Temptations Inc

TEMPTATIONS, INC.

Willa Okati

® www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Temptations, Inc. Willa Okati This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © November 2007 by Willa Okati All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-569-2 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Olivia Wong Cover Artist: Marci Gass

Dedication Dedication: To Jet, Ally, JL, Kim, & Luisa with all my love and appreciation.

Chapter One

~ TEMPTATIONS, INCORPORATED: FINE FILM FANTASIES FROM YOUR FREAKY FRIENDS ~ Ryan read the sign a second time to make sure he’d seen it right. Had to be a joke, he thought, but nope, there it was in glistening, blue-painted letters like a wooden beer ad screwed to the wall of a bar. This, ladies and gentlemen, was his new place of employment. And this day, in his opinion, promised to be more than a little surreal. “Some kind of gig, huh?” Teddy, possibly Ryan’s closest friend and the only one who could rope him into something this insane, elbowed him. “So, tell me, young man, did you ever think this would be your life’s work?” “Hardly my life’s work.” Ryan returned the nudge, aiming for the most tender spot on Teddy’s ribs. “The joys of medical internship and forty-eight-hour workdays start up in July. For you too.” “Ow,” Teddy protested, shooting Ryan a wounded look. “Watch where you’re flapping those wings.” “You’re not hurt.” He sensed more indignity than pain radiating from Teddy’s aura. “Suck it up.” “Oh, that’s a great way to say thank you. Have you forgotten who you should be grateful to for this exciting new opportunity to enter the cultured world of adult entertainment?” Ryan rumpled Teddy’s hair, easy to do as his friend stood at least a head and a half below him. Short in stature, every inch packed with zest for life, Teddy was what Ryan’s dearly departed dad used to call a “firecracker.” Leave it to him to come up with this sort of solution to their financial problems.

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“I owe you, I know. But when I’m fifty and someone uncovers old photo prints of fine fornication captured on film --” “I can’t believe you talk like that. Why didn’t you major in English, again?” “-- then you’d better remember to back me up when I tell the gossip-hungry tabloids I did it because I was young and needed the money. And I didn’t major in English because I still don’t know how to diagram sentences. Naming the bones in the hand, on the other --” “What are friends for?” Teddy tilted his head back and read the Temptations, Incorporated sign once more, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m good. I am so good. Who knows how to work the connections, huh? See, this is why you need to party more. You meet the most amazing people around a beer keg, especially pretty ladies who know where to make the good money.” “Uh-huh. Do you even remember anything more than her cup size -- like, say, her name?” Teddy was indignant. “Of course I do. Tammy. Taffy. Something like that.” “You’re unreal.” His friend shrugged off Ryan’s scoffing. “Look, what does it matter? It’s not like we slept together, even if I swung that way. We talked. She was nice, albeit drunk, and she thought I was cute enough to give me the Temptations business card.” “You are pretty cute,” Ryan admitted. Teddy preened. “You know it. I worked my thang, and now look at us, all ready to make some cash. Who’s your daddy? Huh? Who’s your daddy?” “Stop it, goofball.” Laughing, Ryan jostled his hyperactive pal. “So, okay. We’re here, we’ve got our badges.” He looked down, cross-eyed, at the laminated name tag dangling from a lanyard around his neck. “Although I don’t think I can get used to being Hightop Bottom. What kind of porn name is that, anyway?” “Did you use that whole ‘first pet’s name’ and ‘street you grew up on’ schtick?” Teddy hooted. “Damn, man. That’s a pretty lame one. Listen to some good advice; forget it right away, and go back to just plain ‘Ryan.’ ‘Billy Balls,’ however, is stellar, if I do say so myself.” Teddy huffed on his own ID and buffed it with a sleeve. “You’re high on something, aren’t you?” Great student, stellar intellect, hell-bent on breaking his brain with the latest street rock, that was Teddy, God help him; but to be fair, his friend did have his reasons. Ryan’s thoughts still turned darkly gray and twisted unhappily when he thought about what had become of beautiful Isaac, Teddy’s one true love. “Me?” Despite knowing the same thoughts were likely going through Teddy’s mind, Ryan observed the brat pretending sunny innocence as he splayed his fingers wide over his heart. “You wound me. I’m high on life, beautiful, high on life. Come on, get into the spirit. And while we’re at it, let’s get into the eats.”

Temptations, Inc.

3

Ryan looked longingly at the buffet tables laid out in what he could only guess was Temptations’s employee lounge. More of a common area, he decided. The tables were laden with snacks of all kinds, most of them cold, but he could also smell the pungent richness of hot coffee in carafes. He could see everything from apparently low-fat potato chips and sodium-free imitation cheese puffs -- if the unopened packages behind the service area and discarded wrappings in trash cans were to be believed -- to granola bars, to what he hoped was a fruit-and-vegetable platter. A soon-to-be intern in need of cash lived, more or less, on ten-cent noodles and free samples. “You think we’re entitled? I mean, we haven’t even had a bit part in a film yet.” “I don’t see why we wouldn’t be.” Teddy shrugged. “What’s the worst they can do? Smack our hands for snaffling corn chips before we’ve wagged our weenies for the camera?” “Dork,” Ryan said fondly. “Seriously, I do owe you, and I won’t forget.” He nibbled the inside of his cheek. “So…do you have any Valium?” “You’re using?” “Nope. But if I’m going to need to strip down this afternoon, I think I’ll need something to calm my nerves.” Teddy snorted and employed a truly awful “Godfather”-type accent. “Ryan, baby, how many times have we been over this? You’re a star, or you will be soon.” He brought up his hands together as if framing Ryan through a camera lens and said, “Lean, tight body like yours and that sweet boy-next-door face? You’re the next masturbation fantasy for thousands of horny gay men. And possibly a lot of women. Ladies are kinda freaky these days with that jones they’re developing for the mano-a-mano action.” “I think you mean man-on-man.” “Eh, whatever. We’re gonna throw down either way.” Teddy waggled his eyebrows, leering, drawing a grin to Ryan’s lips. Ryan pretended to ignore him, fascinated by an earlier statement. “Women really…you know…get off on watching two gay guys?” “Hello! How many straight guys do you know who get their rocks off watching lesbian porn?” He had to admit Teddy made a good point. “You win.” “I always do.” Teddy beamed. “Hang back here if you want, pal. I’m going to go and stuff my face with trans fats and preservatives.” “Your cholesterol level rests on your own head,” Ryan called after his friend. Teddy flipped him off as he wiggled his narrow, shapely ass through the milling crowd of bleached blondes, voluptuous redheads curvy with implants, and sleek dark-skinned women who looked dainty as dolls but, Ryan had no doubt, could snap either him or Teddy in half. He crossed his fingers and prayed that the fates would smile on him and keep him out of “straight” roles. All the soft, bouncing flesh around him, the gorgeous empty eyes, and the

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shining hair -- they were nice to look at, he guessed -- but the sight did nothing for the state of his dick. He hadn’t seen many guys, and the ones he did spot were hard-bodied and hardfaced, decorated with thick gold chains and dripping with ’tude. They walked in the manner Ryan always thought of as “led by the cock” -- pelvis first -- in their approach to the world. And under the terms of the contract he’d signed with Temptations, Incorporated not two hours ago, he was legally bound to get fucked or fuck any one of them. This was absolutely no place for a guy who had an uncanny ability when it came to reading people. Sometimes it was almost like he could hear their thoughts and see what passed through their minds. Brief sensations, odd intuitions, quick mental pictures, that sort of thing. He wasn’t psychic -- God, no -- just…weirdly attuned. It could be way more of a hassle than a gift. Take today and this new job as cases in point. He really didn’t want to go through sucking someone off and reading, loud and clear, their annoyance at having to deal with such a newbie. Newbie, yeah, his second problem. He still boggled at his luck at getting this gig in the first place. Who’d hire a twenty-seven-year-old who not only had no experience in the film industry, but who could count the number of boyfriends he’d had on one hand with the forefinger and thumb left over for jerking himself off all alone?

What? Ryan grouched at his displeased ego. It happens. Last one picked for the softball team. Lighten up. I’ll probably clock more miles on the job than a prom queen after homecoming. If I can do this. And I damn well better with my signature on the dotted line. So here I go. Ryan rattled off a quick Hail, Mary for courage. Which saint did you pray to for that, again? He’d have to look it up on Wikipedia. You could Wiki anything these days. Asking Father Donnell was kind of out of the question, all things considered. He wondered, idly, exactly how many Acts of Contrition he’d get slammed with if he brought this up in confession. If he ever went back to Mass. Then he shrugged and made his way to the buffet line, falling in place at the tail end of the hungry procession. He couldn’t see it as being too smart of him to shamelessly cut ahead of the queue the way Teddy had. His friend got away with all sorts of outrageous behavior, and his mojo didn’t fail him now, the pretty, vapid women cooing over his multicolored hair and his “sweet smile.” Teddy camped up an attempt to make a melodramatic move and got his hand slapped by the giggling intended target and his neck hugged by another. Turning, Teddy flashed Ryan a dazzling grin and a thumbs up. Ryan waved back, grinning. Lord love him, but this was going to be the best gig of Teddy’s life. Not so much the best one on record for himself. What the heck, though. He’d be okay. And he’d finally get laid. These weren’t what you’d call the most ideal circumstances, but

Temptations, Inc.

5

from all the horror stories Ryan had heard, almost everyone’s first time with a stranger, and on film, to boot, was pretty horrible. Might as well get that out of the way and pick up some fuck tricks while he was on the job. And the paycheck would make up for any other lacks, for damn sure. Four hundred bucks per film. Comparatively not much, as the contract had warned him in fancier language while a stoned-seeming employee had popped his gum and waited for Ryan to wield the penis-shaped pen he’d been given. Temptations’s biggest stars -- wink, wink, nudge, nudge -pulled in over four thousand per film. Four hundred, though, that would go a long way toward helping with the rent. A couple of more films and he’d have rent plus groceries for a month or two, especially if he could find a couple of roommates to share expenses with after his internship started. If he could keep them from finding out where he worked on the side, that was. His stomach rumbled. Groceries. Food. Oooh. The closer Ryan came to the buffet table, the better the impressively lavish array of food looked. He scanned the picked-through platters and decided that popular favorites leaned toward sweet and away from savory, except for the nuts. What looked like a huge bowl of unsalted cashews had nearly been emptied. The fruit-and-vegetable platter he’d seen from the back of the line was stripped bare of everything save three cherry tomatoes, limp bell pepper rings, and a pile of scorned celery sticks. Celery spears weren’t filling or energizing, but they were fresh and they were green. Ryan’s mouth watered. He picked a paper plate free of the dwindling pile and wielded a set of tongs with amateur but enthusiastic flair, loading up the goodies. Tomatoes, celery, a dollop of peanut butter, a spoonful of cottage cheese, and some spicy-looking crackers. Oh, damn, actual cheese, not imitation cheddar-flavored food product! Cubes of pepper-speckled Jack and pale Swiss. A feast fit for a king. Or, er, a queen, as the case might be. Ryan hesitated over a selection of pretzel sticks, trying to decide if adding those to the growing pile on his plate would make him look like a pig. They called to him with their siren song of crunchiness and saltiness. “Go for it.” A man Ryan hadn’t noticed before bumped hips with Ryan as he sidled up beside him. He radiated a hail-fellow-well-met sort of good-natured aura, putting Ryan at his ease right away. And yet…and yet there was something odd about him. Something…different. Whatever it was didn’t feel dangerous or cruel, but Ryan didn’t think he’d ever run across that kind of signal before. It intrigued him. The man, of course, had no idea what Ryan was thinking and chattered cheerfully on. “If you don’t eat up, I’ll start shoveling those bad boys in, and then I’ll lose my girlish figure.” He winked. “Eh, what the hell. Are there any doughnuts left?”

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“Down by the coffee, I think.” Ryan pointed. He couldn’t help returning the friendly overture. “You know, you’re the first guy who’s talked to me besides the buddy I came with.” “Came with, huh?” The man winked. “You sly dog.” “What? I--” The penny dropped. Ryan felt himself flush red clear to his hairline. “Funny.” “Hey, no offense meant.” The man juggled his modest platter of peanuts and pepper jack cubes, wiped his hand on his jeans, and offered it to Ryan. “I’m À Vincente. À Vincente Lazare. Pleasure to meet you.”

Interesting name. Where have I heard of him before? Jeez, with a name like that you’d think I’d remember right away. “Likewise.” À Vincente’s hand was warm and dry, his grip strong but not one of those macho, bullshit challenges guys liked to pull. Ryan studied him. Cute. Really cute. Okay, sexy. Completely fucking sexy. Wavy dark hair, a firm jaw dusted with stubble, and mesmerizing eyes. A strange aura, shadowy-dark and compelling. His complexion was pale, brown sugar-colored, his nose strong in a way that made Ryan think of Roman statues. Italian, maybe? So familiar. “Have we met before?” “I don’t think so. Have you seen any of Temptations’s films? I’ve been in my share.” À Vincente went back to the important business of picking through an assortment of cookies, looking for a chocolate chip he said absentmindedly, before continuing where he’d left off. “Usually the queer movies. Unless that’s not your thing.” “No, it’s definitely my top choice when it comes to porn. Although I don’t really…I haven’t watched much…oh, hell.” À Vincente chortled. “You’re kidding me, right?” He eyed Ryan, his lips curled in a fartoo-sexy moue of amusement. “You’re not kidding. Wow, kid. You’re hot, I’ll give you that, but how the hell did you get a job in this biz?” “A friend of a friend.” “Ain’t that always the way. C’mon, stick with me.” À Vincente led Ryan down to the far end of the buffet table and the assorted carafes of coffee and juice. “Never had sex on camera before the audition, I’m guessing?” Ryan coughed to cover his embarrassment. “Actually, not even then.” À Vincente paused the lever on the coffee carafe in midspurt. “No way.” Ryan shrugged apologetically. “Damn.” À Vincente whistled softly as he returned to pulling his java. “What are you, one of the stars’ brothers? In which case, that’s twisted.” “Nope. Just a beginning medical intern who needs some cash.”

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À Vincente shook his head, but with a tickled smirk. “Deliver me from babes in the woods. It’s okay, but 99.99 percent of porn studios out there wouldn’t let someone through the door without a live audition before a panel of judges. You got lucky, bashful man.” “I’m not bashful,” Ryan protested. “Right. Sure you’re not. So why are you blushing?” À Vincente casually found a spot for his coffee cup on the buffet table and turned to face Ryan, giving Ryan his first chance for a good look at the man’s body. Whoa, momma. Six feet-plus of sculpted muscles rippling under a thin, plain, white T-shirt and leading to a tapered waist that was defined by tight, tight jeans with artful rips and trailing cuffs. A tribal armband tattoo wound around his bicep. Certainly well aware that he was being gawked at, À Vincente posed for Ryan, displaying his puckish, impish lips in a pout as pretty as a girl’s. Ryan ached to reach out and run his fingers through À Vincente’s raven dark waves of hair, even if he knew the style was carefully arranged to look like he’d done no more than roll out of bed and shake tangles from the mop. Ryan had seen a few porno flicks in his day. Not many. For the most part, the horrible dialogue and wooden acting made him want to giggle. There was one, though, he’d actually sat through all the way -- minus breaks to take the pressure off. It had been different from the others, shot in low light with creative camera angles, the emphasis almost as much on what they didn’t show as what they did. Hard-core, absolutely, triple-X and not for minors. Yet…compelling. He’d have bought or rented some more if he’d had the cash to spare. The lead in the film had worn a harlequin mask that obscured half his face, and his name had been just plain “Vincent,” but hot damn! Ryan recognized him now. “You’re Vincent, À Vincente,” he blurted, fingers going to his lips. “Oh, my God, with a name like yours I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. À Vincente.” “À Vincente, Vincent, and other names. Sometimes I go by Blade Bone. A rose by any other name still has thorns. Whatever you want to call me, I’m at your service.” The leading man of the sexy screen sketched a bow from the waist. “You’re not going to go and get all starstruck, are you?” Tempting. À Vincente had starred in night after night of erotic dreams long after Ryan had returned the DVD to the adult rental store. But, Ryan reasoned, how would he feel if some wide-eyed neophyte started to fanboy him after perving over a film? “Nah, don’t worry about me.” “Thanks.” À Vincente took Ryan’s hand without warning and lifted it to his lips. He kissed the knuckles. Hommina, hommina, hommina. The kiss was hot, tantalizingly moist, and damned if Ryan didn’t start getting hard right there with a paper plate of snacks in one hand. “Um…no problem.” Ryan wondered if À Vincente planned to give him his hand back anytime soon. Not that he minded if the hunk hung on to it a little longer.

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“You taste good.” À Vincente released Ryan. “You know, I swing both ways. Mostly for women these days, but for the chance to have long runner’s legs like yours wrapped around my waist, I’d gladly swing back. Maybe we’ll work together.” “Awesome.” Ryan hid his discombobulation behind a hastily pulled Dixie cup of orange juice. Pulp. Ecch. “See you around, huh?” “I think you can count on it.” À Vincente winked, grabbed his beverage, turned, then walked away. Ryan watched him go, marveling at how the ass that had captivated him on film was twice as tempting in the flesh. He could almost feel the tight cheeks cupped in his palms, muscles coiling and flexing as he drove his cock hard and deep inside. The familiar scent of patchouli and ylang-ylang with just a hint of reefer wafted into Ryan’s nose. Teddy laid his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “My, my. You know how to pick ’em.” “Don’t I, though?” “Not bad for your first day on the job.” Teddy pointed. “Look, I see a couple of empty chairs. Let’s book.” It seemed most of the other star talent had finished their nibbling by then. Ryan spotted more than a few empty plastic chairs scattered around, dotting the otherwise depressingly industrial space with splashes of primary colors. Didn’t appear much like what he’d expected of a porn studio. He’d thought there would be more lights, more of the sharp tang of greasepaint, and a lot of slouchy, weaselly types drawling into headsets. Everyone looked more or less normal, if impersonal. Ordinary men and women, albeit a larger-than-average group of the young, beautiful, and hung collected in one place, the sort of people Ryan didn’t think he’d look twice at in the grocery store checkout line or at the next dryer over in the Laundromat. One freckled redhead, her possibly genuine copper curls bound in farm-girl braids, their color matching those of the cute smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, smiled at them as they reached her, practically glowing with an insane amount of earnest goodwill and open friendliness -- enough that Ryan almost stopped to boggle at her. Was she for real? Were those triple-ungodly-cup-size boobs real? Breasts did nothing for him, but the size of these made even his eyeballs itch to stare. “Morning, boys. You’re new, I see,” she chirped in a sweet Southern drawl. “How do you like it?” “I’m in heaven,” Teddy enthused. He eyed the stacked redhead up and down. Ryan hastily excused his friend. “He’s a perv. Sorry.” The redhead rolled her eyes with tolerant humor. Ryan liked her aura as humor softened it into a mixture of Southern Comfort and no-nonsense practicality. “Don’t sweat it. Trust me, I’m more than used to guys copping an eyeful until they get used to the daily bump and grind.” She swiveled her hips. “Enjoy it while it lasts. After a few days, the sight of a naked pussy won’t even register.”

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“It might for him, but not on a Richter scale of good things. They don’t come much gayer than Ryan, here. Oh, and I’m Teddy.” His friend, the little horndog, tried to take the redhead’s hand for a kiss. “And you are?” “Not interested, sweetie, or is that Billy Balls?” The redhead lightly popped Teddy’s hand. “I’m Julianne. The owner of Temptations, Incorporated, which makes me your new boss. Welcome to the company.” “Shit!” Teddy swore, not as under his breath as he’d probably intended. “I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be.” Julianne wrinkled her nose with gamin good cheer. “I like your spunk.” Ryan, who had chosen that moment to hide behind his cup of orange juice, spluttered around a sip of pulp that threatened to go down the wrong way. “Jesus, man!” Teddy pounded his back, humiliation forgotten. “Get off.” Ryan shoved his friend. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Sorry.” “Not a problem. I’m easy.” The sparkle in Julianne’s eyes dared either one of them to rise to the bait a second time, intentionally or not. When neither did, she nodded in approval. “I thought I’d take a few minutes to get to know you two. We don’t usually hire based on some glossy head shots and a clothes-on video application.” She cocked her head. “Clothes-on in our Hightop Bottom or Ryan’s case, anyway. Thank you for demonstrating those…unusual…toy talents for me, Teddy. Your boyfriend must be a good guy.” “He is,” Teddy said, looking away for a moment. Pain briefly twisted his grin to a grimace. Julianne tactfully overlooked his reaction. “It’s so true that all the good ones are gay. I see it every day.” Ryan had no idea what to say, so he ducked his head and smiled. “Oh, you’re sweet. Bashful as a baby deer and built like a ten-horned buck.” Julianne’s gaze, as it raked over Ryan, was less lusty than appraising. “Open your shirt.” “Excuse me?” “Honey, it’s one of the most innocent requests you’ll hear around here, and it hardly qualifies as harassment in the workplace given the nature of the workplace.” Julianne’s wide hazel eyes twinkled. “I need to get a look to size you up for a role I have in mind, a new script that the writing team finished this morning. Unbutton that shirt, and let’s see what you’ve got.” She clapped her hands. “Chop, chop.” Giving Teddy a dubious look in lieu of boggling at Julianne, Ryan handed Teddy his lightened plate of snacks. “Hold this.” “Can I watch too?” “Voyeur.” “It’s my specialty.” Teddy stood back and started to hum “The Stripper” off-key.

