in clear sight. He stepped back into the corridor. Maybe she’d skipped down to the ladies? “Pat?” he bellowed, putting a good bit of lungpower into it. They probably heard him in the planes flying overhead. But there was no answer. Frowning in mystification, George re-traced his steps, looking around the cloister, up and down the arbored walk. Maybe a parishioner had intercepted her? But he’d been just a few minutes behind her. Surely they’d still be in sight. He trotted a few feet more, to the edge of the parish grounds, looking over the city park. “Pat?” he called. “I’m sorry about the remark. Come on, quit teasing.” A lizard or something scurried under a plant, but otherwise there was silence. George started to get a creepy feeling up the back of his neck.

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Maybe they’d somehow passed each other when he’d taken the short cut and Patricia had gone back to the chapel? George jogged back across the little triangle of the short cut, came around the corner at a good clip and stopped dead. Patricia’s eyes were huge. The hand over her mouth masked the rest of her face. Behind her stood the man that George recognized as Marcus. Tall, beautiful and holding Patricia firmly in his arms, his head bent to position his mouth inches from her throat. “We meet again, priest,” said Marcus, and his fangs flashed in the moonlight. *** Dominick saw Marcus capture George’s blonde friend just outside the parish boundaries. “Lawrence, let me go,” he growled. Lawrence didn’t move. The arms that held Dominick tightened. “It might have been alright if you hadn’t chased me off. It might have been alright if you’d shared.”

“Who will be your Master, now, Lawrence? Is Marcus your new sire?”

“It doesn’t matter, now,” said Lawrence. “Nothing matters.”

Dominick remembered that feeling. He’d felt that way for at least a century. It was a kind of

vampiric adolescence, he thought.

“If Poinsettia hadn’t…”

Lawrence’s body trembled slightly.

“Your Marcus did that, Lawrence. Or had you forgotten?”

“He is not my Marcus.”

“Really? You do his bidding.”

“Because…” Lawrence’s voice broke off painfully. Dominick could just imagine what his childe

had endured at Marcus’ hands to be so afraid of the Master vampire.

“Pat!” George’s voice, just feet away it seemed. Dominick’s heart sank.

He focused on Lawrence, willing the vampire to do what he wished. “What would she think of

you now?”

Lawrence hissed, his arm tightening and the stake breaking the surface of Dominick’s skin.

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“Pat!” he heard George crying. “I’m sorry for the remark.”

Dominick saw the beloved figure running across the lawn. He felt the moment when George left

sacred ground, becoming vulnerable.

“Lawrence,” he pleaded, thinking he’d either be dust or free but at least he wouldn’t be forced to

watch unmoving.

Lawrence released him. “I hate you,” he said.

Dominick spared a precious second to stare back at his childe. “I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

Lawrence threw the stake to the ground with a sound of disgust, then turned and sped off.

Dominick sped across the ground. The tiny tableau seemed frozen in time, George standing

there, staring at Pat. When Dominick trotted up, he flinched, eyes flicking in his direction, then

back to Pat.

“Don’t move,” said Dominick. “He can kill her in an instant.”

George’s breath was loud in the night air. “What should I do?”

“Step. Back,” said Dominick.

Marcus chuckled. “Priest, you move and your friend dies.”

“Marcus,” said Dominick in a voice he had never used towards his Master. “I swear by the

blood. If you harm them, I will destroy you.” Dominick eased himself slowly so that he could

stand between Marcus and George.

“You are madder than I,” said Marcus, dragging Patricia sideways, so he could still see George.

“Step back, George,” said Dominick. “Get onto holy ground.”

“Patricia. I’m sorry.” George was obviously not paying any attention to him. Dominick stepped

between Marcus and George again.

Marcus laughed. “I’m sorry, little monk. I don’t think I can spare this treat. She smells so sweet.”

He raised his mouth as if to strike and three things happened simultaneously.

George hollered, like his sainted namesake charging the dragon, and ran straight at Marcus.

Dominick leapt with a sweep of his long legs, also straight towards Marcus. And they both landed on a wet pile of blood and ashes with a blonde woman sprawled across it.

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Patricia looked up at them and pushed hair out of her face with one muddy hand. She held up the

other and showed the slim flash of a letter opener.

“A blade of purest silver,” she said, her voice shaking. “Ordination present.” And then she

fainted.

*** “So I wasn’t sure, but I thought it would be smart to keep some vanquishments on me.” Patricia

was ensconced on her office sofa. She drew the garlic chain out from under her sweater and

started removing objects from her pockets. A long, sharpened piece of wood, a pectoral cross,

and a plastic travel shampoo bottle, which she shook and pronounced, “Holy water, don’t you

say a word, George, I blessed it myself.”

George didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “I’m so sorry. It was all my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I led him here. I encouraged…”

“That creature was nothing like Dominick, George.” She looked around. “Where is Dominick,

anyway?”

“Holy ground, Pat. It’s sort of anti-vampire.”

“Did you talk?”

“No, Pat. I decided I’d had enough gut wrenching experiences for the day.”

She gave him a solemn look. “Go out there and talk to him, George.”

George sighed. Stood. “Yes, mother.”

As he opened the door, she said, “Oh. And ask him if he’d like his soul.”

George looked back at her. “What?”

“All he has to do is ask,” she shrugged. “Oh, and throw some Medieval herbs around and stuff. I

really think that last part is just for show. It comes down to accepting God and his forgiveness.

Just like it always has.”

“Wow.”

“Kind of makes you proud to be one of the good guys, doesn’t it?” ***

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George half feared and half hoped that Dominick had left. But when he came around the curve of the arbor, he saw that Dominick was still standing there, by the azalea bush at the corner of the church property. Dominick watched George as he approached, with those deep serious eyes. George stopped on the other side of the ‘holy line’ and shoved his hands in his pockets, looked around. “So, you do that thinking you had to do?”

“I tried.”

“Come up with anything?”

Dominick slowly approached the ‘holy line’ and stood looking down at it. “How can we ever be

together, George?”

George stepped over the line, coming up so close into Dominick’s personal space that the

vampire either had to step back or let the priest take his arms. “We’re together now,” said

George.

“Because you walked away from the sacred,” said Dominick. “George, I can only drag you down

to my level.”

George leaned his forehead against Dominick’s and the vampire closed his eyes at the cool euphoria the man’s presence evinced. “There might be a way,” said George. “We need to talk to Pat.” *** Dominick sat uncomfortably on the edge of an overstuffed chair in Patricia’s apartment and

looked around him.

Patricia followed his gaze. “I have a lot of sacred books.”

“I see that,” said Dominick, bringing his gaze back to rest on the coffee table before him, not

meeting either priest’s eyes.

“Dom’s Latin is amazing, Patricia. You should have heard him translating that book.”

“Hmmm,” said Patricia.

Dominick glanced up at her, then away. “You don’t approve of me.”

“Should I?”

“Pat! You yourself said that Dominick is different!”

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“What do you think, Dominick?” Patricia asked. She was paging through the Librio Malum as she spoke. Dominick nodded, eyes still downcast. “I am animated, in theory, by that which you fight.” “Dominick, you can’t hold yourself responsible for all the evil in the world.” Poor George, thought Dominick, was completely exhausted, that earnest face haggard and pale. Patricia put the heavy book down in the center of the coffee table, so that they all could see it. “Okay, here. Here’s the passage. I translated the rest and there might be a small problem.” Dominick raised his eyes to hers. “Ah. Every gift has its price, then.” *** George looked from one to the other. “What?” “The redemption of his soul,” said Patricia. “It is possible. But it could be fatal.”

George was too tired and too emotionally strung out to speak. He just shook his head, watching

her.

Patricia sighed and took his hand. “It is listed as a “vanquishment,’ George.”

George felt Dominick’s cool fingers take his other hand. “This is what has been drawing me to

the music, George. I believe that.”

George sat with his lover holding one of his hands, his friend holding the other. He felt like a

conduit between the light and the dark.

Dominick and Patricia shared another long look. “You sure?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Dominick.

*** It was killing him. They were in George’s rooms, listening to music. Dominick had requested the “Phantom of the Opera” again and they stood at George’s window, looking out over the moonlit church grounds. George trying to enjoy the moment, although all he could think of was that it

might be their last.

Dominick wrapped his arms around George’s chest and George felt tears leap to his eyes again.

He blinked them back fiercely.

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“I did this,” said Dominick, rocking gently back and forth, his cheek against George’s back. “I listened to Marcus and I followed that darkness and I lost my soul.” George didn’t answer. He shut his eyes and closed his arms over Dominick’s where they wrapped across his chest. “But I think my soul sought me out. Like a lover. Or maybe God sent it to find me.” Dominick rocked; his mouth kissed the sweet soft hairs on the back of George’s neck. “And now you will return it to me.” “Not me, Dom. It’s all you. That’s how it works.” “I wouldn’t have known if not for you.” “Yeah. That’s my job,” said George. “Spread the word. Except usually the person gets saved along with the soul.” *** George squeezed Dominick’s arms again and Dominick thought he felt a little shudder run up George’s back. “We don’t know what will happen, George.” “Yeah.” George’s whole chest swelled in Dominick’s arms as he took in a deep breath and then twisted around fully, wrapping himself all around Dominick and burying his head in Dominick’s neck. “Dom…” “I won’t pretend I think myself their equal, George,” said Dominick, hugging his lover against him gently. “But I believe the martyrs would have told you that one’s soul is more important than life.” George only hugged him tighter. The music ended. Dominick kissed a flushed square of skin on George’s temple. “George, you promised we could do whatever I wished.” George didn’t appear to be about to relinquish his grip on Dominick anytime soon. Rather, he seemed to hold on tighter, his lips replacing his cheek and traveling up Dominick’s neck. “Anything,” George whispered into his ear. “I wish you to do something, then.” Dominick pushed them a little apart, so he could see George’s face. “George? George thought that now was when Dominick would tell him to find another once he’d gone. “I will always love you,” he said. Dominick stilled, a look of pain passed over his face.