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Ryan took a deep breath. He could do this. He didn’t have a problem taking off his clothes in locker rooms, after all. It just felt different and slightly creepy to strip down in front of a total stranger who’d be giving him points based on the definition of his abs versus how hot they’d look on camera. Before he lost his nerve, he flicked open the seven buttons of his loose, oversized, blue-and-beige-striped button-down -- no way he could afford to get anything tailor-made to fit well over his broad shoulders and long limbs -- and held the sides open. Julianne whistled. “Holy cow. Why do you hide under those potato-sack clothes?” “Low self-image,” Teddy confided. “I keep telling him he’s got absolutely nothing to worry about. What do you think?” “I think he must want to throttle you on a regular basis. I also think -- may I?” -- this to Ryan -- “ooh.” Julianne stroked the six-pack that Ryan hadn’t worked for, specifically, but which had been the natural result of the hour he spent lifting weights every morning to clear his mind. “Nice, nice. I think I like the bashful demeanor. You’ll do great for the boy-nextdoor roles. I can imagine how sick you must be of hearing that, but it’s true.” “I don’t mind.” And most of the time, Ryan didn’t. He was what he was, and if he had an embarrassing habit of getting tongue-tied and, okay, bashful around the guys who turned him on, he was still young. He had time to iron out the kinks in his dating approach. “I’m grateful for your giving us the opportunity to work here.” He frowned. “I didn’t know about the video application.” The thought made him want to squirm just as it did the first time, but… “Do you want me to film another one with, um, less in the way?” “Nah, although I might send someone after you with a tape measure to check your facts,” Julianne teased. “Hey, I knew you could smile. Really sweet smile too. You’re going to wow them with that ingénue image you project. Naïve stud seduced by stern professor or gruff drill sergeant or the visiting handyman. The viewing audience will eat you up with a spoon. Don’t think I’m kidding about the tape measure, though.” “I don’t think I’d underestimate you about anything,” Ryan admitted. “I like him.” Julianne addressed Teddy. “New job for you: don’t let him get spooked and bolt.” “Aye, aye, ma’am.” Teddy saluted. “What about me?” “What about you?” Julianne pursed her lips at Teddy. “Well, I showed a lot more skin on the video. Any casting in mind for me?” Ryan snickered. “Let’s see. Five feet eight; spiky hair that I suspect from your roots is probably a nice ash blond under the purple, scarlet, and lime green Kool-Aid dye job; five, no, six earrings; and an Isis necklace. I’m seeing you as the Goth punk who hangs out in smoky bars and who bends over for anyone who’ll dish it out.”

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“Accurate,” Ryan said gravely. Teddy aimed a stomp at Ryan’s instep and missed when Ryan sidestepped too quick for him. His friend had projected his mental desire to crush Ryan’s foot loud and clear. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” Teddy scolded. “Can I wear black eyeliner and have people talk about my pretty mouth?” Julianne cackled. “And you’re a med school graduate?” Teddy preened. “Neuroscience is going to be my specialty.” “It’s true,” Ryan confirmed when Julianne shot him a look of disbelief. “Me, I’m considering focusing on bloodborne illnesses, hereditary and environmental.” “Just when I think I’ve seen it all. Okay. You’ve read through all the disclaimers, but just to reiterate, you won’t need to do any research on the job. I run this joint like a licensed Nevada whorehouse. Regular checkups through a subsidized clinic and mandatory blood tests. Good thing you’re knowledgeable about health and your recorded physical status is up to date.” Julianne began to tick safety measures off on her fingers. “Rubbers on when you fuck. No exceptions. If I catch you barebacking or trying to coax or blackmail one of the talent into barebacking, you’re gone. Never shoot in someone’s mouth unless you’ve given them fair warning and they won’t let go, in which case the damn fools get what they deserve in my opinion. If we need a money shot, we use a squeeze ball with watered-down condensed milk or Elmer’s glue. Capisce?” Teddy had wandered off on his own personal train of thought. “Ooh! What about a role where I’m trying to get into a Hells Angels gang?” “Lord have mercy, I can already tell you’re going to be a handful. More than a handful, as I remember from your video. You’re lucky I like people with at least as much personality as looks, although I give extra credit for cock size.” Julianne tossed one of her coppery braids back over her shoulder. She looked open, friendly, and honest, but Ryan could see the shrewd, practical, business mind of steel operating behind her pretty hazel eyes. Here, he decided, was a woman to be careful of. “It was good to meet you two. Ryan, I’m glad to say that my gut instincts have steered me right once again. I’ve got to go have a chat with the scriptwriting team now.” She held up a hand. “I know what you’re about to say, so don’t get smart. Here we use actual scripts that are typed by real, live humans, not oversexed chimpanzees who’ve been taught to work a keyboard while one hand is stuck in the jack-off position.” She winked at them. “They’ll hand out parts in a few minutes. Sit tight, and get ready to be stars.” Teddy fanned himself as Julianne walked away. “Hotcha, baby.” He leered and waggled his eyebrows. “You think she ever gets in front of the camera?” “Quit with the bisexual act. Besides, only you would even think such a thing.” “What? She’s smokin’.”

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“You can’t fool me, you big faker. Sit down and eat your” --Ryan scanned Teddy’s plate -- “chocolate swirl doughnut. How little do you weigh again? You and your metabolism both suck.” “So I’m told.” Teddy puffed out his far-from-shabby chest but plunked down in the red plastic chair he’d chosen earlier, kicking out his feet and taking a hefty bite of pastry. He chewed with a look of ecstatic bliss. “You were talking to À Vincente earlier, right?” Ryan’s neck grew warm. “Yeah. He seems like a nice guy.” “That’s what I’ve heard.” Teddy licked cocoa frosting off his forefinger. “Really nice guy, no doubt about it, but if you think I’m a walking hormone, I’m sad to say you haven’t seen nothin’ yet. Scuttlebutt from the buxom blondes tells me that À Vincente puts me to shame.” “Huh.” Ryan perched sideways in the blue chair next to Teddy, which wobbled alarmingly until he braced his feet in their sturdy athletic sneakers. He searched the considerable crowd of porn stars until he spotted À Vincente by the far wall, seemingly happily surrounded by cooing brunettes petting his arms and chest. “I can tell.” Well, he’d known better than to think a kiss to the hand really meant anything. Right? “Looks like he gets around.” “Like Dale Earnhardt, Jr. on the NASCAR speedway. This lady named Candy told me À Vincente loves ’em all and he leaves ’em just as fast. Spreads it wide and spreads himself around. Hmm.” Teddy polished off his doughnut and snaffled one of Ryan’s celery sticks, dipping it in a dollop of peanut butter. “You think I have a shot? A money shot?” Ryan mimed squeezing a tube. “Remember the Elmer’s.” “Crap. Yeah. Anyway, word has it that À Vincente plays it gay and straight in the movies, art imitating life.” “Odds are good.” Ryan shrugged and glanced away from À Vincente before that weird human sixth sense kicked in that told someone when they were being watched. “By the way, regardless of whether or not it’s complete bullshit, I’m taking note of everything you say for blackmail material. Tolerant or not, Isaac is so kicking your ass if he hears some of these tales out of school.” “Isaac, if you’ll remember, was perfectly fine with my taking this job.” Teddy’s gaze turned inward and the corners of his mouth curved down. “We do what we have to. You know?” Ryan winced internally. He did know. Teddy had stuck with Isaac, his boyfriend since high school, through the thick and the thin, including weathering the fallout after Isaac’s crosswalk run-in with a Jeep that had barreled through a red light. The man had scars on his face and his now-useless limbs, and Teddy would forever have deep, deep bruises on his heart. “Sorry, man.” He tried to pat Teddy’s knee. “I wouldn’t really go blabbing to your lover.”

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“Nah.” Teddy dredged his good cheer back up. “I know you wouldn’t.” “We’re cool?” Ryan asked hesitantly. “So very cool.” Teddy stole the last of the pepper jack and blew Ryan a kiss. “No more of this maudlin crap, okay? Power and glory await.” “So does getting drilled up the ass by one of those tank-sized guys.” “And this is a bad thing? Trust me.” Teddy leaned in close to whisper the next. “Once you get laid regularly, and by a pro no less, it’ll be like a whole new world for you. Some would say getting you a job in the porno biz is kind of overkill, but me, I say there’s nothing like diving in the deep end. You’ll fall in love with the way it makes you feel.” He retreated. “So. You ready?” “Ready, more or less willing, and I can definitely say able.” Ryan tossed a cherry tomato in the air and caught it in his mouth. The sweet, tangy skin popped between his teeth, releasing a gush of acidic juice. Delicious. “How long do you think we have before the working day proper starts?” “Dunno. Why? Don’t tell me you’re bored.” “More like antsy. I could do with something to distract me. Hey, do you still have that immunology textbook?” “Dude.” Teddy had gone still. “Don’t look now, but you’re being checked out.” “I’m what? By who?” Ryan twisted around to see. “I told you not to look! You’re such a chick sometimes,” Teddy scolded. “Fine. À Vincente at ten o’clock, undressing you with his eyes. By the way, did you realize your shirt’s still open?” “What? Shit!” Ryan fought the urge to cover himself like a blushing virgin. Which, okay, he practically was. Didn’t mean he wanted to advertise his relative inexperience with a bullhorn. He looked up through his eyelashes for a furtive peek in the appropriate direction and had to catch his breath. À Vincente, none other than the porn prince himself, leaned against a wall, staring back at Ryan through hooded eyes. Their color had changed from the sepia brown he’d noticed earlier to smoky darkness. Sexual energy rolled from his tight hard body in nearly visible waves, from the cock of his hips to the bulge of his forearms as they crossed over his sturdy chest, and the oh-my-God-sized package that was advertised rather than concealed behind the button-fly of his jeans. Ryan didn’t think anyone had ever looked at him that way before, like he was the prize in some kind of game. If anyone had, he’d probably have gotten pissed at being measured up like a cut of meat. The comparison didn’t not apply here. The difference might have been that he found himself desperately hoping À Vincente really did like what he saw.

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À Vincente mouthed something at Ryan, who cursed his inability to read lips. Had he actually said “you and me, later”? Ryan’s pulse sped up. He chanced a nod and a smile and was rewarded by the sultry curve of À Vincente’s lips. Love ’em and leave ’em? Fine with him. If he took a strictly practical, prosaic view, he knew life wasn’t a fairy tale, and he’d be a fool to turn down a chance with a man like À Vincente. If he went in with the knowledge that they’d have a one-night stand, he wouldn’t end up emotionally involved and chance his heart getting bruised. Sounded like a plan. À Vincente shimmied for Ryan’s benefit, then gestured in the direction of the other wall. Curious, Ryan swiveled to look and saw Julianne, her braids now caught up behind her head, walking in front of a group of young guys with nearly uniform beards and dark, thickrimmed glasses. “All right, kids,” she called, the summons for attention rising above the low hum of chatter from her stable of talent. “New scripts for you, more of the paranormal films this time around. So, who thinks they have what it takes to be Prince Charming for their not-soSnow Whites?”

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Chapter Two À Vincente kept his chuckle to himself at the sight of Ryan, enjoying the way the younger man jumped and went wide-eyed at Julianne’s announcement. He looked like a high school sophomore who was dying for the lead role in Grease but at the same time was terrified that he’d actually gotten the part. Odds were good that Ryan had already landed a prime piece of action. À Vincente knew Julianne well -- he and her family had been partners since the early 1700s -- and she had a fine, sharp eye for new talent. And talent like Ryan didn’t come along every day. Julianne and À Vincente had both recognized the kid’s potential from the moment À Vincente had snuck into her office to tease her, and they’d both seen the digital recording start to roll on Julianne’s laptop. À Vincente had clicked his fingers and pointed at those wide, mobile lips, the sexy shyness inherent in the way he looked up at the camera from beneath the curtain of his hair, and the unconsciously sultry way he moved, speaking more with his hands than with articulated words. Ryan shouted “inexperienced” but he had guts, and if he was anything like the twenty-somethings À Vincente worked with, he had the libido. The kid had it in him to be the next big thing. Clothed application video or not, he was in. His blushing, bashful claim to have nine inches, erect, hadn’t hurt his case, either. God, he was cute. À Vincente indulged himself in watching Ryan as he got up, patting uncertain hands on his jeans, straightening his shoulders. Attaboy. You show ’em. Lights, camera, action. Click! It had been a long, long time since À Vincente was anywhere within shouting distance of this doe-eyed kid’s age, but he remembered those days like they were bare moments before. Kind of went with the rest of the territory. He never forgot anything, not even when he wanted to. Some memories kept him up at nights, reaching for a bottle of single-malt

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Scotch; some memories were worth savoring in bed on a long, lazy Sunday morning, hand on his dick and his mind far away in peaceful, ripe lands filled with blood-warm air that smelled of honey. Watching Ryan, À Vincente didn’t bother trying to act surreptitious. Coyness would draw far more attention than his good ol’ fashioned size-’em-up ever did; you gave people what they expected when they were on your side, and did absolutely everything your enemies wouldn’t be thinking of, to throw them off the scent. He’d barely had a minute, maybe two, with the kid. What was his name? Ryan Jared? Like the guy who ate nothing but veggie hoagies for a couple of years and dropped a few hundred pounds? Wait, Jared Fogle, that was the sub sandwich guy. À Vincente didn’t think he’d have any trouble getting the two confused, although he did want to check out the size of Ryan’s hoagie. À Vincente’s own diet wasn’t any too varied, but he’d tried commercially processed subs before, and he wasn’t sure whether he respected that other Jared guy for his tenacity or wanted to co-write a book with him about the Zen of single-source diets. Or something like that. It’d be better than nabbing a reporter off the street and offering to tell the story of his life. His long, long life. Had he missed another birthday? Yeah, he thought he had. So it was 1413 when he left the village…carry the 9…heading on six hundred years, by damn.

If only the Father Abbots in Rome could see me now. À Vincente smirked, raising the last dregs of his coffee in its Styrofoam cup for a toast. I kind of doubt they’d salute my climb from my humble origins and tell me I’ve come a long way, baby. Or then again, they might. Celibacy in the monasteries? Please. Been there, done that, and now I’m makin’ the movies. Although they’d lash you bloody with a rawhide whip if you got caught. That was the all-important catch. “Hey, baby,” a high female voice squealed in À Vincente’s ear. The endearment burst over his aural canals like the bubble gum this particular piece of “talent” chewed incessantly -- sticky and pink and sugarcoated. She boasted the rough equivalent of the IQ of a pack of Bubble Yum too. Her fingers felt as bony and fragile as twigs when she groped him. Not exactly a turn-on. “Ooh, feel those muscles.” “Lollipop,” he said with a straight face, although he still couldn’t believe anyone would choose to be called that, even as a porn name. “Have you been using again?” Seen from close up, her gorgeous, empty blue eyes were dilated, the pupils blown. Lollipop pouted. “No.” “Liar.” À Vincente didn’t like making enemies, even when people fairly begged for an ass kicking -- unless they took the first swing. He wrapped his arm around Lollipop’s impossibly tiny waist -- impossible until you remembered how hard she used to hit the snow

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and remembered the way that shit took away the appetite. He doubted she’d ever spent money on food when she could get smack. He took a second look and discreetly sniffed her skin. Fuck. She reeked of drugs. Looked like she’d fallen of the wagon. “Are you using again?” he repeated. “Don’t be silly.” Lollipop sighed breathily and clung to him with arms that had once been supple and appealing but were getting scrawny. “You are so sexy, baby.” À Vincente shook her off. “Damn it, Lolly. Julianne gets wind of this and your ass is grass. You do know that, right?” À Vincente knew he should tell Julianne right away -- for the sake of the rest of the cast and crew -- but damn it, he hated snitching. It wasn’t like Julianne wouldn’t figure it out the next time Lolly stepped in front of the unforgiving camera lens. You could hide even less now that porno had gone high def. Didn’t look like Lolly had heard a word of what he’d said. “I was wondering, baby,” she started in a little-girl lisp. “I need a loan to cover me until next payday.” The last payday had been two days before, and À Vincente knew damn well Lollipop made good money. “You know I love you, Lolly, but I’m not lending you anything. We’ve talked about this before.” Lollipop produced two huge tears to tremble on her wispy, pale eyelashes. “But, baby --” “No, Lolly.” À Vincente gently disentangled her. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Life’s too short for you to do this to yourself.” Over half a millennium alive, and he still couldn’t get over the millions of creative ways men and women came up with to destroy themselves. Granted, this was a mighty big glass house in which he stood throwing stones, seeing as he’d traded his immortal soul to a vampire way back when, but c’est la vie, c’est la mort. Lollipop sniffled. “You…you…you don’t love me,” she wailed, drawing curious glances from those who didn’t know her well and God-give-me-strength eye rolls from those who’d been around a while. À Vincente held back a sigh. He’d perfected the art of training his lungs to breathe without conscious effort, all the better to fool overzealous hunters and potential dinners. It had been a good skill to learn, one of many that kept him going centuries after his peers had learned the true meaning of “dust to dust.” He couldn’t think of anything more to say to Lollipop, so he shrugged and held up his hands. “Please,” Lollipop implored. She switched tacks and tried for a taste of seduction, rolling her bony hip against his. “We were good together, baby. I can make you feel good again, as much as you want.” À Vincente could see the growing edge of ugliness under her sweet, sweet syrup. He stepped back as graciously as he could. “I never had to pay for it once in my life, Lolly. I’m not starting now. Get help.”

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“Fuck you!” Lollipop lost her temper at last and took a wild swing. She’d telegraphed the slap as broadly as if she were using semaphore flags, and even a man without vampiric reflexes could have warded her off. But she needed to hit someone, so À Vincente let her land the light, ineffectual blow. She wouldn’t hurt him, and while Julianne bitched about catfights, if she fired everyone who acted out, she wouldn’t have a cast left. He mentally braced himself. If Julianne did try to can Lolly for this, he’d try to talk her out of it. Jesus, the last thing he needed was an ex-star stalking around telling people a big bad man had fired her because she’d hit him. Lollipop stalked away to a chorus of whoops, whistles, and catcalls while, behind her back, À Vincente mugged for the crowd and blew kisses. Just another day in the life -- or the unlife, if you wanted to get picky. “All right, kids, settle down,” Julianne griped. “Lucinda, you’re off the set for the rest of the session. Ah, ah, ah!” she barked over Lollipop’s insta-whine. “You know the rules. No biting, no hair pulling, no slapping. You’re benched. Suck it up and deal.” À Vincente did love the way Julianne approached life. NFL Hall of Famer Mike Ditka had nothing on her ’tude. “And you watch yourself too, À Vincente.” “Me? I’m the one who got bitch-slapped, here.” “Yeah, well, consider it a general warning.” Julianne’s knowing gleam leached away any sting. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll get me for this later. Okay, people, the script writers are coming around. They know who you are, so no trading and no stealing anyone else’s lines. You get an hour to run over your parts, and then we head for filming.” Ryan’s obvious shock at the lack of prep time tickled À Vincente pink. Julianne might go for decent plot, but hey, most of that plot did revolve around getting the object of one’s affections naked and keeping them that way. As long as they could fake an orgasm and keep a few lines of dialogue in mind, they were good to go. Most of them. À Vincente had a feeling Julianne had something more than that in mind for Ryan. One of the nearly unidentifiable script geeks, his thick, black eyeglass frames askew on his nose, shoved a thinnish sheaf of stapled pages at À Vincente and mumbled a stream of incomprehensible directions. He jabbed his thumb at the lines highlighted in lavender marker. “Ha ha,” À Vincente scoffed. Ah, hell, at least they hadn’t used pink as well this time around. The Stepford geeks were a strange bunch. À Vincente didn’t bother reading his script beyond the opening setup of a bad-boy biker entering a low-class bar looking for action, preferring to check out Ryan for his reaction to whatever his assignment had been.

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Interesting. Ryan looked neither freaked out nor excited. As a matter of fact, as he scanned the printed pages, flipping them over neatly, he looked as if he were reading a notvery-exciting newspaper. Not what À Vincente had expected. At that angle, Ryan suddenly reminded À Vincente of a peach of a guy he’d known back in Shakespeare’s day. Sun-kissed limbs and timid eagerness. À Vincente had needed to coax him step by step. Once the man had let himself fall, he’d been the kind of love that could have lasted for even as long a lifetime as À Vincente had in front of him. If he’d… They could have… Ah, hell. Not after the one he’d loved and lost before he’d traded his soul. Water under the burned bridge. Dancing in place next to Ryan was Teddy, his psychotically entertaining buddy, who was pumping his hips in lewd exaggeration, revving the handles of an air motorcycle.

Guess I know who I’m having fun with today. Not a bad gig. Mr. Multicolors looked like he’d be a tiger in the sack. If À Vincente could teach him to be careful of his teeth and his nails, they’d be A-okay. Julianne stepped up to Ryan, taking his hand between hers and saying something far too quietly for human ears to catch. À Vincente hesitated, torn between shameless eavesdropping and respecting the kid’s privacy bubble. Wait, what was he thinking? À Vincente snorted at himself and hitched forward to listen in. The plan worked in theory, but not so great in practice. A tiny Asian girl whom À Vincente recognized as one of Lolly’s cronies, tough as nails and mean as a junkyard dog, burst from the milling crowd of talent and jabbed a sharp, sharp fingernail in his chest. “What did you say to Lollipop?” The patience À Vincente had learned over the centuries was wearing thin by that point. “Taffy, I don’t have time for this.” He tried to angle past her for a better look at Ryan. Without concentrating, he had no idea what the kid and Julianne were discussing, and he couldn’t get a good bead on what the kid was thinking. “No? Listen, asshole, Lollipop is in love with you --” “What? Spare me. The only things Lolly loves melt in a spoon over high heat.” “You think I’m shitting you?” “No, I think you’re high too. Back off, Taff.” “Fuck you.” Taff stomped her foot, the spike of her heel coming dangerously close to À Vincente’s toes. He had a strong feeling that she’d missed on purpose, but only because she valued her own hide too dearly to risk her job. Jesus, what was it with the women trying to beat up on him today? He’d never hit a woman outside of a few staged paddling sessions, but sometimes he did long for the authority to send them into corners with orders to press their noses against the wall.