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“I’m sorry,” George stammered. “I merely wished… I wanted…” Dominick folded himself up into George’s arms. “I love you, too, George.” George’s mouth found Dominick’s and the kiss was warm and thorough. Dominick pulled away, looked up at him. “But my request was much more mundane.” “What do you want?” “I’d like you to tie me up, George. I think I’d like that.” *** “Fuck. Ah… fuck.” Taking the name of the Lord in vain is on the top ten list, so George never did it. But he felt something needed to be said. He leaned against the doorjamb, gasping like a drowning fish. Across the room, there was a muffled protest. George looked up with stunned, heated eyes. “Fuck,” he breathed again. Dominick was spread eagled across his bed, his ankles and wrists securely tied to the bedposts, a pillow under his ass so that it was raised enticingly. His leaking cock lay swollen and red against his belly. He said something again around the gag in his mouth and George had to force himself to inhale before he could speak. “You want the gag off?” Dominick gave an emphatic nod. “Okay.” He could barely walk, himself. His balls felt like they were swollen so large he’d never get his thighs together again, and he had to hold his cock around the base tightly to keep from spraying all over Dominick’s belly as he leaned over and took off the gag. “George,” gasped Dominick. “The point is to have sex.” “I touch you, it’s over, man. I’m telling you.” “I’m sure you will recover soon enough.” “You think?” George scanned his bound lover again. He saw Dominick’s fists tighten and relax above the loosely looped ropes. His hips moving on the pillow, a steady dribble of clear fluid drooling from his engorged cock over his belly. George felt a painful grip in his body as his dick tried to shoot and he stopped it again with a choking grip around the base. “Okay, yeeeah,” he groaned. He climbed on the bed, still afraid to even touch Dominick. “You want the gag?”

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“Fuck me, George,” breathed Dominick and George just fell onto him, rutting madly while Dominick writhed beneath him and in a minute it was over, ropes of milky come over Dominick’s chest. “Gah.” George collapsed onto him, shifted a little as he felt Dominick’s hardness still pressing into him. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I warned you. Do you want me to…?” He moved his hand down. Dominick smiled and his sharpened canines glinted in the moonlight. “Let me taste you.” George swallowed and shifted his hips again as his cock gave a happy little twitch. “Dom, you’re driving me crazy.” He scrambled up, his legs shaking and his head still swimming with endorphins, but already his balls were tingling and happy as he eased above Dominick’s face and watched that wicked tongue licking his lips. Tentatively he touched the head of his half-erect cock to Dominick’s mouth. “Command me,” whispered Dominick and George moaned and grimaced as his cock hardened in his hand. Dominick’s tongue laved the tip, his lips closed around the head. “Suck me,” said George, his voice shaking. He cleared his throat and eased himself slowly into Dominick’s mouth. “That’s it, suck me…” Dominick sucked and George whimpered and quivered all over with the effort to not thrust into Dominick’s throat. “You’re tongue,” he whispered. “Aw... oh, Dom...” He felt the vampire’s chest rise and twist beneath him and suddenly remembered that raw swollen cock. With a Herculean effort, he pulled his cock out of that lovely mouth. “Hold on a minute, Dom.” Breathing hard and blinking to concentrate and not accidentally kick Dominick in the process, George rose and turned his body around so that he could thrust into Dominick’s mouth and still reach Dominick’s cock. Dominick groaned around him as he lowered his shaft again into that wonderfully cool yet freakishly erotic mouth. He licked the heavy wet shaft that lay beneath him now and heard Dominick groan again, his hips shifting eagerly. “Oh yeah.” Better than anything, thought George, gobbling Dominick down, sucking as hard as he could, trying to draw the whole long shaft into his mouth until he gagged, and feeling Dominick’s throat closing around him at the same time, Dominick’s tongue pressing the underside of his cock hard, fluttering around the tip until George wanted to scream and thrust. Then Dominick’s head came up, taking him deeper, and George was thrusting. He sucked hard, licking and coming again great bursts of feeling, half physical half emotional as Dominick’s throat clenched around him and cool salty fluid flooded George’s mouth. He fell off Dominick and lay for a minute, counting the stars that danced before his eyes, then spun around and untied Dominick’s restraints. “You okay?” He held Dominick’s cheek in his hand, staring down at Dominick in concern.

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“Blissful.”

“Wow, Dom. I never thought I’d be, you know, into this stuff.”