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“I saw the way you’ve been looking at him.” Taffy’s small mouth that could have been a lush Cupid’s bow thinned out with smugness. “Is he gonna be the next notch on your bedpost?” À Vincente chewed that one over. On the one hand, they filmed sexually explicit movies, so the question didn’t bother him any more than “do you need a fluffer?” On the other hand, a bitch like Taffy could make Ryan’s life hell if she had a reason to go after him, and he really didn’t want Ryan to have to deal with the likes of her before he had to. He settled for replying with a shrug and the return of his sexiest, most rakish smirk. “Maybe so, maybe not. Back of the line forms over there, Taffy, in case you want a turn.” “You think you’re just all that.” Taffy snorted. “So, does the little Bambi-eyes over there know how you treat your lovers? Wham, bam, good-bye.” À Vincente shifted uncomfortably. He had his reasons for not letting anyone get too close -- first and foremost, his blood habit and the way he was indistinguishable from the dead when he slept. Didn’t mean he was about to clue Taffy in on anything. “If he asks, I’ll be up front with him. I always am with everyone. People know the score. If they want to pout afterward, that’s their call.” “Hmph.” Taffy flaunted her narrow hip. “I bet he’s got no idea. Look at him. Bet he says shit like ‘aw, shucks.’” “Leave him alone,” À Vincente warned without thinking. Damn. He’d just given Taffy ammunition. The avid gleam in her eye confirmed his suspicion. “You think about being nice to Lollipop next time, and maybe I won’t find a chance to sit down with Baby Bop and tell that sweet, bashful boy a long, dirty story about what an asshole À Vincente is.” À Vincente glared daggers at Taffy as she flounced away, damn near glowing with catty triumph. Great. A woman like her made him want to break his promise about only taking blood from the willing. Not that he or anyone would go running to Julianne or anything. Narcing and tattling didn’t win you any more friends as an adult than it did when you were a child. Just wasn’t done. Therefore, “ladies” like Taffy got away with pulling this kind of crap until they went too far or the boss noticed all on her own. Did it suck? Like a hungry vampire. But that was life. À Vincente allowed himself a small smirk. Yeah. “Life.” “À Vincente?” Julianne called over the din of the crowd, which was getting louder now as the talent either exulted over or bitched about the latest casting. “Everything okay?” He wouldn’t bother her with this. “100 percent,” he shouted back, flashing her a victory sign. Julianne winked and sent back a victory sign of her own. À Vincente breathed a little easier.

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Then, Ryan glanced up and smiled at À Vincente, oh, so shy and sweet, and À Vincente forgot all about petty feuds and bitter ex-fucks. Unable to stop himself, he nodded at Ryan and shaped a question with his lips.

Fuck me, I love show business.

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Chapter Three Ryan didn’t know much about fashion, but he felt reasonably sure that this wasn’t it. Uneasy, he looked down at the shirt he’d been assigned: a sturdy, new flannel jobbie with bold, bright yellow and pink checks over a background of white. It smelled of the plastic packaging it had been wrapped in when a bored-looking PA tossed his wardrobe at him. “You get the brand-new stuff. Must be your lucky day, kid,” the man had said between sucks of what looked like a cherry gobstopper. What was it with the employees of Temptations and their oral fixations? Ryan stopped to consider that and squirmed with embarrassment. “Don’t call me ‘kid,’” he’d mumbled, looking down at his feet. “Whatever, kid.” The PA had also thrown him a pair of heavy lumberjack boots that were still in their cardboard box, thick hunting socks that felt like they’d been woven out of steel, and a pair of camouflage pants that were such a bad match for the flannel shirt they practically made his eyes bleed. Again, he might be a total novice when it came to what looked good on film, but for Pete’s sake, the camera could only lie so much. “Is this the right combination?” he’d asked, hesitant about making a fuss on his first day. “Not like you’re gonna have them on for too long,” the PA had pointed out. “Go get changed, kid. They need you on the set in ten minutes for the first scene.” “What? So soon?” He’d barely had a chance to page through the script, much less form an opinion, and forget about getting into character. Although maybe finding his motivation the way he’d learned in high school drama class wasn’t all that important…

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“Are you in a hurry to not get paid?” Suck, suck, suck. “Put on the clown suit, okay? It’ll make both of our lives a lot easier.” So now Ryan stood in what he guessed was meant to be a recreation of a sportsman’s lodge, scratchy, camouflage pants tickling the hairs on his legs and the impenetrable socks that were like corsets for his ankles. He’d also been handed a fake rifle, molded plastic, probably a kid’s toy picked up in the dollar store. Looked like it squirted water. He aimed at the wall and sneered in his best bandito style. “Say hello to my leetle friend!” “Hey, hey, easy there,” a middle-aged, friendly but otherwise totally unremarkablelooking man warned Ryan. He sat in a canvas chair just beyond a deeply absorbed tech. The tech barely noticed the scene around him; he was too busy fiddling with a camera mounted on a tripod. Ryan had seen that level of fascination before, usually on gamers just as they were about to slay the last of the Orcs and make it to the next level. “Sorry?” Ryan ventured, not quite sure what he’d done wrong. “Even if it’s a fake gun, very fake, don’t ever play with it without supervision in a room full of innocents.” The man made a face. “Tends to get me nervous. I served in Iraq, the first go-round. You don’t forget that kind of thing.” Ryan’s embarrassment burned hot. “Sorry.” To try and stop his blushes, he allowed his curiosity to crackle up. “Seriously? How long were you over there?” “I did my tour of duty and then another because I was stupid.” The man fidgeted, telling Ryan how uncomfortable he was with talking about Desert Storm. “And before you ask, I got an honorable discharge due to injuries received in the line of duty.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” The man looked surprised at Ryan’s apology. “Hey, no sweat. I gave you the perfect opening line.” He settled back in his canvas chair, the flimsy construction creaking ominously. “Okay, so, I’m the director for this sequence. Big Bad Wolf 18.” Ryan tried his hardest not to snigger. “Eighteen?” “We go with what the audience demands. Werewolves are hot, hot, hot right now. It’s not a tough scene to orchestrate. You, the naïve young hunter in search of proof of your manhood, got lost in the woods, right? So you’re tired, you’re sore, and you’re hungry.” “Are there bowls of porridge involved?” “That’s Goldilocks, and trust me, with a sweet face like yours, you’ll end up in Goldie Cocks 12 when they get around to shooting that one.” The man paused. “Go ahead, kid, laugh. Get it out of your system now.” Ryan hid his wide, disbelieving grin behind his hand. “I’m never going to get used to this.” “Eh, Julianne runs a different kind of ship.” The man shrugged. “Trust me, in Temptations, every day is ice-cream Sunday. Food, drink, and actual dialogue. Some,

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anyway. She takes care of her talent. Cute or not, no way you’d have landed a job anywhere else with that kind of timid nature.” Kind of hard to protest, since it looked more and more accurate all the time. “I’ll try to take it seriously, honest.” “You’d better.” The man scowled, rubbing his bristly stubble. “This doesn’t work out or goes over budget, it comes out of all our paychecks. Julianne’s a good lady to work for, sure. That doesn’t mean she tolerates waste that comes from a lot of horsing around.” “Unless you’re filming barnyard stories?” The man cracked a grin. “Got it in one. By the way, my name’s Laurie, Staff Sergeant Laurence O’Riley, that was. Ready to roll?”

Hell, no. “Ready and willing.” Ryan readjusted his hold on the rifle so that he gripped the butt, the barrel pointing at the taped-down shelf paper covering the floor, designed to look like wood planks. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. Deville.” “Isn’t that DeMille? I could never keep that name straight. And that’s the spirit.” Laurie twisted to look over his shoulder. “If Dominos is late, I’ll twist off his sac.” “Dominos?” Ryan tried not to show his disappointment. He’d really hoped À Vincente would ask to work with him, but if he took the realistic view, a star of À Vincente’s caliber probably didn’t have to teach newbies the ropes. Win some, lose some. Although if he was going to give it up on film, he’d have liked no one better to take his movie cherry. Laurie twitched in annoyance at Ryan’s absentee costar. “Dominic. He’s not too bad as far as talent goes. A decent actor and hung like a musk ox. Older, seasoned. Early thirtysomething, and he’s been working the gig since he was in his twenties, just like you appear to be doing. Dominic!” Laurie hollered. “Move your ass!” Behind Laurie, a mountain of a man, boasting a three-day growth of beard, disengaged from the clutches of a tiny, china-doll, who simpered and giggled as he smacked her pert ass. “I’m coming!” he barked. He curled his finger under the Asian girl’s chin and said something too low to catch that made her beam and moved her to grope him. “Dominic…” Laurie warned, menace trickling off his voice, his aura both crystal clear and cold. Jeez. Ryan had no trouble picturing him as a staff sergeant. “Okay, okay.” The big guy stalked toward them, dark irritation in his eyes. When he registered Ryan’s presence, he groaned and billowed out waves of distaste and grouchiness and serious unfriendliness. “Not the new kid. Come on, Laurie, get Julianne to give me a break.” “If you’d read the damn script, you’d have already known who you were cast with. What, you don’t like fresh meat anymore?” “Not that fresh. Jesus, Laurie, is he even legal?”

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“I’m right here, you know.” Ryan planted his hunting boots wide. “And I’m twentyseven.” Bashful diffidence briefly succumbed to ire. “What, are you too old for me or something?” “Fuck you!” “Dominic,” Laurie cautioned sternly. Dominic ignored him. “Okay, I can tell you’ve never done an adult flick before. For God’s sake, at least tell me you’ve gotten fucked before, ’cause I’m not gonna hold your hand when you cry.” Ryan’s cheeks flared with angry heat, but he managed to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to pick fights and get a bad reputation on set. “You know what? Let’s just do this, okay? This costume is making me nuts.” Which was the truth, as far as that went, and it made a semidecent excuse for his prickliness. “Whether you take it off on film, or I take it off before the cameras roll, whatever, I just want it gone. Julianne might as well get her money’s worth. So, are you with me or what?” “He’s got spirit.” Laurie looked at Dominic. “It’s a quickie fuck, man. Don’t get all prima donna on me.” “I didn’t sign up to play babysitter,” Dominic muttered. “I don’t see how my first time on film is such a big problem. I have been fucked before, and trust me, I’m not going to cry. But even if I was a virgin, so what?” Ryan was genuinely curious as to why Dominic was so dead set against him. “Seriously, isn’t that supposed to be the Big Dream? Despoiling an innocent ass, even if the ass isn’t so innocent?” Dominic fidgeted. “Well?” “You’re an idiot, okay?” Dominic snapped. “I don’t give a shit about the age as long as you’re legal. It’s the complete and total inexperience that pisses me off. You’ll make me look bad.” “Enough, ladies. Let’s get this done.” Laurie jabbed his forefinger in the direction of the set. “Find your marks, and follow the script. You can’t do this wrong unless it doesn’t fit, and the human body is pretty damned amazing with what it can do under pressure.” Ryan held his head high as he found the small X of masking tape delineating his starting point. “Let’s go.” Dominic bitched all the way to his set point, in the opposite corner of the set “cabin.” “Your funeral, kid.” “Don’t call me kid.” “Whatever. We’re doing wolves, right?” Dominic sank into a crouch, and just like that, as he went down, his entire personality changed. He transformed from his real-life persona of cranky cock-for-hire and became feral, eyes glittering with dark lust and white teeth bared. The hairiness of his arms, legs, and chest was suddenly less leather-bear and more

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animalistic. He tilted his head back and howled, an eerily accurate impersonation of a lupine call. “You still up for this, little man?” Ryan’s lips had parted. “Whoa.” “Perfect, that’s perfect. Go!” Laurie ordered the cameraman. The brightness of the set lights dimmed abruptly to a luminous blue. A pale, weak lamp mounted behind the cabin’s single window gave the impression of a pool of moonlight surrounding Ryan. He shivered, looking back in amazement. “Yes, yes, yes,” Laurie murmured. “Keep it going.”

Should he be talking during this? Ryan wondered before dragging his focus into his best attempt at single-minded clarity. Okay…as he remembered from the script, he wasn’t supposed to have noticed the wolf man in the corner just yet. The role called for his relief at finding a dry place to spend the night and amazement when he saw that it looked like someone actually lived there. He moistened his lips. “Hello? Is anyone there?” He didn’t have to fake the natural flinch when Laurie let fly with a pebble, sending it skittering over the set floor. “I know someone’s in here.” Ryan turned slowly on the spot, searching for whoever owned the home he’d stumbled across. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but it’s fucking freezing out there, and I’m lost. If I could just stay the night, I -- shit!” Ryan backpedaled fast, his heart beating ninety miles an hour. Dominic had appeared out of freaking nowhere, standing less than half a foot away, his face in Ryan’s own. He leered, his teeth looking alarmingly sharp and the hunger in his grin nowhere near sexy. “Don’t hurt me.” Ryan tried to take another step backward. “I’ll do anything.” Thank God the dialogue came pretty naturally right about then. “What are you?” “Shh.” The wolf man pressed a grimy finger to his lips. Ryan hoped, hoped, hoped that was stage makeup and not actual dirt. Had to be. There was no way Julianne would allow germy grubbiness in a sex scene. “Pretty boy,” Dominic growled, feral and fierce. “I like pretty boys.” The script called next for Ryan to return the wolf man’s lustful leering with growing wonder. He gave it his best shot, steeling himself against the butterflies rollerblading in his stomach. “I’ve never seen anyone like you,” he whispered, his body almost but not quite brushing against Dominic’s. “You make me want to do things. Wild things. Things I’d never think about with anyone else.” Music rose from an MP3 player somewhere behind the camera, the ominous electric violins doing absolutely nothing to allay Ryan’s growing sense of fear. “What are you going to do with me?”

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“I need a new pet.” The wolf man seized Ryan by the neck. “Want to wear my collar, pretty boy?” He squeezed his fingers hard enough to make Ryan see spots, and Ryan lost it. Squawking, he flung himself away from Dominic the Wolf and slipped, crashing to earth with a painful crunch of butt against paper-covered concrete. “Cut!” Laurie barked. “Dominic, you bastard, I saw what you did, and that was nowhere in the script. Not to mention criminal. What kind of game do you think you’re playing?” Dominic snarled. “Just hazing him a little.” “Hazing does not equal asphyxiation. You’re off the set for the rest of the day.” “Hey! This is my scene!” “Not anymore, jackass. Ryan, are you okay?” Ryan rubbed the rising soreness on his throat, staring at Dominic in wide-eyed shock. “I think so.” “Is that going to leave marks?” “Yeah, I think so. Yeah.” “Dominic, you get out of here right now, and I’d better not catch you pulling any kind of shit like this again.” Laurie glared at the far-from-repentant man before he rested his elbows on his knees and let his interlaced fingers dangle between his knees. He focused on Ryan. “Don’t you let this scare you off, kid.” Ryan struggled to a standing position. His new flannel shirt hung crooked. As he adjusted it, he asked, “What was that all about? The newbie thing?” “Could be, or he could have started using too. Jesus. Julianne’s gonna have a shit fit. Even worse, if someone’s stupid enough to have started dealing in-house…” Laurie grimaced. He stood, stretching until his spine popped. “That’s a wrap for today, kid. We’ll have to find someone to take his place, and that won’t happen until tomorrow. Everyone else is busy.” “Oh.” Ryan’s heart sank. “That means I don’t get paid for today, right?” “Them’s the breaks, but don’t worry. You did great in the buildup. Once the dailies get around, you’ll have a lot of decent guys and gals wanting to share screen space with you, especially the ones who’d like to go Hollywood. You’ll make them look good.” Laurie clomped onto the set, his heavy boots loud, and patted Ryan’s arm. “Go home, and get some rest. Ice your throat.” Ryan wanted to argue. He needed every cent he could get. The end of the month drew perilously nigh, and if he didn’t have enough to make his rent he didn’t know that his landlord wouldn’t toss him out on his ass so hard he bounced on the sidewalk. “Is there anything I can do around here for the rest of the day? I don’t know, sweep or make coffee or something?” “Not that I know of --”

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“What, are you kidding? The show must go on.” Ryan started as, just like Dominic had done, À Vincente appeared out of thin air. “And why aren’t you over there filming Road Head House?” Laurie wanted to know. “I saw that tasty piece you were set up with.” À Vincente grimaced. “Ryan’s pal? He’s kind of enthusiastic. When the script called for him to drape himself over the table, he hit the tabletop with his forehead. TKO. I had nothing better to do, so I thought I’d go play Peeping Tom and noticed Dominic being a bigger jerk than usual.” Ryan shot Laurie a look. He’d said, at the start, that Dominic was a decent kind of guy. Was that a lie? “No need to call it quits over here.” À Vincente stepped lightly as a cat onto the sound stage. He looked ridiculously out of place in his heavy bomber jacket and the mirrored sunglasses that he whipped off -- and hot enough to melt Ryan’s shorts, if he were wearing any. “Take off my shirt, take off my boots, and I can do the wolf man routine just fine.” Laurie objected. “Julianne doesn’t like impromptu cast changes, you know that.” À Vincente waved Laurie’s protests aside. “Let me deal with Julianne. Ryan here needs a little TLC after what he went through. Let an old pro show him how it’s done.” “You’re serious?” Ryan studied À Vincente’s open, cheerful face. “You, uh…you’re okay with, um…fucking me?” With the heat of his once-over, À Vincente scorched Ryan’s skin clear through his flannel and canvas. “I am so okay with that. Ready to go three rounds with me, kid?” Enough was enough. “If one more person calls me that” -- Ryan waved his toy rifle with murder in his eye -- “I’m going to start shooting first and asking questions later. Yeah, I’ll show you ‘kid.’” “Billy the Kid, maybe? I do like your style. Them’s fighting words, Ryan. Let’s see what you’ve got.” An odd excitement bubbled like champagne through Ryan’s veins. “You’re on, big man. Bring it.” “Who am I to argue?” The canvas chair squeaked as Laurie made himself comfortable. “I don’t guess you’re familiar with the script, are you?” “I was here for the opening lines. You can still use those. Pick up from right before Dominic got his jerk on.” À Vincente bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, stripping off biker gear left and right. He gave each article of clothing a spin and let it fly. “This ought to be okay, yeah?” “Works for me.” À Vincente fixed Ryan with an inquiring stare. “I won’t hurt you. You know that. Right?”

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Ryan wasn’t any too sure. He nodded all the same. “Good deal.” À Vincente thumped Ryan on the bicep. Was it his imagination that made him think À Vincente’s hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary? Nah, couldn’t be. “Stand on your mark and wait for my cue.” “You didn’t answer my question about how well you knew the script,” Laurie drawled. “What’s to know? I’m a big, bad wolf. The rest is just sex.” “There’s nothing ‘just’ about sex, smart-ass. Don’t yank my chain.” Laurie rubbed his forehead. “Get your kicks. Action!” Ryan flinched, startled by the abruptness of the order. The lights dimmed another few notches, leaving him barely able to see. He started and stared into the darkness, straining for some hint of where À Vincente had secreted himself. His pulse hummed in his throat. “Where are you?” he asked, voice quavering the tiniest bit, no acting necessary. “I heard you. Where did you go?” A faint, semimenacing growl trickled from the blackest of the hidden corners of the “cabin.” “Listen, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny.” The hand not gripping the fake rifle curled into a fist. “Stop playing and come out.” A sibilant, half-animal, half-man whisper came from the corner. “Do you really want me to? No turning back if I show myself, pretty boy.”

Oh. So this was “winging it.” Okay, Ryan could work with this. How the heck did À Vincente do that with his voice, though? Creepy. “I’d rather see who I’m about to fight.” He raised his rifle and pointed at where he thought À Vincente was most likely to be. “Show your face or I shoot.” Was that allowed in porn? Laurie didn’t protest. The cameras kept rolling. Maybe he was doing okay. “That little hunter’s toy won’t hurt me,” À Vincente scoffed with an affected wolfish growl, the undertones of lust so heavy in his words that Ryan’s cock jerked and made a serious attempt at rising. Oh, damn, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. What if he couldn’t get it all the way up? Wait a second. This was À Vincente. He could probably make a wilted ficus stand up and salute. Ryan let his lips part in a smug grin. “Let’s see what you say after I pump you full of lead.” “You’re not Rambo, pretty boy. Not even close.” Ryan heard faint rustling noises, as if À Vincente was rising from a crouch near the floor. “If I come out and we do this, what are you willing to give up when I win?”

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“What do you mean, give up?” Ryan’s frown wasn’t pretense. The script had called, in no uncertain terms, for the wolf man to pounce and fuck, not play head games. “When did this become a competition?” “When I saw your sweet mouth and thought about how good it would feel wrapped around my cock,” À Vincente-wolf replied. The goading words rolled silver-smooth and cinnamon-spicy off his tongue. “These are the rules, pretty boy. You’re the one who walked in on me, so I get to say how we do this.” “Okay.” Ryan swallowed. “I’m not saying yes or anything, but how do you want to play?” “It’s a simple game.” Somehow, Ryan knew À Vincente-wolf started to prowl, something not really visible with the naked eye except when the faux moonlight spilling through the cabin window illuminated a bare glimpse of him -- a flash of a wicked eye; a flicker of a pale, nude arm; a hint of sharp, white teeth in his smile. Ryan thought this had to be what mice felt like when they looked up, up, up and saw a tomcat staring down at them. “Simple. Okay. So let’s hear it.” Ryan adjusted his grip on the rifle stock. “We can fight. I like a good scrap. Fists and fangs and claws.” À Vincente’s fingers appeared in the moonlight, curling one by one. No actual claws, but man, did it ever have the same effect. “No guns. I bet you’re not half as tough without that rifle in your hands. I could give you something just as ready to go off but a hell of a lot harder to hold. I’d love to see your long, lean fingers wrapped around my gun. You look so innocent. I can almost taste your purity, and I want to break it down. You know you want this.” The moonlight caught À Vincente’s teeth as he bared them. “Or you can take your chances and run. Trust me, you won’t get far.” “And that’s it?” “That’s the game. You have ten seconds, pretty boy.” Ryan became vaguely aware that they’d drawn an audience, although he didn’t dare break scene to check them out. Those voyeurs didn’t matter so much, anyway; they were immaterial shadows hovering beyond the borders of his current reality. Reality? Huh? This was just playacting. Wasn’t it? “Clock’s ticking,” À Vincente reminded, jerking Ryan’s attention back from the observers. “Make your choice.” Ryan scrambled through the possible answers. “I’m not dumb enough to think I could take you in mano-a-mano. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not human.” À Vincente pulled up short, puzzling Ryan. Silence hung thick and heavy in the air, choking his lungs, before the other man grumbled, “Fine.” Weird. “I know I couldn’t outrun you either.”

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“No, you couldn’t.” À Vincente sounded indulgent now, apparently returning to character. “You could try to run, but you’d only get fucked while you’re exhausted.”

Okay. Moment of truth. Ryan flexed his fists. “So I don’t have a choice. You’re going to fuck me.” “I am,” À Vincente-wolf whispered in tones of pure, raw silk. He slid forward one inch at a time, his body undulating with sinuous grace. “I watched you outside, stumbling toward my home, and you lit a fire in me. You make me want to have you inside and out, until you drop and lick my feet before you beg me for my cock.” Ryan shivered. “I…I won’t do that.” “But you want to.” À Vincente was almost close enough to touch, yet he was still a barely visible outline in the shadowy darkness. Ryan held his breath. “A wolf knows when he’s found a mate. The fragrance of your skin…” Carefully keeping out of the moonlight and soft, blue ambience, À Vincente slid around Ryan. His nose tickled in the crook of Ryan’s neck, causing Ryan to draw in a sharp gasp. “The tension in your arms…” A hand stroked him from shoulder to wrist. “And the taste of your lust.” “God,” Ryan breathed, his lungs burning for more air than his shallow gasps allowed him. The hand that had caressed his arm trailed down his side to cup Ryan’s rigid cock through his god-awful camo pants, and fuck, but he almost lost it then and there. À Vincente seemed to enjoy his gasping struggle back from the ledge. “You know how to pack a basket, pretty boy, and I’m going to eat you all up.” “Wolf. Is that what you are?” “You knew that all along.” À Vincente draped his weight, surprisingly lighter than Ryan had expected, along the line of Ryan’s back, snugging his groin to Ryan’s ass. The hard pressure of the other man’s cock, aroused to iron stiffness, teased the crease between Ryan’s buttocks and sent his head reeling. “What big hands you have,” Ryan improvised, cringing at the lameness but not able to think of a single thing to add. “All the better to jerk you off with.” À Vincente chuckled silently, his breath chuffing and tingling beneath Ryan’s ear. “What sharp teeth you have.” “All the better to make you crazy.” À Vincente nipped his ear and began to rub Ryan’s cock through his pants. Ryan moaned, unable to stop his hips from rolling forward, wanting more of the amazing friction. Need zinged through his loins. “Please,” he begged, not caring how stupid he sounded. “Do it.”

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“Not yet, pretty boy, not yet. Good things come in threes.”

Huh? Oh, right. Ryan went for the obvious. “What a huge cock you have,” he said, and without waiting, added: “And if you don’t use it to fuck me right now, I’m going to shoot you and risk the consequences.” He wriggled around in the ruthless band of À Vincente’s arms and jerked him back into the moonlight. His partner’s roguish features looked feral and wild, dangerous as hell, and sexy as a fallen angel’s dream. “I want you,” he breathed. “If you don’t start this, I will.” “Bring it.” À Vincente’s eyes met Ryan’s, challenging stare for stare. Ryan responded with a kiss, seizing the other man’s face between his hands and slamming their mouths together. À Vincente opened right up for him, no waiting, his mouth a warm, wet cavern perfect for fucking with his tongue. Ryan groaned and tilted his head this way and that, looking for the absolute best angle while he rolled his groin tight into À Vincente’s. À Vincente pulled off long enough to snarl. “I knew you had it in you, pretty boy.” He wrested back control of the scene, knocking Ryan’s palms off his cheeks and gripping Ryan’s ass. He kneaded the flesh, the force of his squeezing almost too tight. The push-pull made Ryan crazy. He fought to get free of the hold on him and wanted to return the favor, to learn the feel of À Vincente’s tight ass beneath his fingers. “Nuh-uh,” À Vincente chided. “This is mine, all mine, and you don’t get to call the plays. Want me to fuck you, huh?” “God, yes. Now.” “Ah, ah, ah. Not yet.” “What, are you kidding?” Ryan blurted. “Your cock tells me you don’t want to put this off any more than I do.” “Oh, you are a hot-rod ride when you get revved up, aren’t you?” À Vincente hitched Ryan closer, leaving neither of them any room to move their hips. They stood as close as two people could get with a thin barrier of canvas and denim between them. “I think I’m going to keep you, pretty boy. Make you wear my collar. Would you like that?” At that moment, Ryan would have agreed to wear a clown nose if it got À Vincente to tear off his clothes and take him. “Anything you want.” “Dangerous words. Don’t make promises you don’t plan to keep.” “I could never tell you no,” Ryan blurted out. “Anything. Everything. Just fuck me.” “All you had to do was ask.” À Vincente smashed his mouth against Ryan’s. Ryan went down with that good old ship, eyes rolling back in his head from sheer pleasure as his lover’s hot tongue dominated his mouth. “Take off those fucking ugly pants. I want to see your cock.” He let Ryan go. “Strip for me.”

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“Yes, sir.” The honorific sounded natural. Ryan lifted shaking hands to the fastenings of his camo pants and drew the tab zipper down as he kicked off the hunting boots and toed out of his ridiculous socks. The scrape of metal teeth jarred. He hadn’t been given any underwear, and the flannel shirt didn’t come down very far, so when he straightened and planted his bare feet on the cold floor, his cock stood out angry red and hard, jutting in À Vincente’s direction. “Pretty all over.” À Vincente’s warm, firm hand grasped Ryan’s cock and slid down the shaft, where he pinched hard. At Ryan’s gasp, À Vincente leered. “More. Show me some skin. Lose the shirt.” “But you’re not…” Ryan faltered, reaching for his partner’s jeans. “I want to see you too.” “All good things in time. You finish first, unless you think you need some discipline. Would you like to be punished?” À Vincente laughed, low and wicked. “You would, wouldn’t you? There’re all sorts of kinks I bet you didn’t know you had, and I’m going to take advantage of each and every one.” “Yes,” Ryan whispered, already opening the flannel shirt. He popped the last button free of its stitching and whipped the shirt off his shoulders. Naked in front of God knew how many people, and he couldn’t care less. Not when À Vincente was devouring him with his eyes, licking his full lower lip with the pointed pink tip of his tongue. “Am I good enough for you?” “More than.” À Vincente plunged in for yet another searing kiss, his hand still jacking Ryan’s cock, which swelled impossibly harder and ached in the man’s palm. Ryan moaned and threw his head back, wishing this could last forever. God, so good. So amazingly good! “I want you,” Ryan pleaded. “Don’t make me wait.” À Vincente released Ryan’s mouth and moved in. No doubt the camera would catch every second of him nuzzling and biting hickeys down Ryan’s neck. “No way I’ll say no to you,” he crooned quietly. “But I can make this even better.” “Better?” Ryan tried to keep his voice equally low, so the microphones wouldn’t record his response. “How does it get better than this?” “You’ll see.” À Vincente’s eyes were huge, barely a rim of dark around the massive pupils. He looked drugged, dazed, or both. “Lord knows I shouldn’t even be considering this, but you’re just too sexy and sweet for my willpower. You make me want what I shouldn’t. Close your eyes.” “Huh?” “Do as I say, and close your eyes. Count to ten.”

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Ryan wanted to sock À Vincente for playing these incomprehensible games. Instead, he huffed impatiently and started to count in his mind, one tap of his forefinger on À Vincente’s firmly muscled back for each increment.

One…two…three…four… “This is real,” À Vincente whispered sibilantly, lips tingling Ryan’s skin.

Five…six…seven…eight… “When you open your eyes, you’ll think you’re actually the man you’re playing for the camera. No stage fright, no flubbed lines, just a perfect first performance that’ll set you on the path to making you a star.” À Vincente’s breath warmed Ryan’s cheeks. “Consider it a favor, and my shameless gambit to be your first on film.” “You’re a lunatic,” Ryan murmured, turned on by À Vincente’s desire.

Nine… “Nah. I’m unique, not crazy. Now, pretty boy, pretty boy, let me in,” À Vincente crooned, stroking Ryan’s temples.

Ten… “Wake up.” À Vincente snapped his fingers before Ryan’s eyes. He blinked. “Are you with me, Ryan?” “I think so,” he replied, blinking at his surroundings. They’d…changed. “Whoa. What’s going on?”

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Chapter Four Ryan swung around, the sights and smells of the cabin assaulting his senses. He shivered in the chill of a northern fall night, It felt wrong, somehow. Off. But why? He was a hunter and this was a hunting cabin. What could possibly be pinging his equilibrium? He rubbed his temples, surprised at how warm his skin was compared with the crisp, thin chill of the forest night. Bare skin. Okay, that was odd. Glancing down, he saw that he held a full-bore, auto-lock, double-barrel swinging loosely from one hand. His favorite. He’d bagged a ten-pointer with it earlier in the winter. Funny thing, though. He couldn’t remember hunting today. He had to have been out tromping the woods, didn’t he? He had his favorite hunting rifle in his hands as proof. So what had happened to his memory? And, er, why was he naked? “I don’t know,” a dry, smoke-raspy voice replied behind him. “But I do know who you are. Your name’s Ryan, and you belong to me.” As Ryan whirled, his rifle automatically lifted and cocked, the man who’d spoken raised his hands in faux surrender. “Easy, cowboy. You don’t want to point that thing at me.” “I don’t? I…oh.” Ryan blinked and shook his head. “I know you, don’t I?” The stranger frowned. “Not yet, you don’t. You will, soon, though. You’ll know me very well.” He leaned comfortably against the corner of the cabin wall -- right, this was the hunting lodge Ryan had known about for years, abandoned on the edge of his favorite hunting grounds, where the creatures who weren’t supposed to exist roamed freely, like this shape-shifter. They were weird, uncanny creatures, and they had strange powers over

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humans. The wolf man looked at Ryan as if Ryan was a prized possession, and propped against the cabin wall like he was, he appeared to be at home. Whoever this guy was, he wore nothing but a pair of dark jeans molded to tight thighs and shapely calves as if they were a second skin. His naked chest could have been carved from creamy, pale sandstone, each muscle perfectly defined. His mouth watered. This man had been made to fuck. And he was somehow familiar… “Look, I know I know you from somewhere. What’s going on? How well acquainted are we? Who are you? How do you know my name?” “You sound like a bad made-for-TV movie.” The stranger seemed strangely torn between irritation and sultry need. He pushed off from the wall and approached, sinews bunching and coiling under his smooth, flawless skin. “I know you, Ryan. I’ve watched you for a few hours now. You can call me À Vincente.” “Is that your real name?” “What’s in a name?” The stranger shrugged as he completed his journey, coming close enough for Ryan to breathe in his slightly odd scent of myrrh and musk. He cozied up free as he pleased, one arm around Ryan’s waist and one on his hip. His naked hip. Jesus, how had that happened? “Whoa. Close acquaintances, then, huh?” “Soon, we’ll be the closest.” À Vincente bent to nip lightly at Ryan’s collarbone, startling him with the shock of lust that ignited, tingling in his heavy, full-feeling balls. Reflex caused Ryan to shift forward, pressing into À Vincente. Then he spasmed at the heat and hardness that met his own aching shaft, the friction intense as their cocks pushed together. “My God.” Ryan licked his dry lips, his breathing already skittering out of rhythm. “Who are you, really? Just a wolf man?” “More than just a wolf. God, I wish I could tell you.” À Vincente sounded sad. “You’re afraid of me. I can sense it in every fiber of you. Don’t be scared.” Ryan swallowed and shook his head. “You’re a shitty liar too. I’m going to make you less afraid, Ryan. All right?” À Vincente didn’t give him a chance to reject the offer, covered Ryan’s eyes with his hand. “Count to three for me. Out loud. I’ll count with you.” “I don’t understand.” Ryan struggled to think clearly. “I know you, and not just from here. Tell me. I need to know. Who are you?” À Vincente ignored his questions, starting to count instead. “One…two…three.” The room executed a brief tilt-a-whirl around Ryan’s head. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, grabbing À Vincente to keep from tumbling down and breaking his crown.

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“Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” À Vincente supported Ryan with a hand under each elbow. “How do you feel now? Still frightened?” Ryan blinked and shook his head. Wait…wait…it was coming back to him now. He knew this guy. Trusted him. Liked him. Had made love with him. “Oh, my God. À Vincente, I am so embarrassed.” How could he not have recognized À Vincente? “What are you doing out here in the woods? We’re miles from your safe house.” “Carpe diem, kid.” À Vincente rearranged his hold on Ryan, less supportive now and more sensual, the way Ryan loved best. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t call you kid. You never like any of the pet names people try to saddle you with, do you?” “What’s wrong with the name I already have? I live in hope that you’ll actually call me ‘Ryan’ one of these days.” He sighed, but teasingly, arranging his arms around À Vincente the way he knew À Vincente liked best, one palm cupped firmly over his buttock and one draped over À Vincente’s shoulder. His memory seemed foggy to him, obscured somehow, but he knew this much for sure: À Vincente loved him and would do anything for him. He knew, just as surely, that he’d do the same for À Vincente, even if he didn’t understand the man and even if his head had gone all…what was he thinking about, again? Screw it. He had more important things on his plate just then. Namely, À Vincente and his utter hotness, and the way the man demanded sex by nothing more than existing. His lover’s eyelids were hooded, appreciative. He turned his face to the side, kissing Ryan’s forearm, and his sharp teeth prickled without breaking the skin. “Yeah. God, yeah.” Ryan undulated, trying to capture À Vincente’s head between his hands to press him tighter, to fix his fangs in place. Something deep in his head posited an objection and a minor freak-out -- fangs? -- but Ryan squashed it ruthlessly down and plowed forward. “More.” À Vincente stiffened. “Ryan, you don’t know what you’re asking for.” “I do. I know exactly what I want.” Ryan pushed À Vincente down. He’d seen right inside his lover’s mind and knew what his strange lover -- his vampire -- wanted. What he needed. Oh. Right. He remembered now. À Vincente had arranged this whole bizarre scenario so Ryan wouldn’t get upset over filming. Weird. Why didn’t that bug him past the first small flinch? On the other hand, did he care? Not really. Caught up in this fantasy, he was drunk on À Vincente, giddy and dizzy. If he felt differently when he went back to the real world, well, he could deal with that then. “Bite me,” Ryan coaxed, deliberately pouring the coat of honey-smooth temptation over the atmosphere. “You know you want to. Taste me. Drink me.” “Ryan, stop.” À Vincente tried to draw away; Ryan fought for the upper hand. “That’s not something you want to ask, and that’s so something you shouldn’t understand.” He licked

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his lips, tongue swiping in a warm, wet slick across Ryan’s throat. Ryan shivered and moaned. “Fuck, you’ll make me lose my head.” “Wish you would,” Ryan goaded, his cock throbbing and his balls painfully tight. All he needed was a little bit more…just a tiny bit…one small bite… “I get it, À Vincente, and I’m not scared. Do me, all the way. Bite.” “No!” À Vincente struggled free, but he didn’t move away. He speared his fingers through his wild hair, sending it standing upright at comical angles. The anger in his eyes, anger mixed with a bleak sort of despair, kept the image from being funny. “I’ll never hurt you, not even like this. Quit asking.” “Fuck.” Ryan slumped. “Then don’t tempt me,” he muttered against À Vincente’s shoulder. “Not unless you really want to have a huge fight, because I’m not changing my mind.” À Vincente remained still for a long moment before finally tracing his fingers down the valley that covered Ryan’s spine. “Don’t spoil this, pretty boy. We’ve got a cabin all to ourselves and the night is ours. Let’s enjoy what we’ve got.” “Okay,” Ryan gave in and whispered, already distracted by the smooth, cool expanse of À Vincente’s skin all ready for kissing and sucking. Life is but a dream, right? Might as well enjoy. “I’m all yours.” “I wish.” Without explaining himself, À Vincente licked the shell of Ryan’s ear, making him shiver. “Don’t hate me because I can’t give you everything you want, lover. I’d keep you forever if I could. I’m not going to make you choose between life and death, though, and that’s where the line stays drawn.” “À Vincente?” “Mm-hmm?” “Shut up.” Ryan sealed his lips over his lover’s and swallowed his indignant protest in a kiss. Mmm. The vampire turned on like a switch, from Mach 5 to the speed of light as Ryan’s tongue slid over À Vincente’s. Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. “That’s the way,” À Vincente crooned as their mouths parted. “Back in the game.” “Are we playing?” “That’s all I’ve ever done. Shh. No. Don’t ask.” À Vincente lifted Ryan’s chin with his thumb. “Remember who you are and where you are. You’re the innocent hunter who’s become the prey. I’m the big, bad wolf who’s turned the tables.” “Oh, really?” Ryan glossed over À Vincente’s insistence on maintaining the illusory fantasy, too horny to want to start wrangling over facts and dreams. He swiveled, bumping his cock and À Vincente’s together. Neither had lost a fraction of their erections; the reunion and the friction sent shivers up the back of his neck and a sparkling burst of need to his guts. “I think I like this game.”

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“I knew you would. You know you can’t get away from me, pretty boy -- oh, you like that, huh? -- my pretty boy. So you’re mine to do whatever I want with.” “Anything you ask.” Ryan angled his neck to give À Vincente better access, moaning happily when he took the hint and kissed down his chest. The vampire snagged Ryan’s nipple between his teeth, jerking hard. The sting of pain made his sac pulse, burdened with need and eager to let go. “Treat me gently.” “That’s not what you want.” À Vincente let go of the burning nubbin, raised into a hard knot and swollen puffy. “Is it?” Ryan’s mind went blank. All the same, he shook his head no. “Want me to take care of you? Make you feel good, pretty baby?” “Yes.” Ryan bucked, sucking for air when À Vincente’s nimble fingers curled around his cock and squeezed. “Fuck, that feels great. Do it again.” “Like this?” À Vincente rode his grip up and down Ryan’s shaft, thumbing the damp tip and, never picking up a rhythm that Ryan could count on, dropping to cup his balls and roll the overfull testicles together. So good. Way too good. He’d blow, any second now, he’d blow. Ryan hung on for dear life, groaning like a ten-dollar hooker. He raised one leg, which À Vincente caught by the knee and supported so that Ryan could hang on all the tighter. “I’m gonna come,” he warned. “Stop me now.” “Why would I want to do that?” À Vincente teased the soft skin between Ryan’s sac and anus, pushing up with a savage jab that had him seeing stars. “You like pain. A dab of pain and you go wild.” He laughed as he held Ryan still until the spasm subsided. “I’ve got to remember that.” “Come on. I’m losing my mind here.” “Shh, baby, shh. I’ll take care of you.” À Vincente sped up the motions of his hand. “Just taking the edge off,” he soothed when Ryan protested with an inarticulate cry. “Come for me. Give it up. Shoot on my hand.” “Fuck,” Ryan ground out. His hips stuttered, jerkily thrusting his cock into the firm circle of À Vincente’s fingers. He bucked with each pulse, sliding on his own cum. “Sexy, so sexy,” À Vincente praised when Ryan’s near-violent jerks had eased into barely there forward rocks. He lifted his dripping fingers between them and painted a line of slick saltiness over Ryan’s mouth. Then he licked his own wet palm. “Taste yourself. Nothing could be better.” Ryan whimpered, his spent cock reacting to the sight and the sound of his lover’s actions. He made a valiant effort to goad his too-sensitive organ into a second rise. “You’re so hot when you’re desperate.”

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Ryan found the words to entreat. “It’s not enough. Please. I need more. Something…bigger.” He pressed his forehead to his partner’s. “Help me?” “You amaze me.” À Vincente stroked the short hairs at the base of Ryan’s skull. “You ready for this?” “You’re going to…?” “Not yet. I want you all-the-way crazy with how much you need me. I want the audience to cream themselves when we finally fuck. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ve got something in mind that you’re going to love.” À Vincente pushed Ryan’s shoulder. “Down, boy. On your knees. Unzip these jeans and take me out.” Ryan hit the floor fast and hard. Then he scrabbled at his lover’s fly, desperate to obey orders and finally have that prize in his hands. À Vincente didn’t chide him or tell him to slow down. Ryan knew that meant he was right on the edge too, that he needed this as much as Ryan wanted to give it to him. “That’s right.” À Vincente urged him on as Ryan drew out his lengthy, weighty erection, smooth as brushed silk, barely warm despite its swollen rigidity, and flushed the palest of reds. He’d never get enough of looking at his lover’s, his vampire’s cock. The best thing of all was what À Vincente had promised him would happen soon, the dark bite of pain and bliss of fullness when À Vincente slid that luscious cock in his ass. Until then, this was the finest sexual act Ryan had ever known, him sealing his mouth over À Vincente’s fat cock head and sliding his lips as far down the shaft as he could go. He covered the rest with his fist and sucked, taking no prisoners. He didn’t care, though, and didn’t think it bothered À Vincente, either. They both clearly needed this too much to waste time on any more talking or games. À Vincente barked short bursts of gibberish, pushed out choppy, lusty grunts, and rocked in time with every suck. Ryan kneaded his vampire’s flanks to egg him on. “I can take it,” Ryan urged. “Give me all you’ve got. I want this.” “You asked for it.” À Vincente gritted his teeth. Ryan moaned, greedy, exulting in the harsh thrusts of À Vincente fucking his mouth. His lover held his head in place so that all he could do was maintain balance on his knees and take the cock, laving the flesh with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks with suction. He opened his eyes, which had fluttered shut, and stared up at his lover, drinking in the sight of the expression of gorgeous ugliness that signaled an end coming nigh. À Vincente looked amazing, drunk on lust and consumed with a single-minded purpose as he yanked Ryan’s hair in a wordless warning. Ryan could have pulled off. He didn’t. Digging his short nails into À Vincente’s hips, he broke the skin and shattered the vampire’s final barriers. The shout À Vincente loosed as he lost control, bitter-salty semen spurting over Ryan’s lips and tongue, could have aroused a statue -- and Ryan was no statue. His own cock

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overrode any need for recovery time and surged up fast, solid, full. No waiting around; it wanted attention now. Ryan milked À Vincente’s cock, spluttering and choking on each burst as it flooded his mouth, and jerked his own fresh erection in punishing strokes. He shot a second time when he finally managed to swallow the last spurt of À Vincente’s climax. Then he tore away to gasp for breath. “God,” À Vincente muttered, dazed. “You…it’s been decades since…no, screw that, it’s been centuries since anyone had such a sweet mouth.” Ryan’s legs, trembling from the adrenaline dump, flooded with warmth. He could have curled up and purred. If À Vincente hadn’t sunk to a crouch in front of him, he might have tried. “Thank you,” Ryan whispered, worn out. “I love you.” À Vincente flinched. Why? Before he could ask, the vampire covered Ryan’s eyes with his palm a second time. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Ryan obeyed without question. His lover would take care of him. He knew À Vincente would give him what he needed. “Keep them closed and count backward from ten.” Ryan nodded, eyes sealed tight. “Ten…nine…eight…” “I wish you could remember this when you wake up.” Ryan pressed on. “Seven…six…five…” “It’s not safe, though, pretty boy.” À Vincente kissed Ryan’s temple. “I’ll leave you with a fuzzy memory, like a fucking fantastic dream, and you’ll have that to hold onto until it fades.”