“You think of yourself as a gentle man, a kind man, and this does not fit with that picture?”

George grinned, and kissed him. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You are a gentle man, George. That’s why I take pleasure in this.”

George sat up and untied Dominick’s ankles. He lifted one high-arched foot and, smiling

foolishly, kissed it. He swiveled and grinned at Dominick, still holding his foot, one thumb

rubbing the arch suggestively. “Even your feet are sexy.”

Dominick wiggled his toes, stretching out his torso and sitting up as well. “You see me that

way.”

“Because I love you.” George’s face was glowing, but his eyes still had that strain in them.

Dominick didn’t know how to give George peace. He wiggled over and put his arms around his

lover and pushed his head into the space between shoulder and muscle.

George murmured something fervent and kissed his hair. If he couldn’t give George peace,

Dominick thought, then he could give George a night to remember.

“George?” Dominick played with one still hard nipple. George wriggled a little at the

stimulation. “Have you ever given a spanking?”

George groaned and chuckled. “Oh, maannn.”

*** “So you ready?” They had cleared Patricia’s living room of furniture and scattered a circle of herbs on the wooden floor. Dominick stood in the center of the circle, a sheen of sweat on his face and his pupils as

huge as if he had been drugged.

“I am ready, George.”

George thought it was a great thing that they’d spent their last time together in bed. He felt

enervated and weirdly unreal. It made all of this so much easier. His mind could only take in one

step at a time, could not think forward to what might happen.

“Are you sure, Dominick?” Patricia held an enormous book in her arms, opened to a page

covered with careful square letters. “You look a little sick.”

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“The guy is standing in a room with a hundred virtual knives pointing at him, Pat,” said George, indicating the multitudes of crosses and holy objects all around them. “Anybody’d feel a little loopy.” Patricia looked at him. “Okay, now wait a minute.” George bent down to a basket at his feet and brought out three wine glasses and dark wine bottle. He handed them around, and filled them with the Merlot. “But I thought you might like…” “It’s perfect,” said Dominick. He clinked the edge of his glass lightly against George’s. “To love.” George’s cheeks went pink. His eyes shone and he blinked and rubbed at them. “The things you say.” Patricia grimaced and blinked hard as well. Then she swallowed the wine in one gulp and set her glass on the table. “Okay, men. Let’s rock ‘n roll.” George gritted his teeth, watching Dominick intensely. Patricia said the words, and Dominick repeated him. He watched George until the end, when it seemed to become more difficult. He closed his eyes in concentration and kept coughing. “It’s burning his mouth,” muttered George. Patricia shot him a look and kept reading. Grimacing in concentration and probably some pain, Dominick repeated her words. The Latin was not vulgate and Dom’s pronunciation was strange to George, but he heard the essence of the confession and request for absolution. More than that, he saw the expression on Dominick’s face when he looked up at their good shepherd Christ hanging on Pat’s wall. And then Patricia stopped. Dominick echoed her last lines. They stood there. Somewhere outside, a nightingale called. Dominick looked at them with wide, exhausted eyes. “You feel any different?” whispered George. Dominick shook his head. Patricia actually looked at a loss. George reflected that he had rarely seen Patricia looking like she didn’t know what was called for at any given moment, and that fact alone made him feel how particularly out on the edge of all sanity they had traveled. He marched over to the ring of herbs and started carefully picking up all the bits and pieces.

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“Better clean this stuff up.” *** “I don’t know what to think,” said Patricia. They had cleared away the herbs and the holy objects and replaced her furniture. She and George were bent over coffee cups, the open Librio Malum in front of them. “I mean, how do you see a soul in somebody?” George had an urge to laugh which felt mildly angry. Hysterical laughter, he guessed, and worked to control it. “Seems like a theological question that should have been addressed ages ago.” Patricia regarded Dominick, who stood across the room reading the titles of books on Patricia’s shelves, his hands carefully clasped behind his back. “He seems the same.” “Well, you can’t see evil, can’t see good. Guess he would seem the same.” He ran his hands through his hair. He didn’t know how to feel yet. Half of him had been prepared to mourn. The other half filled with a kind of desperate hope. No part of him had expected to be right back where they had started. And Dominick seemed unable to look at him. Touch him. Patricia leaned slightly towards George. “Do you think,” she said, in a sotto voice whisper, “that he’s still a demon?” Dominick’s voice, from across the room, was bitter and heavy with his Spanish accent. “I can assure you of that,” he said, turning, his face tense and white, his eyes narrowed slits. “And in answer to your question of the other evening, Patricia, yes I think of you as food and yes I believe you would be delicious. So, you see, I am still the carnivore I was before. Still an animal, an unrepentant murderer, a monster and eater of…” He sat down heavily in a chair. “Dominick?” George touched the hands that Dominick held over his face and flinched back when the vampire seemed to shudder at his touch. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” said Dominick into his hands. “I know you’re disappointed.” Dominick shook his head and let a harsh laugh escape. “How could I think I’d be accepted, forgiven? After all I’ve done?” “We don’t know you weren’t…”

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“George, you have no idea. I have done such terrible things. I can’t even describe the pain I’ve caused. Oh. God!” Dominick bent over, as if in pain himself. “George…” said Patricia.