À Vincente, you can be thick as a brick sometimes. I’m not forgetting a thing. “Four…three…two…” Ryan droned, humoring his vampire with the countdown. “You’re the best I’ve ever met, kid. Inside and out. You could love a man back to life. I could fall for you so hard, so fast, and that’s why this can’t happen again. Smile at me and be my friend…and don’t ask for more.” À Vincente swore under his breath. “It’s just the way this has to be. Good luck, Ryan. You’ve got a fan in me.” “One,” Ryan whispered. His stomach lurched as he sensed the cabin inexplicably whirling, spinning, and, not anywhere near soon enough for his equilibrium, settling. What the hell? Ryan opened his eyes. He looked up at À Vincente, carefully assessing his state of mind, sorting through his racing thoughts. Oh. Fantasy, check. Vampire lover, check. Awesome hypnosis skills, very much check. Really, he’d have written it off as a better trip than what he’d heard about E…but when he looked at À Vincente now, it seemed that some sort of thin mask had slipped from the man. Ryan saw now what he hadn’t before.

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Damn. He really was a vampire. Ryan’s tongue dried out, leaving him unable to speak, to voice the questions burning on his lips. À Vincente stared down, expression blank and unreadable. Ryan swallowed hard and coaxed enough moisture from his mouth to whisper, “I remember everything.” He risked looking away to stare around at the hunting cabin that was, once again, only a set. It had looked so different before. He remembered everything as if it was a movie he’d seen, imprinted in his personal memories and the burning in his groin. “How did you do that…vampire?” À Vincente gaped at him. Lights burst into bright spangles of color around them. “Cut!” Laurie roared. “Print that one!”

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Chapter Five “À Vincente!” Julianne bellowed amidst the instant clamor rising from at least three dozen astounded porn stars. À Vincente caught a few choice phrases among the babble, chief among which were: -- what the hell did he do just there? --- I dunno, man. It was like that Ryan kid totally lost his grip on reality --- that was creepy, girl --- creepy as fuck, yeah --- I’m not doing a scene with either of those freaks again --- me, neither, no way --- wonder if Julianne’s gonna fire them? -“À Vincente!” He’d been so lost in listening to the panicky gabble that he’d stopped keeping an eye on the world around him. Dangerous for anyone -- and especially for a vampire. Julianne dragged him neatly and abruptly back by grabbing his ear and pinching it between the nails of her forefinger and thumb, which he would have sworn she’d gone and sharpened to razor points. À Vincente stalled and prevaricated, not wanting to look at Ryan and face his enthralled shock. “Julianne, I can explain. I was trying to --” “I don’t care.” Julianne’s face had drawn down to thin, tight lines. À Vincente hadn’t lived as long as he had with his skin intact by failing to learn the signs pointing to “pissed-off woman.” “My office. Get your ass in there. Now.” Hauling him by his ear, she jabbed the forefinger of her other hand at the stage, presumably at Ryan. “You stay right where you are. You’re next.”

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“I’m sorry,” À Vincente heard Ryan offer, sounding small and lost. “I don’t know what happened.” Julianne declined to respond, saving her strength for dragging À Vincente like a toy on a string. He could have shaken her off easy as pie, but for one, he might also have lost part of his ear -- and contrary to some myths, vampire parts didn’t grow back -- and for two, like he’d told Ryan, this was a you can run, but you’ll only surrender tired scenario. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he groused. “Julianne --” “Zip it.” À Vincente zipped, diverting his mental attention to a quick head-zap on the chattering talent and wiping their memories. God, he hated wide-range suggestions. He always thought he’d end up lobotomizing someone. The trek to Julianne’s office, a small and poky affair that an executive of her level would have scoffed at in the outside world, wasn’t far in physical terms, but traveling there was like walking the Green Mile, boggling stares and whispers not always concealed behind hands choking their path. Julianne held her head high, disdaining their actions as beneath her, the gossip-hungry talent more than eager to revel in the sight of a big star in deep shit and the expressions on the face of an obviously enraged boss. À Vincente tried to follow her example and save at least a small portion of pride. His plan worked right up to the point where they reached Julianne’s door. Twisting the knob with a savage jerk of her wrist, Julianne hauled the portal open and flung À Vincente inside. “Ow!” he howled, nearly tumbled off his feet. “Jesus, woman!” Julianne’s reply was to slam the door behind them, its solid soundproofing cutting off the stream of chatter that followed them midword. The evil finger recently clamped to his ear pointed at the guest chair in front of her desk. Her order was clear: Sit your ass down. À Vincente sat. Damn, he’d never seen her this mad before. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen any woman so angry, up to and including the ones who’d come after him with flaming torches back in the day. Lolly and Taffy were born a few centuries too late, but he could easily picture them among the frothing, insane, pitchfork crowds. He looked, surreptitiously as he could, around Julianne’s office for potential stakes. Julianne, for her part, stalked to stand before her desk, nearly knee-to-knee with À Vincente. She treated him to a long, boiling-fury glare before her redheaded temper erupted. Frankly, the yelling came as something of a relief. The words didn’t. “What the fuck were you thinking?” she demanded, ranting on before he had a chance to answer. Not that he had one to give. “You weren’t thinking at all, were you? Oh, no, I know what was going through your numb skull. ‘Here’s a pretty boy, the kind of innocent you just don’t find anymore,’” she mocked, elevating her voice to a falsetto, which À Vincente considered both unfair and unflattering. “‘I think I’ll show the little gentleman a good time and play around with his head.’” Julianne lost her high soprano on the last word.

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À Vincente sighed, looking for ways to dig out of this particular hole. “I made a mistake. I know I did. I can fix this.” “How? By screwing up everyone else? My God, I can’t believe you were so stupid as to flaunt your otherness before a freakin’ stable of pretty idiots. They’ll tell the tale to everyone they can speed-dial, and you’re telling me you can fix this?” “I already clouded their heads, right before you tossed me like a football.” À Vincente was irritated. What was it with the righteous wrath of a good woman that made him feel about two inches tall and not at all bulletproof? “We can edit the script so it matches the scene on film, and I do some tweaking.” He mimed the action of braiding and unbraiding. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before.” “And how long until you fry my talents’ brains?” Julianne leaned heavily on the edge of her desk and massaged her forehead. “À Vincente, if only I were tall as you, I’d kick your ass.” “You’re not doing a bad job right now. As for the talents’ brains, it’s a toss-up. Personally, I think the coke and smack and meth would sizzle their lobes far sooner than anything I do.” “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Julianne muttered behind her hand. Oops. “Who’s using?” “We can discuss the suspicions later,” À Vincente said hastily, trying to deflect her from his verbal faux pas. Now was not the time or the place. Granted, it got her mind off his other, bigger screwup, but it wasn’t worth the cost of her exploding into an aneurism. Julianne huffed. “I feel like I’m giving you free license to go forth and perform brain surgery. Okay, okay. Do your thing. I have no idea how else I’d explain this. If you ever, ever pull any of your crap again in Temptations, family history and sacred oaths to protect your hide notwithstanding, you’re gone. Are we clear?” “Crystal. Julianne, believe me or believe me not, I didn’t intend to go that far.” “Bullshit,” she snapped. “I was there, À Vincente. I saw the whole thing.”

Shit. “You did?” “Damn right, so don’t try to lie to me.” Julianne lowered her hand, shocking À Vincente with the sight of a tear slipping over her lashes to trail down her cheek. “My family swore to protect you. We’ve kept our vow for over three hundred years, you ungrateful vampire, and you almost tossed every bit of it right out the window for the sake of getting your rocks off with a neophyte sex worker.” Put that way…and, oh, hell, he couldn’t stand to see a lady cry. “Julianne, come on.” À Vincente stood and tried to pull his boss, his friend, his guardian in for a hug. She fought like a wildcat, proud as the first of her forebears, who had been canny enough to strike a deal with the vampire instead of running away. “Stop. Please?”

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“If we lose you…” Julianne ceased her struggles, butting her head hard in his chest. “I don’t care about the protection you offered. I can look after my own damn self. But if you get hunted down and staked over something this stupid, I’ll dump your ashes in a porta-potty at a Britney Spears concert, or worse. Get me?” “Duly noted.” À Vincente tucked his chin on the top of Julianne’s head. Oh, how he hated to bring this up. She’d stake him herself if he didn’t. “I’ll take care of the talent. I think, though, there might be a tiny problem with Ryan himself.” Julianne stiffened. He counted heartbeats until she spoke, words spiky with suspicion. “What kind of problem?” “He…” À Vincente sought for a way to make this sound like less of a big deal, regardless of how it had thrown him. “The whole deal with Ryan was to cloud his mind on my way out. He’d never have known.” “And?” Julianne dug her nails into the soft spot between his ribs and his hip bone. À Vincente winced. “Didn’t work.” “The fuck --” Julianne tore free of his hug. “What happened?” “I have no idea.” À Vincente twisted so that he could prop his ass on Julianne’s desk beside her. “I’ve never lost control of a memory before. Maybe he’s immune, I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.” Julianne said nothing. Puzzled, À Vincente glanced at her. Be damned. It was tiny, but it was there. A smirk. “What’s so funny?” he demanded, stung. She snorted. “However many centuries old you are, and baby Ryan topples you off the high ground with a kiss. If anyone ever heard about this…” Julianne cracked up. “Big bad vampire goes down!” À Vincente rolled his eyes and let her laugh. Sometimes you had to, and at least she wasn’t yelling at him anymore. When Julianne finally calmed down, she was wiping tears of mirth rather than tears of anger and worry from her eyes and had come to a decision. “Try him again. If he doesn’t roll for you, let him in on the secret.” À Vincente stared. “You’re kidding me.” “Do you see a better solution?” Julianne hip-checked him. “He’ll think you’re crazy, anyway, and then he’ll start to think he’s crazy. Any shrink or therapist he goes to will tell him he had a stress episode. Oh, hey, that’s a good idea. Let me get that one in before you spill the beans if the brain mojo doesn’t work second time around.” “Done.” À Vincente frowned at Julianne. “I’d rather you did. Your great-great-greatgrandmother, cubed, was the last mortal I told what was what with me. It’s no safer these days than it was back then. I’m not in any hurry to pay up the debt on my soul.”

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“Think about that the next time you want to charm a starstruck newcomer.” Julianne took a deep, fortifying breath. “I’m bringing him in here.” “You’re what?” “No time like the present.” She dodged past him and made for her office door. She stuck her head out and used her sturdy Southern lungs to holler. “Ryan? Your turn.” Glancing back to À Vincente, she added: “That’s not all I want him for. You two have serious chemistry, and I’ve got some plans in mind for both of you. You won’t like ’em, but the way I see it, you owe me. Big.” “One of these days I’m going to nibble on your neck, missy,” À Vincente grumbled. “What about this won’t I like? What have you got on your mind?” Julianne told him. By the time Ryan poked his cute head in, the shouting had run its course, and À Vincente was scrunched down in Julianne’s chair with his features arranged in a thundercloud. “Hi,” Ryan said awkwardly. “Should I shut the door behind me?” “Please.” Julianne looked for all the world as cool and collected as if she hadn’t run the emotional gamut from weeping to howling with laughter to winning a pissing contest bare moments before. “I’d offer you a chair if this big oaf wasn’t planted there.” “It’s okay.” À Vincente couldn’t resist taking a look at Ryan’s gorgeous ingénue face. Not boyish, no, but appealing in an innocent way he found rare in this modern age. Not for the first time, he wondered how in the hell Ryan had lasted all the way through med school without acquiring a few dings and some tarnish on his halo. An angel, that was it. An almost unspoiled yet still fallen angel with gentle hands and the lust of a devil just waiting inside to be unleashed. An angel to his demon. It went against every rule À Vincente had shaped over the past centuries to want Ryan again, but that knowledge didn’t squash his burning need. He wanted to show Ryan things no mortal alive had seen and teach him to hear like no mortal ever could, to learn the feel of the midnight wind on naked skin and revel in his sexuality until he became a god among men. À Vincente boggled at his thoughts. I what? What the hell? Ryan started tugging down the hem of the plaid flannel shirt he’d put back on. The collar didn’t quite hide the incredibly tempting curve of his throat or the… “Look, I know something went down out there.” Oh, fuck. À Vincente had no memory of using his fangs, but the kid had two shallow scratches on his throat. Fuck! Julianne was right; he’d acted like a moron and double-damned his hide by leaving that kind of proof behind. “Ryan, look at me,” he ordered, adding a note of compulsion to his demand. Easy as you please, Ryan skated right over the paranormal coercion. “Trouble is, I don’t remember quite what,” he went on. “Everything’s sort of…I don’t know…hazy, maybe.” He

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blushed attractively, cheeks turning a shade of pink that begged to be kissed. “Does that happen to a lot of people on camera?” À Vincente gaped. Julianne, the canny woman, hid her surprise with far more skill. “Sometimes.” She kicked À Vincente’s ankle, concealing the move behind a step to the right. “Don’t let it worry you. You did great. The camera loves you, and once you’re in the mood, you act like a seasoned pro.” Her smile stretched wide, satisfied and relieved. “You and À Vincente make a fantastic team.” “I…I liked working with him,” Ryan admitted, not looking once at À Vincente. “I’d like to try some more scenes together, if that’s okay by you.” “More than.” Julianne’s smile took on a smug gleam. “As a matter of fact, I was just going over a business proposition with À Vincente.” She chose a medium-thick manila folder from her desk and slapped the heavy paper against her palm. “How would you like to costar in a feature film?” Ryan stared. “Me?” “You and À Vincente.” Julianne slanted a snarky wink at À Vincente. “A patron of the arts has offered to shell out big time if we put together a movie based on their very precise specifications. It’s the story of a lonely immortal’s love affair with the one gorgeous young man who can save his soul. Are you interested?”

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Chapter Six Ryan carefully locked his apartment door, taking meticulous care in sliding the bolt closed and rattling the chain securely into place. He eyed the nail just under the peephole where he normally hung his keys and wondered if he had any spare crucifixes lying around. Considering he hadn’t been to Mass since before he’d started college, probably not. Maybe drawing one with a Sharpie would do the trick. Again, probably not. Ryan let himself slump against the door, propping all his weight on the flimsy excuse for what the apartment complex boasted as “top of the line in home security.” His first day as a porn star for Temptations, Incorporated hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Who could have planned for an encounter with a vampire? Ryan shoved his fingers through his hair, raking and tugging until it no doubt stood up as tangled and skewed as À Vincente’s after a fuck. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look of the jaded actor all but knocked off his feet when the mists had parted, and he was left on his knees, cum in his mouth, and two sets of memories jostling for space in his head. He’d lied to Julianne, although he didn’t know why.

No. That’s wrong. You know perfectly well why. Ryan’s mouth had been parted to ask questions ranging from A to Z when he’d felt this strange vibe coming from À Vincente. Almost a sort of pleading. So Ryan had smiled and lied right through his teeth, amazed at how the uneasy fear wafting from À Vincente had changed gears and become shock. Kind of satisfying and not a little heady for Ryan to realize he had so much power over À Vincente in the palms of his hands. Which was why, once he’d left the sets of Temptations, making sure first -- hastily -that Teddy was okay, he’d hopped on his touring bike for the long, hard pedal home and

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ridden like a bat out of hell, chanting a Hail, Mary and Our Father all the way. He had the upper hand over À Vincente, sure, and great. He did not, on the other hand, want to see what a ticked-off vampire was capable of in the way of revenge. For all he knew, Julianne was a creature of the night too. Ryan took a moment to reconsider the Sharpie Option.

Ah, what the heck. He pulled open the wobbly drawer in the small nightstand he’d parked next to his door to drop mail on when he didn’t want to deal with bills before opening a beer to quench his thirst. More bills than junk mail, lately. The top of the stand was three deep in wilting envelopes bearing “PAST DUE” in bright red ink. Ink as red as blood. Almost absently, Ryan touched the raw scrapes on his throat. Dear God, he’d come so close. The marks, more than anything, convinced him that he hadn’t lost his mind. À Vincente had taken him somewhere or reshaped his perception of the world. They’d been in the hunting cabin, and he’d known À Vincente then for the creature he was. Vampire. Could his life get any weirder? Ryan dug through the loose drawer, sifting mounds of clutter -- tiny vials of essential aromatherapy oils Teddy had pressed on him, cheap Spirit Week buttons advertising collegiate pride, a handful of free condoms from a street fair that was probably well past the expiration date -- in rapidly urgent search for a marker. “Come on, come on… Aha! Gotcha.” The Sharpie needed a few vigorous shakes before it grudgingly let go of enough ink for Ryan to sketch a quick cross on his door. He frowned at his artwork, added some dimensions, and wrote “INRI” over the top of the design. INRI. He thought he remembered that priests from the olden days of saying Mass would indicate the script of the scrolls above the crucifixes, which meant “Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews.” Boy, do I hope that’s good enough to stop a vampire. For good measure, he drew the two-line fish symbol underneath. He had no idea if that worked for keeping out bloodsuckers, but better safe than sorry, right? “Okay.” Ryan sucked his lower lip between his teeth, uncertain. He guessed that was the best he could do, even if the crucifix looked like it had been drawn by a kindergartner on a sugar rush. “We’ll see what happens, won’t we?” The backpack he’d carried out of pure habit to Temptations banged Ryan’s hip as he stepped back. He stiffened, knowing he couldn’t avoid what he’d brought home with him: an innocent-looking, home-burned DVD. He’d promised Laurie eyebrow-raising favors on his next turn in front of the camera in exchange for its theft. Not exactly “dailies,” although not far off the mark. A copy of the cut-and-print scene he’d filmed with À Vincente that afternoon.

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He had to see this for himself and it had damned well better be worth it. Ryan didn’t even know how to spell half the sexual acts he’d used as bargaining chips. Then again, if he lasted as a porn star for as long as Julianne promised, he’d probably literally learn the ins and outs of every last one better than most. Talk about hands-on experience… Could come in pretty handy, no pun intended, once he had the confidence to hit the dating scene again. That, and as a bit of native cynicism informed him, a medical degree with the assurance of a doctor’s salary would snare him some action. Loosely grasping the DVD in its unlabeled clear case, Ryan headed for his computer before he could change his mind. Deliberately keeping said mind blank, he plopped down in his secondhand chair and booted up. The DVD slipped into the drive with a soothing hum of arcane PC innards and began to play. Ryan heaved a shaky breath. He tugged his hair, pulled at his ear, and fretted his fingertips over the bite marks.

Showtime. The scene kicked on from black, treating Ryan to an up-close-and-personal view of himself suffused by moonlight. He looked lost, alone, and vulnerable. The image he’d tried to present, textbook earnest doctor-in-training, vanished completely under an undeniable miasma of terrified innocent. “It’s a simple game,” À Vincente murmured, barely visible as a collection of shifting shadows drifting around him on the video. Ryan stared, fixated by the way the man moved fluidly as a panther, just as invisible in the dark. He couldn’t get over the small shudders he’d made himself, or the way his lips had parted as he’d tried to get a fix on what À Vincente was doing. “…I don’t have a choice,” Ryan’s recorded image admitted. Good God. He’d totally underestimated the barely restrained lust in the way he’d recited the dialogue. “I watched you outside, stumbling toward my home, and you lit a fire in me. You make me want to have you inside and out, until you drop and lick my feet before you beg me for my cock.” À Vincente been right, so very right. For a guy Ryan barely knew, the vampire had figured out his hot spots right away and learned how to work them like a master. Which, Ryan guessed, he was. A quick read-through of the backlist of movie titles neatly recorded in a folder while he’d been in Julianne’s office had told him just how experienced À Vincente was at this gig. A cool, calm, collected professional who knew how to keep real-life and oncamera roles separate. Thing was, Ryan knew somehow, deep down, that the man who’d brought him off while they were being filmed was the real À Vincente, no shams and no façades.

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Why, Ryan didn’t know. What was he, that a big-time star who’d surely have his pick of anything male or female, should want him? Strange. “A wolf knows when he’s found a mate. The fragrance of your skin…” Ryan shifted in his chair to relieve the beginning of an ache in his groin. Maybe this was narcissistic, but the lustful growl in À Vincente’s voice and the sharp move À Vincente made, one he hadn’t registered at the time, as the vampire drew so near they almost touched…well, he was only human, and it got him hot. Could be this was why so many of the guys he knew were addicted to porn. The thought of À Vincente fucking him, going all the way…how his fingers would feel as they slid inside where nothing but toys and a few lovers had ever gone…how hot it would be to go to hands and knees for À Vincente…to feel the puff of his breath cool on the back of Ryan’s neck, to feel the pressure of his hands kneading Ryan’s shoulders as he lined up and pushed in…God. Ryan’s half-stock rose to full erectness. Cupping the bulge in his jeans in a mostly unconscious attempt to feed the hard-on, he clicked on the “forward” button until he reached the bit where he saw his eyes shut and his lips begin to move.

Don’t make me wait, his begging echoed in his memory. Ha! If the scene had gone on a little longer, Ryan knew he’d have gone down on all fours with his ass in the air. He’d have spread his cheeks with his own two hands and begged À Vincente for his cock. Oh, damn, but this need to come was getting past the point of no return, and fast. He hit “play” and concentrated hard, kneading his dick through his pants. His breath began to quicken in time with his strokes. “Want me to take care of you?” À Vincente asked, the innocent-seeming question anything but, dripping as it did with honest, urgent lust. “Make you feel good, pretty baby?”

You bet your ass you did, Ryan thought, unzipping and thrusting his hand inside his clothes, past the waist of his boxers and, thank all the holy saints, around the needy column of pulsing flesh that demanded some triple-X TLC. I still do, and that’s why I need to remind myself why I should stay the hell away from you. “Yes,” he keened on screen, rubbing and writhing like a cat in heat. Embarrassing, to be caught for posterity acting so shamelessly. Humiliating, yet hot as hell. À Vincente’s hand disappeared between film-Ryan’s bare thighs. Film-Ryan keened and real-Ryan heated in a flash, remembering exactly where À Vincente had touched him and the star-spangled fireworks show that had gone off in his pleasure centers. Ryan stood, shoving his jeans down. No sooner had they folded around his ankles, followed by the boxers, than he had moved his fingers to the place À Vincente had inflamed earlier. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. Doing it for yourself paled in comparison to the real thing, but with blazing memories to draw on, self-service took on a whole new level of glee.

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He forced his eyes open as he wrapped his fingers around his cock and began to jerk. It took serious effort to focus on the film. “Just taking the edge off,” film-À Vincente soothed as the cameras rolled, the avaricious gleam in his eye and the supremely self-confident horniness of his grin giving the lie to how deeply he was in the scene. When film-Ryan moaned, desperate as he remembered not to have this end so soon, film-À Vincente turned wicked as the very devil. The touch of his hand was enough to make a Franciscan friar toss in his sandals. “Come for me,” film-À Vincente goaded, milking Ryan’s cock. “Give it up. Shoot on my hand.” “God!” real-Ryan exploded, sucking desperately for air as his film counterpart swore and lost control. Only a hard pinch at the base of his cock kept him from following over the edge. À Vincente held film-Ryan steady as he came, his expression so hungry Ryan was amazed that the vampire hadn’t devoured him on the spot. Sunk those wicked fangs in all the way and drained him dry. The thought should have withered his arousal, he knew. Did it? Hell, no. He had to increase pressure on his cock until it flared in painful protest to keep from splattering his keyboard. Ryan punished himself by keeping up the pressure while he avidly drank in the sight of himself sucking cock. The way his lips stretched and his cheeks bulged around the thick length of À Vincente’s dick…there weren’t words. He looked like a slut, but he felt no shame. Sticks and stones might break his bones, words could go screw themselves, and he knew he’d do anything to taste the bittersweet musk of À Vincente’s cum a second time. He made himself keep watching. The important bit was fast on its way. “Come here,” film-À Vincente ordered, hauling film-Ryan to a shaky standing position. À Vincente manhandled him with such ease, a tell for what had to be supernatural strength. Ryan’s memories did actually go fuzzy around that point, but he knew what came next and had the shallow bite marks to prove it. The camera had caught the white shimmer of fangs emerging from À Vincente’s gums. Hard evidence captured on film. Wonder if Julianne knows or if she doesn’t? If she does, I bet she had a fit when she realized what got caught on camera. He gazed at the fangs, fascinated. Retractable, like a cat’s claws. The vampire parted his lips wide, jaws unhinging in the way of a snake on its live prey, and pierced film-Ryan’s nape. Blood spurted, trickling in thin double streams down his throat. Ryan didn’t remember this next bit at all, staring in sick enthrallment while he saw film-Ryan shudder in À Vincente’s arms as if he was flying apart. He watched his face twist in what had to have been a second climax, riding À Vincente’s thigh as it pushed his legs open.

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Real-time Ryan couldn’t hold back. He groaned from the pit of his stomach and, pinch or no pinch, felt his cock buck in his hand and spill hot, sticky seed over his fingers. He came back to his senses, panting, just in time to focus on the playback and see how he’d gazed up at À Vincente in wonder. “How did you do that?” film-Ryan whispered. “Where did you take me?” He got a glimpse of À Vincente looking thunderstruck and heard Laurie holler “cut” before the screen jerked abruptly to black. The computer asked, politely, if he wanted to view the video file again. Might not be such a good idea. Ryan manipulated the mouse with his clean hand, shaking too much to aim properly. He cursed Bill Gates and all the evil Microsoft spawn three times for every misplaced click before he finally achieved the “X” in the upper-righthand corner. “Whew.” Ryan let his head flop back on his neck. “Vampire. A fucking no-kidding vampire. Couldn’t be, no way. But he was. He is. And I’m signed up to do a feature-length film with him? Am I losing my mind or what?” “Unfortunately, you’re not.” “Jesus wept!” Ryan pivoted and nearly tripped over the jeans tangled around his feet. “Careful there.” Not a hint of emotion appeared on À Vincente’s lips or in his eyes or voice. “So. I guess we need to talk, huh?” Ryan licked his lips. Of all the ways to shuffle off the mortal coil, he wouldn’t have chosen half naked in his apartment with a creature of the night.

Ave, imperator, as the old Romans used to say. We who are about to die salute you. “Yeah,” he agreed around his sandpapery tongue. “I guess we do.”

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Chapter Seven The first order of business, Ryan decided, was to haul up his jeans. He just couldn’t face a vampire, not even one he’d sucked off a few hours ago, with his pants around his ankles. As Ryan wiped his slick hand and worked to slip the metal button in the buttonhole, he stole wary glances at À Vincente, who looked like he’d be fine with staring at Ryan with blank spooky eyes all night long. From the apartment windows, the dark gray overcast to the early evening sky washed his visitor’s flawless pale skin with ashy shades. “Wait a second. If you’re what I think you are, how do you get around during the day?” Ryan blurted. “I thought your kind went kaboom if you walked into the sun. And, um, aren’t you supposed to need an invitation to enter?” “Pfft.” Ryan thought he might not have anything to add, but after a few beats, À Vincente shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Don’t believe everything you read. Besides, I’m not your typical vampire.” Ryan took in the sight of À Vincente’s compactly muscled body, his late-day growth of stubble, his tousled hair, and the soft suede jacket he wore. “Good point. Do you want to sit down?” À Vincente raised an eyebrow. “You’re inviting me to get comfy in your home?” Ryan shrugged uncomfortably. “Why not? I mean, you got past the Sharpie crucifix and made it in here without my noticing, so I figured you turned into mist and floated through the keyhole or something. If you wanted, you could’ve killed me before I ever saw you coming. It’s not to my advantage to be rude.” “You think if you butter me up I von’t vant to zuck your blood?” “Now you’re trying to disarm me with B movie humor. Honest, I don’t mind, and I never said anything about ‘comfy.’ The futon’s the best I’ve got. Secondhand. I think it originally came from a torture chamber in a BDSM dungeon.”

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À Vincente snorted. “Like you’d know from BDSM or dungeons.” All the same, he sat, solid legs spread and black biker boots planted wide apart. “I know a few things.” Ryan sulkily unwound a paper towel from the roll he kept on his desk in lieu of Kleenex and wiped his hands more thoroughly as discreetly as possible, which wasn’t very. À Vincente watched him, smirking. “I like to research.” “Uh-huh.” À Vincente sucked his cheeks in for a moment. “Just a guess, here, but your ‘research’ has more to do with looking up information on the Internet and less hands-on practical experience, right?” Ryan cleared his throat, muttering nonspecific vocalizations that he hoped À Vincente would take either as the equivalent of “fuck off” or “I have lots of experience, thanks.” No such luck. À Vincente whistled between his teeth and leaned back to support his weight on his wrists. The new position canted his hips, bringing the fullness of his groin forward to grab Ryan’s attention. Ryan didn’t think À Vincente realized what he was doing. He regarded Ryan with an attitude that was one part disbelief, one part male pride, and one part grim dismay. “You do have some notches on your bedpost, don’t you?” “A few,” Ryan mumbled. À Vincente breathed out. “At least that wasn’t your first for everything.” He fidgeted briefly. “Look, kid, you’re hot, and you’re headed for a good career. Why are you playing around with your life like this? Take days like today, for example. You can lose everything in a heartbeat.” “I have my reasons.” Ryan wadded the paper towel and tossed it at his trash can. He shoots, he scores! Nothing but net. “Don’t act like you think I need a padded jacket.” “I’m not saying you’re crazy.” À Vincente changed position, planting his elbows just above his knees, and gesticulated with his hands as he spoke. “I just don’t get it.” “No one said you had to try. Hey, do you drink coffee? I could use a cup.” “Stop dodging,” À Vincente warned. “Seriously, why do you want to do adult films? You get that little action on your own, or what?” Ryan could have cheerfully punched him in the jaw. “None of your business.” “Hmph.” À Vincente scowled. “That doesn’t make any sense to me. Why don’t you have a string of boy toys? I mean, you’re a hot, hot man.” Ryan stared at À Vincente. The porn star, the dick of a thousand films, was telling him he looked good? “You’re kidding. Me?” “Why would I bullshit you about this?” À Vincente scowled. “Okay, I’m starting to get the picture. You think you’re nothing special. I can see it in the way you move, hear it in the way you talk about yourself. What. The. Fuck. Is wrong with you? Don’t you have any selfesteem? It’s not like the number of times you’ve gotten laid moves you up or down on the sexass scale.” Ryan huffed, not sure if he was indignant or kind of flattered.

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À Vincente ranted on. “Look in a mirror, dumbass. Silky-soft hair, huge eyes, and your amazing smile. And that’s not even mentioning your legs, your abs, your…do you get my point? Hell, yes, you’re hot, and if you ever imply you’re homely in my presence again, then I will bite you. Are we clear?” Wide-eyed, Ryan had backed up during À Vincente’s rant until the back of the computer chair bit into his ass. “Um…yes. Clear as quartz.” “Good.” À Vincente rose and stalked toward him, fluid as a panther on the prowl. Ryan shrank back, alarmed on an almost animal level at the vampire’s ferocious intensity. “I don’t play power trips unless I have to, but the one thing I won’t listen to is a man as fucking sexy as you are putting himself down.” He seized Ryan’s chin between his fingers. “I want you so damn much that it might kill us both.” A flash of light startled Ryan into looking at the dark gray sky outside his window. Rain erupted from the cloud cover in thick sheets, obscuring his view as thunder crashed. “Did you do that?” À Vincente gave him a flat, diamondback rattler gaze. “You’ve been watching too many Dracula movies. You should try taking in some porn. It’s healthier.” “Okay.” Ryan shifted his weight to relieve the growing pressure in his balls. Who’d ever have thought mortal danger would be a turn-on for him? “Can we go back to the part where you said you wanted me?” “Only if you like playing with fire.” À Vincente closed the small distance between them, plastering his weight on Ryan. Chest-to-chest, groin-to-groin, nothing left to separate them but a lot of clothes that were suddenly far too many in number. The rich brown of the vampire’s irises glittered with gold sparks. Hunger. Heat. Feral lust. “You’re taking your life in your hands here, kid.” “Don’t call me kid,” Ryan snapped automatically. He worked up the courage to grope and squeeze À Vincente’s ass cheeks in his palms, a thrill of power rolling over him when À Vincente sucked in a short gasp. “It’s my life. If I want to cast some dice and take my chances, no one has the right to stop me.” À Vincente growled. “You’re wrong.” He pushed his groin to Ryan’s, shoving their swollen cocks together; then he squeezed his eyelids briefly, tightly shut. “I’m a killer, kid. Ryan. There’s no guarantee I won’t lose control and take another big bite.” “You did fine in the porn movies you’ve made, didn’t you?” “Movies have nothing to do with reality. I --” “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Ryan gripped À Vincente by the upper arms and hauled him in for a kiss. À Vincente made an “mmph” noise. His lips were still under Ryan’s. For a moment. Maybe two. Then, he growled low in his throat, parted his lips, and thrust his tongue inside

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Ryan’s mouth. The stiff muscle plundered Ryan, stabbing in short, almost angry jerks until Ryan moaned and his knees went weak. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” À Vincente demanded, tearing away from the kiss. “Be sure, be damned sure, because there’s no going back from here.” “Shut. Up,” Ryan snarled, diving for À Vincente’s mouth. Any response À Vincente might have made was drowned in the pressure of Ryan’s lips on his. Ryan heard a tangle of words forming on À Vincente’s tongue and slipping out. They didn’t sound like a protest to him. More like a prayer.

Halle-frickin’-lujah! Ryan exulted, twining his arms around À Vincente’s strong back and fisting his hands in the supple tan suede of his jacket. When À Vincente thrust his strong thigh between Ryan’s legs, he let his own limbs fall open as eagerly as a whore without needing to be asked twice. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? And it wasn’t like he needed to worry about whether or not À Vincente would respect him in the morning. Ryan let his hair down, shut his mind off, and lost himself wholly in the moment. What a moment too. À Vincente’s hands were everywhere, cool enough on Ryan’s overheated skin that he filled Ryan with shivers of cold and shudders of need. He ached to have À Vincente filing him in another way entirely, wanted that so desperately he burned from emptiness. Subconscious mind motivating Ryan’s body, his questing fingers found their way down to the fastening of À Vincente’s black jeans. His lover hissed in Ryan’s mouth and captured Ryan’s hand, forcing it down firmly over the rock-solid hardness of his cock. He pumped, thrusting against Ryan’s palm. The push-and-press of his erection, all for Ryan, made Ryan dizzy with lust. “Need to touch you,” he breathed, tilting his head back to give À Vincente better access. “Please. Let me.” “God, yes.” À Vincente helped Ryan open his jeans and guided Ryan’s hand inside. He wore neither boxers nor briefs, and with nothing to get in the way, Ryan’s fingers closed immediately around the heavy weight of À Vincente’s cock. His lover’s groin muscles spasmed, slapping his erection against Ryan’s palm. “Fuck,” Ryan gasped. He struggled to manage his breathing and wrest back at least some small fragment of control, lest this all end right away. “You’re amazing.” “Not too bad yourself.” À Vincente shoved Ryan’s jeans and boxer briefs down to return the favor. Fuck and fuck again and again; Ryan couldn’t remember anything ever being so good. “Oh, yeah,” the vampire purred, a panther with his prey captured in his claws. “Your cock…you have the best cock.” “I could argue with you there.” Ryan squeezed.

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“Don’t.” À Vincente returned to his kissing, impatient and ravenous. The man had a neck fetish -- not too surprising, really -- lavishing Ryan’s throat with kisses so cold they burned. Had his body temperature dropped? Weird. Not, however, a turn-off. Not at all. It was like dancing on the edge of a fifty-foot cliff. Death could happen, but he’d fly before he hit the bottom. “You know, I was thinking,” À Vincente ground out between kisses, “I was thinking you need a lesson.” “Lesson?” Ryan asked, hazy, as À Vincente tore at Ryan’s nondescript, faded shirt. Buttons flew, pinging off Ryan’s computer and the worn, warped floorboards beneath them. Ryan barely registered the pings and plinks, far too lost in the ravaging power of À Vincente’s mouth and the electric trails his fingertips left in their wake. “Lesson in what?” “Not manners. That can wait.” À Vincente fastened his lips over Ryan’s nipple as soon as it was bared and suckled fiercely. He laughed at the way Ryan keened, but didn’t bite the way Ryan fervently hoped he would. The feel of those sharp teeth on his tender skin…God. “Then -- oh, fuck -- what?” Ryan tangled his fingers through À Vincente’s untamed hair and tried to hold him in place. À Vincente shook him off as easily as he’d shrug away a dragonfly. “Hands on. Like I said.” He sucked again, the pressure of his mouth drawing Ryan’s nipple into a painfully hard knot.

Bite, bite, bite, Ryan prayed, lust burning him from the inside out. The vampire didn’t. “Hands on,” he repeated. “Gonna teach you how to be a star, loverboy.”

Loverboy? Well, it beat “kid.” “O-okay.” Ryan tried to thrust, needing more than the punishing, unmoving grip on his cock. “Damn you, move!” “Ah, ah, ah. Not yet.” À Vincente licked a narrow stripe from Ryan’s throbbing nipple up to the soft pocket of flesh between jaw and ear. He sucked the tender spot until it flared with pain. “Gonna mark you all over,” he swore, lips tickling Ryan’s throat. “Later. That’s to remember me by.” “Like I -- like I could forget. Come on, À Vincente, please.” “Damn.” À Vincente stilled his kissing, his breath cool and quick on Ryan’s temple. “You have no idea, do you? No idea what it does to me when you say ‘please’ the way you do.” “You’d be surprised.” Ryan milked À Vincente’s cock, hard and unforgiving strokes down to the balls and up to the tip. The stiff organ felt like a plum, full of sweet juice ready to burst. “Please,” he murmured, feeling no shame. “Fuck me. Please.” À Vincente buried his face in Ryan’s shoulder and groaned. “It’s on your head, then.” “Good. Great. Fuck me. Show me what this is all about.”

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À Vincente pulled just far enough away to fix Ryan with an eye-to-eye stare, the darkly glowing blackness of his pupils taking Ryan’s breath away with what they promised in their depths. “Here we are, then,” the vampire rasped. “Entertain us.” He kicked off his boots, shook out of his jeans, and dropped, graceful as a black swan, to his knees. À Vincente, as it became immediately clear, wasn’t joking about the “instruction” part of his plans. However, as he included the “hands-on” part as well, Ryan decided not to complain. Not that he could think when À Vincente did…damn…that with his tongue. “Is it forked?” Ryan asked between shuddering breaths, fingers knotted in À Vincente’s hair to keep him there. Hope sprang eternal. His lover pulled off Ryan’s cock with a wet pop that made Ryan whimper. “Is what forked?” Ryan lightly scratched À Vincente’s scalp. “Not my dick, idiot.” He caught himself. Weirder things had and were currently happening, like letting a vampire take his cock between vampire fangs. “Wait, wait, it hasn’t gone forked, has it?” He tried to peer down. Snorting with laughter, À Vincente slapped his hand away. “No, loverboy. Selfcontained unit.” He tugged Ryan’s cock to its full length, away from his groin, and petted the tight skin that was shiny with his saliva. “You sold yourself short on the video ad.” “I measured. And how can you think about things like job applications right now?” Ryan tugged À Vincente’s hair. “Suck.” “Mmm. I want to enjoy this.” À Vincente lapped the head of Ryan’s cock in leisurely circles. “Cum is almost better than…” He stopped. “Great job, me.” The imminent danger of À Vincente bringing the blowjob to a halt altogether motivated Ryan more than altruism. “Nuh-uh, no you don’t.” He applied force to the base of À Vincente’s head, pushing him closer again. “Cum is better than what? Blood?” À Vincente snuck a catlike lick to the triangular bundle of nerves on the underside of Ryan’s dick. He whoofed out a long sigh. “Yeah. Me and my big mouth.” “I don’t give a damn.” “What?” À Vincente stared up at Ryan. “Trust me. Okay? If I’m freaking, you’ll know. Get back to the lesson, Professor. Learn me good.” À Vincente’s astonishment flickered over, becoming lustful glee. “I knew you’d be hot to trot once you got started, but damn, it’s good to know that’s all you and not my boneheaded game. Okay, loverboy. Class is in session.” He slid his mouth over Ryan’s dick, lips stretching tight, and kept on gliding until he was far past what Ryan had thought possible. He didn’t stop until his nose was buried in the thick tangle of wiry, dark brown curls bushing over Ryan’s genitals.

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Ryan gaped at the vampire, frozen with the need to come and the stubborn determination not to let this end so fast. Not with just a blow job. The sight of À Vincente’s bulging cheeks and thinned-out lips pushed him nearly too far. Ryan reached down to cup À Vincente’s cheeks, almost jerking away when he felt the hard fullness bulging inside his lover’s mouth. “Oh, my God.” He swallowed. “Can I…?” À Vincente’s dark gaze glittered, giving Ryan the feeling that he’d just gotten a gold star in novice kink. Nodding was kind of out, but the way the vampire stroked Ryan’s bare thighs answered the question equally well or better. Better became fantastic when À Vincente’s hands glided up Ryan’s legs and behind, squeezing his ass. “Wait, wait, wait,” Ryan gasped. He had a good idea where À Vincente was heading -to which his cock voted an enthusiastic hell, yes -- but not yet. He’d lose it. “Let me, first. Please.” À Vincente shuddered, filling Ryan with a rush of power that stoked his arousal to an even hotter fire pitch. “I have to,” he whispered, tracing the convex curves of À Vincente’s full cheeks. He slid his forefinger in his lover’s mouth, barely fitting, stroking first the soft inside flesh of À Vincente’s cheek, then the shaft of his cock over the velvety slickness of À Vincente’s tongue. “So hot.” He tried a tentative tug back and thrust in, finger still pushed alongside his cock. “Unngh.” Precum seeped in a steady stream from his slit; he could feel the slippery moisture gliding around the head as À Vincente used his throat muscles in some ungodly amazing way. “Stop!” The vampire growled, hooding his eyes. Ryan read his thoughts written across his face: like hell he’d stop. And as if to prove his point, one of the hands kneading Ryan’s ass cheeks dug between the crease of his buttocks to circle his hole. Ryan jackknifed forward. “À Vincente,” he wailed. “Not yet! Stop!” À Vincente huffed through his nose. He released Ryan’s ass -- and it was just about as earthshaking to feel him slide free as it had been to first know his touch -- and slowly let Ryan’s throbbing cock draw out of his mouth. He licked his lips, swollen red and shiny, and bared perfectly human, blindingly white teeth at Ryan. “You taste sweet.” The words were coated in approving need. “I’ve tasted my own. It’s not sweet, man.” Ryan frowned. À Vincente had gone vaguely cross-eyed as he winced. “What?” “Kid.” À Vincente wiped his mouth, smearing cloudy-clear precum over his chin. “Don’t say things like that unless you’re trying to make me insane.” Ryan hooted. “Crazy vampire.” He pulled À Vincente’s hair, angling his neck as far back as it would go, his face parallel to the ceiling. “Next lesson.”