George had his arm around Dominick now, who seemed to not even notice him anymore. “Come

on, Dom. It doesn’t do any good to…”

“No!” roared Dominick, suddenly standing, knocking George back with the momentum. He staggered backwards, knocking a table over in the process, then started at the sound of the crash, looking desperately around him. “Dom…” George tried to say but Dominick had run from the room at vampiric speed.

George stared after him, sprawled across Patricia’s carpet.

Patricia stood, hands on her hips. “Well,” she said. “I think the soul kicked in.”

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Chapter Ten “Dominick, what a nice surprise,” said Cassius. “Where is Marcus?”

“My childe would have come here,” said Dominick. “He needs me.”

“Master Lawrence?” Cassius regarded his book, clicking his tongue. “He has requested no

visitors.”

“Please tell him it’s me,” said Dominick. “Thank you, Cassius. I don’t mind waiting. And he curled up in a crouch against the wall, expecting it to be quite some time. The older vampire strolled off with his message, and Dominick closed his eyes, shuddering. The smell of death was everywhere. The Guild was a refuge for his kind and he’d always experienced its aroma as pleasant and ‘homey.’ Now he could smell the corpses and the blood. The fear and horror of the victims saturated the air. Or perhaps that was only his own guilty memories. His skin was cold and he looked at his arm, revolted by the sight of it. He imagined George kissing him, licking him and tears rose to his eyes.

“Master?” Lawrence’s voice was petulant, but when Dominick looked up, he saw the hope in his

childe’s eyes. He stood.

“I wanted to see if you’d arrived safely.”

Lawrence jerked his chin in a nod, eyes narrowed. “Sure. I’m okay.”

“Master Lawrence has been quite entertaining,” chittered Cassius, long white fingers squeezing

the childe’s shoulder. Lawrence shrugged him off distastefully and Cassius twittered a nervous

laugh. “A very clever childe, Dominick. He has asked many interesting questions.”

“Bunch of stupid disorganized old ninnies,” said Lawrence. “Someone really needs to get them

internet access. And cable. Maybe cell service.”

Dominick almost smiled. How strange, that he could still feel amused despite everything. “What

questions do you have, childe?”

Lawrence regarded him for another beat. Then turned to Cassius. “Let him in, I guess,” he said.

“I’ve got a lot to learn and he is my Master.”

*** Horror, fear, remorse and disgust had been dominating Dominick’s thoughts for the entire night. Lawrence was a not unpleasant distraction.

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“So, like, how does this work,” said Lawrence, pointing at a sheet of glass that hung on the wall. “How come I can’t see my reflection?” “The glass reflects the truth. Things of the light. We are of the darkness, and non-truth, so it cannot see us.” “Didn’t you ever take a science class, man?” said Lawrence, waving his hands in exasperation. “The same thing that a glass reflects is the thing that people see when they look at us. How can you have one without the other?” “People don’t always see truly.” “That’s bullshit, man.” But Lawrence looked thoughtful. “How come I can’t remember being human?” “Ah, that.” Dominick looked around the little cell that had been chosen as Lawrence’s quarters. It was sparsely furnished, with a bed and a few objects, but otherwise empty. It reminded Dominick so much of his monkish cell that he smiled. He sat down upon the only chair. “I think, perhaps, death is such a shock that the human mind shuts down and can not accept waking to a new existence.” “So if I tried I might remember?” “Perhaps.” Dominick chose not to tell his childe that he himself could now remember everything about his human existence. He was not sure, yet, how much information about himself it was safe to make public. “But, Lawrence, why would you wish to do so?” “I figure I must have known a lot of stuff that I don’t know now. I figured it’d save time if I could remember it.” “Save time?” “Somebody needs to do something about this place,” said Lawrence, waving a hand. “Get them organized.” “Organized for what?” “The war, man. You know. Against the human race.” Dominick blinked, stilling himself to show no emotion. “Ah.” There was a rustle of silk at the door and a small blonde vampire, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Poinsettia, if said late vampire had been turned around the time her human body were sixteen, stood at the doorway. “Larry,” she said, gazing adoringly at Lawrence. “You wanted me to tell you when the food was delivered.”