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“I love night classes.” À Vincente rose with the grace of a cobra charmed from its basket, undulating in a way probably calculated to turn Ryan’s legs wobbly. It worked. He twined his right arm around Ryan’s neck and his left around Ryan’s waist. “You’ve earned a kiss.” This close up, Ryan was mesmerized by the new, even more compelling -- no, À Vincente wasn’t warm, not blood warm, but his near presence was sexually scorching enough to make up for any lack of body heat it burned. “We’ve kissed before.” “Different kind of kiss,” À Vincente informed Ryan, his only warning before the vampire’s mouth slanted over his. The pressure was light, his grip gentling to settle on Ryan’s shoulders. Not overly erotic but not chaste either, just…cautious, as if he was trying not to hurt Ryan. Ryan struggled, wanting more of the searing chill he’d known during the earlier kisses. He writhed against the weight of À Vincente’s body, trying to hump the vampire’s hip. “Shh,” À Vincente whispered in Ryan’s mouth, the hiss of air cool on his tongue. “What are you doing?” Ryan’s eyes drifted shut. He fixed his hands on his lover’s waist to keep them both steady on their feet. “À Vincente?” “Feel this. Know what I am.” À Vincente sealed their lips together, the touch of his tongue coaxing Ryan’s mouth fully open. With the kind of talent that could tie cherry stems in knots, he teased Ryan’s tongue into his mouth. Puzzled, though not about to bitch, Ryan ran the tip of his tongue along À Vincente’s teeth while he moaned, the lusty cry muffled by their kiss. He jerked to a standstill. À Vincente made a mewing noise, a small cat’s call. His abs rippled as he rubbed them to Ryan’s. It’s okay, Ryan thought he was saying. I won’t hurt you. This? This was the kind of “dangerous” À Vincente had warned him about? Ryan couldn’t worry about that, though, not amidst the shocked wonder of tracing À Vincente’s gums with his tongue and prodding out the fangs that had started to emerge, retractable as a snake’s, folded behind his human teeth. With nothing to measure them by but the length of his tongue, they seemed as long and sharp as piercing parlor needles. À Vincente groaned, an urgent, warning sound. Ryan refused to move. He held À Vincente’s waist in an iron grip and twined his tongue around one fang, stroking as he would À Vincente’s cock. “Don’t!” Gasping, À Vincente yanked back. Ryan flinched at a sudden, sharp sting in his lip. He licked the source of the pain and tasted blood. It didn’t bother him nearly as much as the raw, naked famine that twisted À Vincente’s rough gorgeousness into something feral and barely human. “My God.” Ryan let go of À Vincente’s waist as he stared. “You…”

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“I told you.” À Vincente’s voice came out thicker now, like the rumble of a bear or the heavy clash of thunder in the skies. “This is what I am. You want to fuck this, now? You can’t even stand to touch me.” He flung Ryan’s wrists away. “We’re done here.” Ryan stood, stunned and stock-still, but only for the space of a breath. Long enough for À Vincente to turn and head for the door, but not long enough to scramble into his clothes, apparently planning to escape bare-ass naked. “Think again, Blade,” Ryan spat, lunging forward and ramming his shoulder in the middle of the vampire’s turned back. À Vincente squawked like a startled rooster on his way down to the floor, more or less dissipating any tiny residual shreds of fear Ryan might have had. The vampire landed on his stomach, the force of his impact rattling the windows. Any human would have had the air knocked out of them, but À Vincente stopped breathing, save for what he needed to form words when he flipped effortlessly over in the split second before Ryan’s weight landed fully on him. “What the hell are you doing?” “What’s it look like?” Ryan flung his naked leg over À Vincente’s hips and straddled him, planting his palms on the vampire’s chest. Rolled his groin, striking À Vincente’s stillturgid erection, now gone a deep rose where a human would have azure blue balls. À Vincente hissed, his knees rising until Ryan heard the slap of bare feet planted on the floor behind him. “Get this through your thick head, bloodsucker. I’m not scared of you.” À Vincente bared his fangs, wickedly long and curved. His pupils stretched and elongated, reshaping themselves into diamonds; the dark brown of his irises filled the white space. “You want this?” he rasped. “Look at me, and tell me you want this.” “I always thought snakes got a bad rap.” À Vincente boggled, then choked out a rusty laugh. “You’re a lunatic.” “Yeah, that’s what I said to you. The answer’s the same. Of course I’m nuts. Nuts for you.” Ryan began to ride À Vincente, slow yet urgent surges up and down. À Vincente arched his neck, sibilant hisses escaping him. The tips of his fangs gleamed. “Last time I’m asking this, vampire. Fuck me. Either you take my ass or I take yours.” “No way. This hole is mine.” À Vincente slapped Ryan’s ass, drawing up a searing heat where his fingers hit taut flesh. “I warned you.” “Yeah, and I didn’t listen.” Ryan taunted À Vincente with a long, slow grind. “So, what are you going to do about it?” “This.” À Vincente snatched Ryan by the waist and flipped them. The dreary apartment whirled past Ryan’s eyes, dizzying him, until suddenly he was laid out flat on his belly with a naked, horny vampire slavering on top of him.

Sweet. “Slick,” À Vincente barked as he spread Ryan’s ass open. “You better have something, or I’ll take you dry.”

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Ryan shuddered violently, only holding his orgasm back through a huge effort of will. He forced his eyes open and searched, vision foggy, for something -- anything -- that would work. “There!” He pointed, wrist muscles twitching. “Under the desk.” À Vincente grunted, rushing away only as long as it took him to find and snag the tiny bottle Ryan hoped wasn’t empty. He pulled it out of Ryan’s sight and paused. “Fucking hell,” he griped. All the same, the bottle cap clicked open and the powdery scent of baby oil sweetened the air, mixing strangely yet inflamingly with the raw musk of two men in rut. “Gonna be cold,” he warned. “Don’t flinch.” Ryan locked his limbs down, refusing to budge despite the chill gush of oil that made him want to buck. À Vincente emptied what had to have been the entire remaining contents of the sample size over his crease and flung the bottle across the room. “Feel me,” his lover’s animal voice crackled. A cool, slick weight stroked between Ryan’s ass cheeks, the heaviness of À Vincente’s cock scudding over nerves that exploded with sensation. “Feel me.” He prodded Ryan’s entrance, the penetration provoking Ryan into a shocked yelp. “Feel me.” Hard, blunt pressure, oh-my-God huge, pushed at the ring of muscle. “Stretch,” Ryan protested, the word garbled. He knew that much, at least, though by God he didn’t think he could wait. Neither could À Vincente, apparently. The vampire’s fangs scratched the dip between Ryan’s shoulders, pricking him with their needle tips. As the pain flared, a honey-warm lassitude flooded Ryan’s mind. “No pain,” he crooned. Ryan could have sworn he felt the cool flicker of two tongues, not one. Forked. By damn. “No pain,” À Vincente insisted. Ryan hissed when he registered the press of fangs through his skin, the teeth piercing deep, so deep…and felt no pain, not a single twinge. He heard a wet sipping and knew À Vincente was drinking from him, but didn’t care. His lover forced the forked tip of his tongue hard to Ryan’s flesh and swallowed noisily; at the same moment, the pressure on Ryan’s entrance became almost unbearable until -- at last -- the tight ring of muscle gave way to let the vampire enter him in a long, strong surge. He didn’t stop until Ryan heard the soft, wet slap of À Vincente’s sac on the soft, surrounding skin. “Ohhh…” À Vincente’s fangs withdrew. He pressed a hard kiss to the back of Ryan’s neck. “You. You.” Still, Ryan felt no pain. “You,” he agreed, hoarse. Burning need built at lightning speed in his belly and groin, and while he didn’t hurt in the specific bad-pain way, he spasmed around the cock buried within him. If À Vincente didn’t move, he’d explode. “Now.”

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“Yeah.” À Vincente rose, hands on Ryan’s back for balance. “Now.” He lifted to his knees, pulling Ryan with him until Ryan’s ass was presented in the air. “So good,” he grunted, withdrawing only a little way before slamming back in. At this new angle, he hit something deep within that sent pinball wizard bells and whistles screaming through Ryan’s head, rock ’em, sock ’em. “Yeah,” À Vincente chanted, laughing with no breath, never stopping. Forward. Back. Deep. Hard. Ryan’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he clawed the floor to keep from falling. The sizzling ache in his groin rose to the final peak, one from which he couldn’t back down. “Please,” he begged. “Your hand. On me.” “Yeah, lover, yeah.” À Vincente angled to reach beneath Ryan and seized his cock in a punishing grip, jacking rough and fast in time with his strokes. “Now.” He dug his thumbnail into the slit of Ryan’s cock. Ryan screamed, the yell bruising his throat, and bucked while À Vincente thrust and shot thick, creamy jets of spunk. For the first time in his life, he really understood the way his muscles spasmed, seizing and catching the iron rod of À Vincente’s cock. The vampire let rip with a wild, wolfish howl, pounded Ryan’s ass with one last cruel jerk, and came, flooding his passage. When the spangles of light cleared and his vision faded back from gray, Ryan hung still, not daring to move lest he land on his face, listening to À Vincente’s savage animal whines. He knew, somehow, that his lover’s vampiric nature demanded he drink until he’d taken all Ryan had to give, and that À Vincente fought the urge. Ryan waited, hands curled into fists, until À Vincente heaved a shuddering sigh. “Down,” À Vincente ordered gruffly. Ryan eased his limbs, stretching as carefully as he could full-length on his floor. He didn’t even mind the cooling puddle of spunk beneath him. Who could worry about a wet spot when they’d been fucked by a master like À Vincente? “Damn,” he murmured, lashes fluttering to his cheeks, the need to drowse overtaking him. “I got so lucky.” À Vincente chuckled, brushing his lips over Ryan’s throat. “So did I, kid. So did I.” “Don’t call me kid,” Ryan griped even as he slipped away to sleep with À Vincente still buried deep inside him. “Kid,” À Vincente gibed, the last thing Ryan heard before he lost himself to dreaming.

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Chapter Eight After having worked in the adult film industry for a while, À Vincente had gotten used to certain aspects of the gig. Regardless of whether or not you had a boss like Julianne, some things never changed from studio to studio, a perfectly normal, perfectly shitty, proscribed status quo. De rigueur for the job no matter where you went were the following: 1) No royal treatment unless you are Ron Jeremy or Pamela Anderson, and maybe not even then. For example, there are no trailers for the small-time “stars.” If you ask for a trailer -- and glossy-eyed kids full of dreams of their name in lights often do -- at best, you’ll get a blank look. At worst, you’ll be thrown off the set by a cranky director who isn’t about to waste time cultivating a potential prima donna. Usually, you just get laughed at. By everyone. 2) Never ask where the money comes from. Don’t ask where the money that doesn’t appear on your paycheck goes. Nosiness gets you kicked off the lot. 3) Never irritate, annoy, or argue with the boss. (That is just common sense.) 4) Don’t criticize the script. Ever. Don’t like the role you’re assigned? Tough. Suck it up, suck off the hairy Elephant Man, and go offer the producer sexual favors so you, please God, don’t have to do it again. 5) Everyone’s out for number one. You had better be too. So don’t make friends unless you want something from them, or you can snag some power over them by granting a wish. This makes for pretty cold bastards and bitches, all of whom shoot you obsidian dark, diamond-sharp looks while pretending to moan in ecstasy. 6) Anything too good to be true usually is. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth -- run screaming from a gift horse.

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7) Never. Ever. Ever. Never think about falling in love with one of your coworkers. That road leads to tears, madness, and people boiling bunnies on your stove. Ergo, this whole situation with Ryan, the new golden boy, threw À Vincente for a loop in more ways than one. The gritty life he’d learned to navigate had turned topsy-turvy overnight. More than the unwritten laws of adult entertainment, what bothered À Vincente was knowing he really was falling for the kid, losing another piece of his heart every time he slipped through Ryan’s door at night and fucked him until he or they both screamed. After only a handful of days together, more often than not spent in bed until they were fuckedout, sore, and boneless from satisfaction, À Vincente was certain that he could lose his heart to the kid. Big time. Julianne was right when she’d told him he was sure to risk his neck over this. Trouble was, he didn’t see a single way out of the whole mess, not unless he up and fled for the border, and the idea had crossed his mind more than once. Double trouble was that he couldn’t bear to face the thought of skipping out on Ryan. Triple trouble came in the late evening two weeks later on the Temptations set, when Julianne approached À Vincente with a sunny, innocent smile that instantly cranked his Spidey senses up to eleven. “Whatever you’re about to ask me, the answer is no,” À Vincente said, breaking the unwritten code with grim abandon. He’d already screwed with enough rules not to mind too much about snapping one more guideline. He sipped from the half-empty bottle of cold spring water he’d stolen from the vending machine. A bang here, a tip-and-rock there, and voilà. “All right.” Julianne slumped against the plain cream stucco wall À Vincente leaned on, their shoulders bumping companionably. “Wouldn’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Not my style.” “Uh-huh. Since when?” “What? I’m one of the good gals.” Julianne splayed her hand over her heart. Okay, over her triple-huge bra cups. Same difference as far as À Vincente was concerned. He appreciated boobs, sure, but they didn’t trip his trigger. The thought of overpowering Julianne with mind tricks, sweeping her desk clean of paper clips and memos, and bending her over the edge to fuck her raw just made him want to giggle. “You’re a peach. What do you want?” “Total acceptance of anything I say and blind, zombielike followers would be a start.” À Vincente grunted. “You’ve got at least twenty-six of those, tailor-made, on your payroll.”

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“Details, details.” Julianne let go of her tit and held her fingers to the light to examine the nails. “Do you really want me to put on my ogre face?” Not out of the realm of possibility, in À Vincente’s experience. He’d met ogres. Scary guys who loved RPGs for some reason. And you never really 100 percent knew about anyone. “Not so much,” he replied between sucks of water. “I’ll bite. What do you want me to do?” “Make a lot of money.” Julianne radiated smugness. “More than you’ve seen since you first whipped off your pants for the camera.” “Money’s not a big deal to me, Jules. It’s not like I have to buy groceries or pay an electricity bill.” He loosely capped his water bottle. “Or worry about rent, actually. My landlord’s so easy to cloud, he thinks the place is bought and paid for through the end of the next millennium.” “Fine.” Julianne buffed her nails against her left breast, neatly combining two diversionary tactics in one. “So you don’t care about a ten-thousand-dollar check. No big deal. But him…” She pointed at Ryan, half-naked and laughing between two slender, blonde chickies with a whole lot of jiggle to their bouncy bits. “A starving intern, that’s what our Ryan is. Ever check into the stats and find out exactly how much an intern doesn’t get paid?” À Vincente squirmed. “Jules…” She shrugged. “What? I mean, ten thousand dollars could go a long way with that pretty boy. Might make the difference between a starvation diet of Ramen and selling plasma so he can afford textbooks.” “Bad form, Jules.” She overrode him. “Since you’re not willing to play along, that’s fine. I’ll tell the patron who’s gagging to see you and Ryan in a no-expenses-spared feature film written by a network professional that you’re not interested, which, by the way, you all but agreed to after Ryan’s first day on set.” “Damn you, Jules.” She smirked. “Do I have your full cooperation now?” À Vincente huffed. He took a long, lingering look at Ryan. He knew anatomy and physiology pretty darn well. Ryan was hot stuff at first glance, but if you could find the signs, he was too skinny and too pale for a mortal, and the way he gorged when someone brought snacks in…not to mention the lack of food in his tiny refrigerator… “You win. I’ll give you what you want, but only if you answer one question.” Julianne stiffened, a minute twitch of muscles that was nearly undetectable to the naked eye. “What?”

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“You were the first one to get all up in arms over how getting involved with Ryan was a bad, bad idea. You haven’t given us a prayer of a chance to share screen time since day one. So why are you gung ho about having both of us in this film?” “Pfft.” Julianne ticked reasons off on her fingers. “For one, the money. For two, someone leaked the raw footage of the-scene-that-will-never-see-small-screen. The patron got a hold of a bootleg DVD and is frantic to see more of your ‘divine chemistry.’” She paused for air. “For three, the money. For four, this could be big for Temptations. We could go high profile and high class, which leads us to reason number five, the money.” À Vincente shoved her. “Don’t try to con me. You’re not a money-hungry bitch. There’s not enough mercenary in your blood.” “There is when someone’s offering this kind of cash. It’s business, À Vincente, and my soft heart that you always warn me about wants to see Ryan doing good for himself.” “Damn it, Julianne, not again…” “I’m not playing fair, I know.” “And you’re not really answering my question. The patron -- Jesus, I haven’t heard that word for a while -- wants to see us together. Great. That’s his or her reason. What’s yours?” Julianne’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Pedant. Trust me, I haven’t forgotten about the familial vows to keep your ass safe. However, it shouldn’t be a big deal now, right? I mean, you did get through and wipe Ryan’s memories.” À Vincente didn’t flinch, wriggle, or cough -- something to be proud of. “Yep,” he said, hoping he sounded bored. “He’s almost as clean as a good, old-fashioned, blank slate.” “Almost?” “I like the kid. There’s lots to enjoy about him, such as the way he looks out for that lunatic buddy of his. How many times would Teddy have wrecked the entire studio with his klutziness if Ryan hadn’t rescued his ass?” “Okay, point,” Julianne conceded. “Stop trying to change the subject.” “What were we talking about, again?” Julianne was not amused, and her narrow stare told him so. “Ryan and your forthcoming reassurances that he’s not going to screw up a centuries-old arrangement to keep your tuchus safe.” “You worry too much. The kid’s fun to hang around with, that’s mostly it. And he does need someone watching his back while he’s trying to take care of everyone else, or those sharks out there will eat him alive.” À Vincente yawned. “So he thinks I’m a buddy. No big deal.” “Huh.” Odd how women could make that single-syllable verbalization drip with disbelief, cynicism, and scorn when they wanted to. “No romance in the air I need to worry about?”

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“As if.” À Vincente finished his water and lobbed the empty bottle at a trash can. He missed. “Damn.” “The things I’ve learned aren’t true about supernatural creatures,” Julianne murmured. “That last scene, the one I couldn’t help but noticing you watched like it was the hidden, completed ending to The Sopranos, was Ryan’s last for Faun-on-Faun Forest Lords IV.” À Vincente grumbled under his breath. He hated sharing Ryan with anyone, even if it was “just” business, but it wasn’t as if he could tie the kid up and keep him from leaving his apartment, could he? Although he might hang onto that idea for private enjoyment later. At least it helped to know that the films were nothing more than a day’s work. That he only saw true pleasure and full-bodied satisfaction on Ryan when Ryan lay in his arms, and his alone. “Jealousy doesn’t become you. He needs the money. Deal with it. And if you want him all to yourself for a while, then both of you can report to this address after the sun goes down.” She plucked a business card from her impressive cleavage and passed it to À Vincente between two fingers. “I’ll be there too, checking everything out to make sure it’s doable for Temptations. Don’t be late.” À Vincente took the card, giving it a passing glance to make sure he knew the location. Division Investments, 1413 Springheel Street. The heart of downtown. Sounded bland as oatmeal. “Yeah, I’ll make it on time, boss.” “Good.” A fragment of Julianne’s earlier spiel finally clicked. “Wait a second, they filmed an alternate ending to The Sopranos?” Julianne rolled her eyes at him, then walked away, reiterating over her shoulder: “Don’t be late!” À Vincente tucked the card in his back pocket. Well. This was going to be fun, wasn’t it?

***** As if Julianne’s threats and promises hadn’t been enough to arouse À Vincente’s suspicions, the night only got weirder from there. The address he’d been given led to a parking garage that was complete with motorcycle bays with locking guard rails mounted in concrete and a not-at-all-bored attendant in a crisp, crimson uniform standing guard. À Vincente decided not to lock the bay he’d parked his chopper in. He kind of wanted to unpark and find some curb on the outside. Maybe even leave the motor running. Anything that seemed too good to be true, especially this good, usually led to sprinting for his life.

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“Would sir like to entrust the parking staff with his keys?” The attendant held out his palm. À Vincente stared. Since when did flunkies make that move apart from hinting at tips? “Thanks, no.” He pocketed the key ring. “Look, I think I might be in the wrong place.” “I don’t believe so, sir. You are Vinnie Vidivici with Temptations, Incorporated, correct?”

Vinnie Vidivici? Had to be Julianne’s doing. That lady had one weird sense of humor sometimes. Sheesh and har-de-har-har. Unless the real Julianne had been bound and gagged and stuffed in a closet somewhere to be replaced by a doppelgänger -- which À Vincente was starting to wonder about. “That’s me,” he hazarded, assessing the man for possible lunatic fannishness, something he’d learned to take in his stride but had also learned to be on his guard against. Fans could be deadlier to movie stars than stakes and holy water combined for vampires. “This is a strange question, I know, but are you actually familiar with the kinds of movies Temptations produces?” “Yes, sir.” The attendant went dreamy, all but swooning. “I’m a huge fan, particularly of your home studio’s work, sir.”

Oh, goodie. “That’s great,” À Vincente said, carefully neutral. “You really are fantabulous.” The attendant held out the other hand, eagerly offering a Sharpie. “Forgive me for the imposition, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask for an autograph.” “Weird” shifted fluidly to “surreal,” but autograph responsibility was part of the gig. “All right.” À Vincente took the marker and stared at it, mystified. “What do you want me to sign? A parking validation slip?” “No, sir.” The attendant batted his eyelashes as he turned and untucked his crimson shirt. “If you’d be so kind, I’d love to have you sign my --” “Hey, À Vincente!” À Vincente’s heart made a valiant effort to pulse so that it could skip a beat in relief. “Ryan!” he called, rounding to face his costar and lover. “Glad to see you.” Boy, am I glad to see you. “So you made it here okay?” “The taxi driver got lost.” “You didn’t ride your bike?” Ryan made a face. “Didn’t want to show up all sweaty and rank, but for all that I think I might have been better off on my own. The driver didn’t seem any more familiar with this part of town than I am, which is to say, not at all.” “Ah, yes. The part of every town where you need to tell between whitefish and Beluga caviar to get by the guards.” À Vincente returned the Sharpie, took Ryan’s arm, and tugged him forward, away from the scary attendant, closing his ears to the man’s shrill, disappointed

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protests. Eesh. “Yet, in many ways, it’s just the same as the rest of the world. Shall we?” he asked, mimicking the over-the-top limp-wristed accent of the early Warner Brothers rodenthousemate cartoon that had almost cracked his shit up in the middle of the movie theatre. “Let’s shall.” “You’ve seen ‘Goofy Gophers’?” À Vincente was thrilled. He didn’t know if it was far too past Ryan’s time, but hey, his boy loved the classics, right? Witness Ryan’s affection for À Vincente himself. “Absolutely.” Ryan winked slyly. “Those two furries are shining stars of gay Hollywood.” “Let me guess. That’s when you first started to realize you weren’t like all the other little boys.” “That came later, when I found my babysitter’s copy of Playgirl.” Ryan elbowed him. “She freaked out, thinking she’d lost it and that when my parents found it, they’d fire her first and expire from coronaries later.” À Vincente took a moment to digest. “I take it your parents aren’t the freest thinkers out there.” “God, no.” Ryan shuddered. “My dad died when I was ten, but he was okay. My mom hasn’t spoken to me since the standard big homosexuality fight.” Vague, insubstantial memories, rich with sorrow, flitted through À Vincente’s mind. Images of a slight, thin woman with work-worn hands, her face prematurely wrinkled, and her hair gone gray far before her time, holding À Vincente to her breast as she mourned his death. After his mother had passed, herself, and he’d earned the right, À Vincente had built a freakin’ mini cathedral over her grave. Ryan gave him an oddly sad look and squeezed his hand. “Families.” À Vincente made a dismissive gesture. “Who needs ‘em?” “She might be proud if she found out I made it through med school.” Ryan seemed untroubled by the conversation. “Not so proud about the porn, but you know what? Screw her. I do what I have to do.” He shot À Vincente a sideways glance. “Like lying to Julianne about how you erased my memories.” “Keep your voice down,” À Vincente hissed. He scanned the parking lot; to his relief, minus the dejected attendant returning to his booth, there wasn’t another soul in sight. “Yeah. I hear you. It’s all about survival, right?” “That’s not why you didn’t fog my mind.” “I can’t.” On more levels than one. “Change the subject.” “I could talk about how I woke up this morning, hard and aching, tenting the sheets after dreaming about you fucking my ass until I couldn’t walk.” À Vincente growled. “Don’t go there.”