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Lawrence looked at the girl and licked his lips and Dominick felt certain that the hunger expressed there was not solely for the delivered meal. “Thank you, Deliah,” he said, shifting his weight as the aroma of arousal filled the room. He glanced at Dominick and looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Ah, this is my sire.” The girl glanced at Dominick, but quickly brought her attention back to Lawrence, bouncing on her toes a bit so the satin of her ballerina style skirt flounced. “Pleased ta meetchya,” she said. “I was just leaving,” said Dominick, rising quickly. No one even glanced in his direction as he left the room. “Going so soon?” called Cassius, as Dominick swept by him. “He seems to be in good hands.” Dominick let the elder vampire see him roll his eyes humorously and heard Cassius cackling laughter behind him as he jogged up the stone steps and into the night air. *** It had been twenty-four hours and George found himself in that peculiar position of grim waiting that he was coming to associate with being in love with Dominick. There was an adolescent church dance and he had chaperone duties. He stood at the doorway to the little assembly hall, sipping Hi C punch, when he saw that particular silhouette filling the doorway across the dance floor. He set down his cup, not sure how to proceed, as Dominick approached him. Dark clothing all over, the disco balls lights skating across his serious dark features. “Hey.” Dominick’s eyes gazed at him hungrily. There was so much pain there, thought George. “Good evening, George. I… I came to warn you about something.” “Warn me? You didn’t come to ask me for a dance?” George gestured towards the dance floor where young people swayed in various stages of ‘too close touching.’ Dominick’s gaze swept the room impatiently. “Can we step outside?” “I shouldn’t.” George looked around until he spotted another chaperone and indicated with a series of hand gestures that he needed a minute. The man waved at him with both hands in a “shoo shoo” gesture and then pointed at his watch. George’s ‘shift’ was almost over. “Hey, I’m off, let’s go.”

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He headed straight for his apartment, happily. But Dominick stopped before they had gone far.

“No, George, I can’t. I came to warn you. Then I need to go…”

“Go? Go where?”

Dominick shrugged. “I can’t bear it.”

“Bear what exactly,” said George, the twenty-four hours of waiting, of holding his breath

emotionally, unraveling all at once. “Bear me? Am I the problem?”

“No. No, of course not, George.” Dominick looked so sad it made George’s heartbreak.

“Come home with me.”

“George, Lawrence is very dangerous. He is planning to mobilize the forces of evil against the

humans in this city.”

George’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “The heck you say,” he managed finally.

Dominick frowned. “I wanted to tell you.”

“What and then run off? Is that the plan? Take my heart, scare me half to death and then run

off?”

Dominick looked startled. “I don’t see what else…”

George was in Dominick’s space all in a swoop, his arms around Dominick, their lips pressed

together. He released Dominick finally and smiled at the stunned expression on the vampire’s

face. “There,” he said. “You can do that. Let’s do that again, and better, Dominick. Come home

with me.”

“No,” said Dominick. “You deserve better.” He wrestled himself free and then, before George

could protest, he ran. Not as fast as he could, admittedly, but away.

George ran after him. Dominick could hear his feet, his breathing. For some reason he couldn’t

bring himself to put on speed. He guessed a part of him wanted George to catch him. He

schooled himself to ignore that part, for George’s own good, and sprinted a little faster.

*** George could just see Dominick as he rounded the corner at the end of Patricia’s block of apartments and sped across the city park quad, toward the church. “Hey!” George caught up to him easily when he reached the church grounds. Dominick was just standing there, staring seemingly at a corner of the steps under the arbor. George trotted up those

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steps and stood, arms akimbo, head cocked in an affectation of amusement. “Trust you to run

towards the church rather than away, Dom.”

They were standing at that corner where the city grounds and sacred grounds merged. Dominick

contemplated the narrow brown trail that marked the edge of the holy ground. He put the toe of

his boot precisely on it. “George, where exactly does the church property begin?”

George felt somewhat rebuffed. Dominick seemed more interested in a little patch of well-trod

grass than in him. “Right there.” he pointed.

Dominick stepped there. “Here?”

George frowned. “Maybe it’s closer to the steps.”

Dominick took another step, closer to where George stood, under the arbor. “Here?”

“I don’t know, Dom. I thought we had this whole section of lawn. What’s supposed to happen

anyway?”

“I should be repelled. It would be like one of you mortals walking into a window.” He took

another two steps. He was standing now just inches from George, definitely under the eave of the

church.

“You’re not being repelled, Dom.”

“On the contrary. I’m feeling quite attracted.”

They grinned at each other. A grizzled tow-headed priest and a pale dark-eyed vampire.

“Well, what do you know?” said George.

“Less than I had thought, apparently.”

George wrapped his fingers around the cool smooth jaw, leaned forward and kissed Dom softly

on the lips. “Let’s go home.”

*** “Can you touch this?” George slid a heavy iron cross across the wooden table. Dominick poked it with one finger, first, experimentally, and then picked it up.

“Wow,” said George happily. “How about this?” He plunked down some rosary beads. All over

the table lay holy objects that Dominick appeared now to be able to touch. There were even some

Buddhist objects, as George was concerned the ‘fix’ had only worked for Christian things.

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“How very strange," said Dominick. “Can you touch this?” said George, grasping Dominick’s hand and, instead of placing it on the beads, placing it on his lips. Dominick touched those beloved lips with care. “They burn me, George,” he breathed. “How about this,” said George, rising and coming to Dominick so he could press Dominick’s palm to his crotch. “I fear I will burst into flames,” said Dominick, rising from his chair and into an embrace. “Dom,” said George when they came up for air. “Don’t… please don’t leave me again.” George’s heart beat in his eyes. Hope and faith and love like an eternal flame. Dominick slid his fingers around the back of George’s neck, feeling the warm flesh and cool silky hair. “I am afraid of hurting you, George.” “It hurts me more to not have you here,” said George. “It hurts like you wouldn’t believe, Dominick. I’ve… Dom, I’ve never been in love before, you know?” “It’s hard to believe,” said Dominick, tasting George’s chin, nibbling a path to his ears, until he stood on tiptoe and whispered into the freckled, pink ear. “You are so full of love.” “Different,” growled George, capturing Dominick’s head and kissing him vigorously. “Bed,” he growled again and began steering their combined bodies toward the bed. “Clothes,” he said, when they got there, and began unbuttoning Dominick’s slacks. Dominick let his head fall back on the pillow, laughing. “What happened to my articulate lover?” he said, spreading his arms to allow George to strip him. “Horny,” said George, looking up at him with mischievous eyes. He climbed Dominick’s body, wriggling out of his slacks and shirt until he lay across Dominick, fully naked. Cocks aligned and nestled side by side. George slid his torso up and down, grinning. “Good,” he said, hoarsely. Dominick arched his hips and rocked to match George’s pressure. He could feel the warm heat rubbing against one side of his cock, the tip catching at his cockhead on every stroke, the other side of his cock buried against George’s hard belly. George moaned and took his mouth, rocking faster. *** They moved together with such a fluid grace, thought George, delirious with pleasure. As if their bodies were made to fit each other. Dominick’s thighs closed around his hips and squeezed the skin cool and silky like satin sheets. He moaned as George kissed him and George felt the sharp

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incisors descend. He slid his tongue against them, and Dominick moaned louder, hands going around his back and hips arching sharply. Huh. George did it again. On one pass, the sharp tip pricked his lip and he pulled away briefly with surprise. Dominick lay beneath him, eyes black and throbbing with arousal, mouth open and red. A drop of George’s blood fell from his lips to Dominick’s mouth. He watched it land there as if in slow motion. Watched the flick and lick of Dominick’s tongue as he lapped it up instinctively. Felt the rumble and quivering in Dominick’s torso as Dominick tasted him. “You like that?” George whispered, surprised he wasn’t terrified. Dominick’s hand caught the back of his neck and pulled him down, his hips retaining the rhythm they had established and speeding up. Now Dominick dominated the kiss, tongue and lips sucking at George’s lip hungrily; long cock wet and jutting into George’s belly until finally Dominick jerked his head back and wailed, a long, low sound, as he came. Cool spurts of fluid spread on George’s belly. Breathless, wild, George fucked the wet skin until he too was shaking and crying out against Dominick’s neck, holding on as his orgasm ripped through him. “Oh,” said George after a long time. “Oh.” Dominick’s fingers made patterns in his hair. “My thoughts exactly.” “It gets more intense every time,” said George. Dominick was silent. George turned his head enough so he could kiss the chest that neither moved nor breathed beneath his cheek. “What are you thinking?” “That I cannot give you up, though I know it would be best to do so.” “Oh, good." George kissed and hugged Dominick tightly. They lay like that for some time. George reached down and pulled up the covers. Dominick wasn’t the warmest bedmate in the world. It was a little like sleeping on a cool soft pillow. “George," said Dominick after a while, still thoughtfully carding George’s hair. “I tasted your blood.” George had hoped to avoid this conversation. He sighed. He should have known better. “That was my fault, Dom; I got too close to those teeth.” The shaking beneath his cheek was hopefully Dominick laughing and not sobbing. George peered up at the vampire to make sure. Dominick’s eyes flashed down at him, his fangs showing as he laughed. “What’s so funny?”

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“I’m just so relieved George. I think I’ve been afraid, secretly, that you were in danger from me. That I might lose control and hurt you. Well, I have lost control a few times, but when I tasted your blood, I had no desire to hurt you.” “No?” George pondered. “Wait, that’s good, right. I mean, you don’t think my blood is disgusting, do you? Tastes too much like French fries? Hey, Dom, it’s only because my stove’s been on the fritz, I swear I don’t usually eat junk food…” That shaking started under his cheek again. “You taste delicious, George.” Dominick petted his hair, caressed his ear with one finger. “It made me come.” “Yeah?” George’s face grew warm as he blushed with pleasure. “And yet I had no desire to eat you. I am so relieved.” “So am I,” said George, finally getting how tenuously Dominick had perceived George’s safety and getting a latent shiver of fear after the fact. “Like really. Phew.” “Phew indeed.” Beneath him, Dominick moved uncomfortably. “I’d like to rise now.” “Sure.” George rolled off him and watched Dominick move around the room. “We should talk to your friend,” said Dominick. He stood, gazing out the window, his slender torso outlined by starlight. “About Lawrence and the Guild vampires.” “Yeah, you said.” George came to him and stood behind him, wrapping his arms around him. “It’s my doing, of course,” said Dominick. “I created him.” And just like that, George felt the shiver in his arms and Dominick seeming to just shrink. “Hey, you didn’t know better.” “Of course I did,” said Dominick, turning out of George’s arms and sinking into the chair. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his head there. George stood for a moment looking down at him. Then he pulled the comforter off the bed and draped it carefully over him before donning a robe and padding off to the kitchen to make coffee. He figured what with the sex and the hundred years of terrible crimes for which to feel remorse, it was going to be a very long night. *** George woke curled around a pillow on his bed. Dominick still stood by the window, sky beyond that pale gray of near sunrise.

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“Time to move,” said George, feeling a little nervous. Dominick’s fits of remorse verged on selfdestruction. George worried that the vampire only preserved himself for George’s sake. “Time for good little vampires to be tucked up in their nice safe shady beds.” Dominick turned, smiling. He looked terribly tired and old for an eternally young demon. “Good

morning.”

“Love you,” George reminded him cheerily.

Something lightened in those sad eyes for a moment. “Love you, too,” said Dominick softly.

“Wow.” George flopped back happily onto the pillows, throwing his arms out. “Can’t believe a

hot guy like you wants me.”

Dominick laughed. He came to sit on the bed. “You are so very beautiful, George.”

“Nah,” said George happily, “I’m just some scrawny white guy who burns too easily.”

Dominick shook his head, smiling. “St. George and the dragon,” he said.

George’s eyes were blue and lively, like the Mediterranean ocean in a summer of his distant

memories. “What are you talking about, Dom?”

“The paintings at the chapel in Florence.” George took up his hand, his lips nibbling their way from his wrist to his elbow in little peppering kisses. “You look just like him.” “Aw, man.” George wrapped his arms around Dominick and pulled him down, kissing him thoroughly. His breath full of sleep and some taste still of Dominick and coffee. When George released him, his lips were red and puffy and he smiled. “The things you say. Come back to bed with me, Dom. This saint wants his demon.” “Don’t you have obligations?”

“No. Oh, crud. Yes, I do.” George pushed Dominick away from him, all in a rush. He sat up.

“Shower, coffee.” He grabbed his crotch. “Gotta get me some pure thoughts. I’m meeting with

the lady’s auxiliary and I can’t show up with a woody.” He jumped up from the bed and headed

towards the kitchen.

“Well,” Dominick followed him across the floor, sidled into his space again. “I can’t provide

pure thoughts, but I can help with the shower.”

“Yeah?” George’s tired eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“Get your coffee; I’ll start it for you.”

***

Quod Tam Sitio - 136

“Fac me tibi semper magis credere, in te spem habere, te diligere…” The voice at the end of the hallway was a little hoarse, but buoyant with joy. Patricia worked the key into the lock of her office door and smiled at the haggard happy man who came sauntering towards her. “Good morning, Mother Stelter.”

“Good morning, Father White.”

“Beautiful morning.” George stopped in front of her, grinning like an idiot. He’d shaved, but

badly and his eyes were swollen and red. Patricia shook her head and worked her door open.

“George, you were not built for debauchery.”

George emitted a randy chuckle while leaning over to help pick up her books. “The mind is

willing, but the body is weak.”

“Huh.” Patricia went to the coffee pot and began making her patented mud. “How is Dominick?”

“Wonderful. Terrible. At times devastated.”

Patricia frowned. “I wish I understood what it means.”

George leaned against a bookcase, arms folded. “Dominick spent hours last night contemplating

the same thing. He wants to make amends, somehow. The remorse is horrible, Patricia. Frightening.” “I suppose we should have expected that.”

“He has asked for a confessor.” George pursed his lips and fixed his eyes on the tip of one of his

shoes. “Of course, I can’t really hear him…”

Patricia’s eyes went wide. “Oh, George, no.”

He didn’t move, but he looked up at her. Eyes full of faith and hope.

Patricia sighed. “You owe me.”

They sat down with their coffee.

“You know,” said George, putting yet more sugar in his coffee. “Remember when you asked

what I’d do if I ever met my mystery man?”

“Yes?”

George grinned.

Quod Tam Sitio - 137

“George,” said Patricia, holding her hand towards him, palm out, as if to ward off his words. “I do not want to know.” END

Quod Tam Sitio - 138