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“Why? I can still feel your tongue on my balls, licking up spunk. I’m still sore from how hard you pounded me two nights ago in the back of that club. When you snuck in my window three times last week, always on the stroke of midnight. Every time you get jealous on the sets at Temptations, and every time I wish to God the guys I’m filming with would go away and leave us alone. It’s been weeks, man, only a couple of weeks, but it’s like we’ve known each other for decades. It is. You’re inside me all the time. I feel you when I sit down, and you know what?” Ryan’s gaze turned smoky. “I love knowing you’ve been inside me. You’re like a virus, taking me over. Your cock is almost all I think about, dream of, jerk off thinking about, and I want more.” À Vincente’s cock spasmed, filling with such speed that it hurt like a punch to the nuts. “Fuck, kid.” “That’s the idea.” Ryan turned so that he was walking backward, smirking. “We’re about to go in there and get naughty for this unnamed patron. I figure it won’t hurt to grease the cogs first.” Mechanical maintenance had never sounded so perverted, yet so enticing. “And if Julianne gets a single clue that we’re more than business associates on friendly terms, our asses are gone.” “What can she do to us?” Ryan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She knows what you are, right? I mean, how could she not know?” “I’m not telling you.” À Vincente cut Ryan’s interruption off before he made a sound. “It’s safer, so shut your trap until you open it on film to suck my dick.” Ryan whimpered. God, what a slut. À Vincente couldn’t get enough of him. PRIVATE ENTRANCE, EMPLOYEES ONLY. À Vincente pointed at the sign, infinitely relieved. “Gird your loins, kid. Here we go.” He reached for the door handle, only to jerk back when the panel burst open from the inside and nearly clocked both of them. “You’re here,” a high, squeaky voice chittered. “You’re finally here.” À Vincente frowned at the owner of the voice, his dismay starting large and growing. The man had been born to play the part of Uriah Heep, his greasy black hair combed over his forehead, his huge, unblinking eyes inky dark, and his thin, nervous hands rubbing together as he stared at them. “Uh…yeah. Are we late?” “No! No, no, no, no, no.” The little weasel tittered. “Not at all. My employer appreciates punctuality and will be pleased.” Ryan asked what À Vincente had wanted to. “Does your employer have a name? Or even a gender?” The man’s squidlike eyes opened wide. “Surely you appreciate confidentiality.” He wavered, thumbs working in twiddling circles. “You do, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Follow me, please, follow me. We have so much to do and so little time.”

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“After you, Igor,” Ryan mumbled. He prodded À Vincente to get him moving. “The newbie among us, i.e., me, is here to say this is like falling down the rabbit hole.” “You’re not wrong.” À Vincente kept his eyes on Uriah as he scuttled ahead of them, wondering what the man tasted like. Maybe he’d have a chance to find out. He’d make a chance if the creepy little bastard didn’t make the change to decaf before the night was through.

À Vincente, my boy, he addressed his id, what the hell have you gotten yourself involved in?

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Chapter Nine Okay, this was…different. À Vincente didn’t bother trying to be discreet about staring. He’d seen a lot of film sets in his day, as well as a lot of boudoirs, bordellos, and bad taste. The love nest the unknown employer had created for them to film on combined all three Bs and then some. Low-hanging wooden beams that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a medieval chapel were completely out of place contrasted against the wholly overdone richness of the bedroom set constructed beneath them. From the eight-foot-square bed smothered in velvet and silk pillows and quilts to the abundance of drippy candles to the rococo wrought iron slapped over every bare space left, it looked like a cross between Beowulf Does Bondage and a Playboy Bunny’s wet dream. “I don’t see why this is necessary,” Julianne argued, teasing À Vincente’s attention away from his surroundings. She’d been waiting for them when they’d been ushered in. From the set of her shoulders now and the no-budging stance of her feet planted wide apart, any man with a grain of common sense would have been able to tell that here was where a gentleman who wished to keep his package intact should back down. The creepy little toady, or “Stanley,” as he’d introduced himself, lacked any common sense. After watching the guy in action, À Vincente didn’t think Stanley was capable of making any decision that hadn’t been preapproved by his boss, “Mr. James Smith,” and signed in triplicate. Yeah. That wasn’t a pseudonym. When he’d pulled Julianne aside to ask, she’d patted his hand and told him she had it all covered, albeit under wraps, though, so he’d had to let it stand or make a scene. “This is not negotiable.” Stanley fiddled with the settings on the handheld digital video camera he held gingerly, as if it were a dead rat or as if it might explode. “My employer’s

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express wishes are to secure a private audition, with the actors in question playing their roles before my employer makes a firm commitment to the project.” If they had been in a cartoon, steam would have started rising from Julianne’s ears. “Your employer stated, in our contract, which I have already signed on behalf of Temptations, Incorporated, that every green light possible had been given. Also, that the money would be wired to our account upon signature. You know, I can’t help but notice that I don’t see all those extra zeroes. Now why would that be?” “My employer retains the right to minute adjustments of the contract.” “Like hell.” Julianne fumed, her Southern accent thickening with anger until her words slurred together in a bitter magnolia-flavored molasses. “Got it covered” didn’t mean “take it like a dog,” at least not in Julianne’s case. “Maybe I should have my lawyers take a second look at the paperwork before I agree to let you do anything, and so help me God, if you turn that camera on I will shove it up your --” “Please don’t.” Stanley stabbed a button on the camera. A lens whirred open. “Ah, there we go. Please believe me when I assure you that you cannot win a legal battle with my employer. I advise you not to try.” “Who does your employer think he is, Hugh fuckin’ Hefner? Either agree to abide by the terms or we walk.” “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that.” Stanley hadn’t blinked once and he didn’t start now. À Vincente had been watching, and he was pretty sure by now that Stanley wasn’t exactly human. “Please do cooperate, ma’am. It’ll be much better for all of us.” Julianne puffed up like a cobra ready to strike. Nothing pissed her off more than the combination of weasels and deals. “You little pipsqueak, I ought to --” “Julianne!” À Vincente had had enough. He thought he could put the smackdown on Stanley, sure, but with no idea what the creep’s powers were, he didn’t know if he could take Stanley out before he hurt Julianne or Ryan. “Chill. It’s not like I’m uncomfortable with getting my freak on in front of pervs.” Stanley smiled, a thin, narrow slice of nothing like humor. “Thank you.” “You let me handle this!” “Julianne.” À Vincente infused the single word with enough power to wrap a tendril of compulsion around her mind. He’d catch hell for it later, but for the moment she got a fleeting glimpse into his mood and knew what was what. “Let’s do this, Stanley. Ryan, are you with me?” Ryan hadn’t said a word since they’d entered what Stanley called a “private studio.” More like the bastard love child of Radio City Music Hall and a Victorian bordello, opulence and gilt literally dripping from the rafters. The set where they’d been told they’d film most of their scenes would have gotten a thumbs-up from Louis XVI. À Vincente didn’t know if Ryan was overawed, horrified, or laughing his ass off on the inside. Probably all of the above.

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“Ryan,” À Vincente repeated, holding out a hand. “Come on. Time to make nice for the camera.” “Right.” Ryan popped out of some sort of reverie. “What’s the scene? I haven’t read a script yet.” “About that,” Julianne growled. “The script will be provided in due time.” Stanley was as cheerfully dismissive as a man like him was capable of. Either that or oblivious, and if anyone there believed that, À Vincente had a few bridges to sell them. “For the sake of setting the right mood, have you ever seen The Phantom of the Opera?” Julianne groaned. À Vincente kept a straight face. “Andrew Lloyd Webber. Classic. The basic plot is the Phantom seducing Christine, or in this case, Christopher, or maybe Christian?” Stanley beamed. À Vincente had seen friendlier smiles on hungry piranhas. “Almost, yes. My employer has made a few changes to the basic plot.” “Christine seduces the Phantom? Naughty. I always thought she had it in her.” À Vincente held back a smirk as he caught sight of Ryan shaking briefly as he clearly swallowed a guffaw. “Or do the Phantom and Raoul work some sweet funky?” “Not precisely. You see, my employer dislikes the notion of a romantic lead suffering from insanity.” À Vincente begged to differ. “Love makes you crazy.” He was gratified by the snort Julianne hastily tried to cover with a cough. Sometimes you had to go with the black humor. “Okay, so the Phantom isn’t nuts. What is he, then?” “Oh, but I was under the impression that your charming Julianne had already told you.” Stanley glowed with excitement. “He’s a vampire.” The humor drained from À Vincente at the speed of a deflating balloon. “Oh.” He’d thought she’d been kidding, that she wouldn’t really do something like this to him, money or no money. Julianne opened her mouth, presumably to tear Stanley a new one. À Vincente waved her off. “Oh.” His tongue didn’t want to work. “No kidding.” Ryan spoke up. “Who’s the vampire?” “That would be our own À Vincente you’re talking about.” Stanley fussed with the lapels of his suit coat. “Ah, here we are. Silly me, to put this on backward again.” He undid a tiny fastening and brought out a crucifix. “I understand you like old things, À Vincente. What do you think of this?” Next to À Vincente, Ryan went very, very still. Julianne had frozen on the spot. À Vincente, to his own surprise, felt nothing save for a small sense of resignation. A fascination with his “vampire impersonation” (as Julianne had sworn in private she’d spun the encounter) didn’t surprise him much after knowing the Employer had seen the footage.

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“Good craftsmanship.” He reached out to stroke the crucifix. “Blessed by the Pope way back when, I’m guessing?” “Pope Urban, as a matter of fact,” Stanley replied, smooth and saccharine as sugar water. “He was a good guy. Or so I’ve read.” “Yes.” Stanley beamed placidly. Creepy. Spine-tingling, although À Vincente couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. They didn’t know the truth, after all. Did they? Stanley went on. “The scene my employer wishes to see is a pleasant nighttime rendezvous between the Vampire Phantom and Christopher some time after they have consummated their union.” “Honeymoon period. One for the money, two for the show, hit the sheets running, and go, cat, go. Punch up the mood lighting and start the camera rolling.” À Vincente grabbed Ryan’s wrist and flung him toward the ridiculously overdecorated bed. “What the hell?” Ryan whispered, crab-crawling backward on the mattress. His hands disappeared, the feather mattress having swallowed his arms halfway to the elbow. “We should get out of here. Run.” “We can’t.” À Vincente shushed him. “Trust me. Please.” “But they know.” “Exactly, which is why I can’t do anything until I figure out how they found out and what they want.” “Why not? Why can’t you…I don’t know…rip Stanley’s throat out and skip town?” À Vincente would have found it funny if it wasn’t quite so disturbing that Ryan could come up with that sort of notion without time to deliberate. “Because then I’d have to leave you behind.” Not to mention Julianne, although À Vincente was damned sure she could take total care of herself. He stroked Ryan’s full lips with the tip of his finger. “And there’s no way in hell I’d do that, so for right now just follow my lead. Deal?” They’d talk about uncomfortable new blood thirsts later. Ryan looked like he wanted to argue, but thankfully, he had enough self-preservation to shut his trap. “Deal.” Just as quickly as he’d melted into psychosis, Ryan glided along the path to demonic sultriness. He licked À Vincente’s finger and curled his tongue around the nail. “So let’s make this an audition they’ll never forget.” “All right.” À Vincente winked at Ryan as the bare fluorescent lights overhead winked out. Warm, yellow bulbs under creamy shades replaced them, flooding the chamber with ambience. They flickered on and off, creating the image of the light pouring from lit tapers and a roaring hearth. The overall effect made À Vincente shudder. Sense memories drew him instantly back to a time and a place where he would have met a lover by the dark of night, creeping all in

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secret to a gilded tower or a tumbledown hut. He could smell the sweetness of beeswax mixed with the stink of tallow and could feel the roughness of canvas and the slickness of silk under his palms. The Employer knew him too damn well, and À Vincente didn’t like that one little bit. The thought of an enemy from the past froze him with terror. And if he wasn’t someone À Vincente knew of old, then how had he found out so much? Old foe or not, if he used that knowledge against Ryan, À Vincente wouldn’t let the Employer live to see another day. “Phantom.” Ryan rose partially, supporting his weight on one elbow. Clever kid, he’d slipped into character to ask the reasonable question. “You look troubled tonight.” God, he loved this guy. “Do I? It is nothing you need concern yourself with.” The old cadences and even the accent À Vincente had worked hard to lose slipped back as if they’d never faded. He drew up in the posture of a lordly gentleman, a rake and a rogue, dashing and wicked and more than a little bit dangerous. Had literally charmed the pants off everyone from prince to pauper, back in the day. Now, he drank in the sight of Ryan lying fully down on his back and stretching languidly over the luxurious bedding, the silk and embroidery not half as garish-looking in the gentler half-light, and let his appreciation shine through. “You are a vision, my love,” he murmured. “You flatter me.” Ryan coyly lowered his eyes. “Such things you say to me. Do you think pretty compliments will win my heart?” À Vincente skipped right over wondering how the hell Ryan had learned to talk like an Edwardian coquette. “It’s not your heart I want, sweet one.” “Then what would you have from me?” “This, and this alone.” À Vincente shrugged his suede jacket off, letting it slither to the floor in a single sinuous flow. The pale blue shadow of the vein in Ryan’s throat pulsed faster; À Vincente watched, fascinated, as Ryan licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, so pink and pretty that he ached to suck it into his own mouth. He stripped his long-sleeved Tshirt off, hamming it up more for the appreciative eyes of his lover than the cold, blank eye of the camera he could sense aimed at them. Ryan’s pupils dilated with lust. He sat up the rest of the way, reaching for À Vincente. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, low and husky. “Don’t make me wait. Come lie with me and be my love.” À Vincente forgot about the camera, about Stanley, and about The Employer. Nothing mattered but the need to caress Ryan’s downy skin and taste the muskiness of his cock. “Undress,” he ordered, creeping closer. “Let me see you bare.” “Yes.” Ryan had worn a button-down. He opened the fastenings one by one, pausing between buttons to trace his fingers over the newly revealed skin; curling his legs beneath him as he finished, he arched his throat and stroked his chest. “Come to me,” he urged,

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yearning echoing in the plea. “Touch me.” Then he pinched his nipple between two of his nails, drawing the faintest trace of blood to the surface. À Vincente’s patience snapped. “Behave yourself,” he growled. “Lie still.” “And if I don’t?” Ryan didn’t look at À Vincente, choosing instead to twist and torment his nipple. “Will you punish me?” “In ways you’ve never dreamed of.” “My dreams are many and varied…and they are all of you.” Ryan let the opened shirt flutter from his back and away from his arms, pooling on the sybaritic lushness of the bed. The natural paleness of his skin was almost luminous. “Do you dream of me? Do you sleep at all?”

My God. À Vincente recognized this, now. A memory he’d cherished for a long, long time, a midnight meeting with the lover he’d lost before he himself died. He’s channeling Nicolas, my beloved Nicolas. “What are you doing?” he whispered, hoping neither Stanley nor Julianne would pick up on his question. “Ryan?” “Mmm.” Ryan undulated, his eyes sleepy. “Don’t worry. It’s still me.” His lips curved in a smile À Vincente hadn’t seen in centuries. “You thought of someone when you saw me. So strong. It was like seeing him, whoever he was, and hearing his voice saying these things to you. So I’m repeating them.” À Vincente didn’t understand at all. “How?” Ryan rolled his shoulders lazily. “It’s the way you are,” he said, honey-sweet and molasses-slow. “The way I am when I’m with you.” “You’re psychic?” À Vincente shivered. He hadn’t bargained on that, although it would explain Ryan’s resistance to hypnotism… “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Shh.” Ryan licked his lips. “Does it matter? Let me do this. I want to.” “My Nicolas,” À Vincente murmured. “My first love.” Ryan nodded. “Talk to me the way you did to him.” “I don’t…” “Please. Love me like you loved him.” Too much temptation to turn away from, to taste the sweetness of mortal love again. À Vincente let his worries go and allowed Ryan to direct the scene. “I sleep,” his voice sounded rusty and nearly breathless in his own ears, “and I wake for the need of you. Your trousers, now. Remove them and let me see what belongs to me. Only me.” “Yes,” Ryan breathed. He lay on his back, canting his hips as he undid his jeans. Rather than the wriggling most adult film actors thought to be sexy, he slid the denim off his legs in a long, smooth push, rising to ease them away from his ankles.

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Where the hell had his shoes gone?

I’m losing my mind. He’ll be the death of me, if I can’t focus on anything but him. Ryan wrapped his hand around his cock, the shaft already swollen dark scarlet, the head slick with weeping fluid. He offered his body to À Vincente. “Come to me, my Phantom lover,” he crooned. “Come and take me for your own.” À Vincente didn’t have far to go, but he covered the short distance fast, panthercrawling up the slick quilts over the billowy feather ticking. He stopped briefly only to shed his clothes, grudging every second away from contact with Ryan. As soon as he was done, Ryan purred, reaching for him. He savored a beat of time, shuddering at the power those young, heated hands had on him. He wanted more. “Turn.” He pushed Ryan by the hips, not really necessary as, with a sultry triumph, Ryan proved happy to move onto his stomach and present his ass. “Open yourself for me.” Ryan spread his cheeks. He’d had enough action in the past couple of weeks that he wouldn’t need much prep. À Vincente wouldn’t hurt him, though, and thanked all major and minor deities that a bottle of decent-quality lube was quickly located under the decadent pillows beneath Ryan’s head. As soon as he could risk going so rough, À Vincente thrust three fingers in and curled them. Ryan’s sharp hiss of surprise melted midnote into a lusty groan. He fisted his hands in the pillows and shoved back, mewling for more. “You drive me mad.” À Vincente dropped light kisses to the uppermost curves of Ryan’s buttocks. “How is it you can do this to me?” “Ahh…” Ryan sighed, fingers flexing and curling. “Because I love you, my darkness. I love you more than the sunlight, and I need you more than the air I breathe.”

Nicolas’s words. Ryan’s voice. Two men with the same power of love. Is he Nicolas born a second time? No…no. All the same, the spot in À Vincente’s chest where his heart had long since ceased to operate ached. “I’m a monster, my love.” “Not to me.” Ryan drew his knees beneath his torso. “Take me before I die from needing your cock.” Sweet mercy almighty. À Vincente couldn’t have stopped if the tip of a stake had already pierced his skin. “Then have me.” He removed his fingers from the snug passage, rose fluidly, held his pounding erection at the right angle, and slammed home in Ryan’s channel. Ryan keened, tilting his head so far back that À Vincente saw tendons standing out in his lover’s neck. “More,” he gasped, breath ragged. “Give me more.”

All you can handle, À Vincente thought, not exactly up to speech at the moment. He let the rough scrape of nails down Ryan’s flexing spine answer for him. Drawing out until only the head of his cock remained inside, he let the anticipation build as long as he could hold out, then buried his cock to the hilt.

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Animal nature took over, clouding his thoughts with a red haze. His world narrowed to the heated vise around his cock and the sounds of Ryan’s desperate moans. Wet sounds filled the air as his own precum lubricated Ryan’s sweet ass, echoed softly by the slap of tight balls against buttocks. “Mine,” he heard someone chanting. “Mine. Mine. Mine.” “Yours,” Ryan hiccupped. “Yours. Ah, God…” He convulsed, and boy, did À Vincente hope the satin coverlet had been Scotchgarded, because without a hand to his dick, Ryan erupted, spilling thick ribbons of cum between his legs and onto the fabric beneath him. His sphincter spasmed, seizing À Vincente’s cock in a merciless grasp. The punishing clench and the long, ululating keen that tore from Ryan were too much for À Vincente to last against. He pounded in choppy jerks as he, too, came, fucking mindlessly until he could fuck no more and his balls ran dry. Ryan breathed as if he’d just run a marathon and shook like an aspen, but be damned if he didn’t manage to lie down gracefully. Right on the wet spot, bless the young dork’s heart. À Vincente let his cock, slick and shiny, slide from his lover’s stretched hole. He wanted to eat that cherry out, to drink his cum and fuck Ryan with his tongue until his cock recovered. He wanted to nibble the tight wrinkles around Ryan’s entrance, prick them with his fangs, to mix blood and cum together and swallow until he quenched his thirst… À Vincente fought the desperate urge. Oh, fuck. I will not. I will not. No. Movement distracted him. Ryan had turned to lie on his back, his stomach smeared with the shining cum he’d released. His eyes were dreamy and drowsy and his smile sweet. “Lie with me,” he invited. “Rest your head above my heart.” “Yes.” À Vincente wrestled the last need to taste Ryan under control. He summoned up enough agility to drape rather than flop and lay his damp head on Ryan’s breastbone. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.” “For what, my love?” Ryan stroked À Vincente’s hair, twining strands around his fingers. “What have I done to be thanked for?” “You know who I am, and you’re not afraid,” À Vincente answered without needing to think twice. He kissed the bit of Ryan’s solid chest that he could reach. “You mean the world to me, and I will never let you go.” Ryan stroked À Vincente’s hair and hummed with contentment. À Vincente knew, once again, that this young lover of his would amaze him for the rest of his life with his big heart and his desire to please. He was the only worthy successor of Nicolas that À Vincente had ever known. Ryan, now the love of his life. Ever so softly, the hum of the digital camera ceased. “Very good,” Stanley murmured. “I think my employer will be pleased.”

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Chapter Ten “Born to be wi-i-ild,” Ryan sang, giggling. His head still swam from that amazing fuck and À Vincente’s belief in him, swam as if he’d downed a bottle of quality whiskey, the buzz filling his senses. The sharp oakiness of cask-aged alcohol filled his nose; he tasted honey and À Vincente on the tip of his tongue. “Born to be wi-i-ild…” He tried to head bang, which turned out to not be such a good idea. À Vincente slapped him between the shoulders and ruffled up his hair while steadying him on his wobbly feet. “Hey,” he said, subtly proving to Ryan that while he might be freaked out, he wasn’t going anywhere. “If I ask you what the hell’s gotten into you, would you give me a straight answer?” “Nope.” Ryan twined as many limbs as he could around À Vincente without falling. “I’d give you a queer answer,” he said, poking his lover in the solar plexus to emphasize the key word. “I know what got into me. You-u-u…” “Jesus. What are you, stoned?” À Vincente pried one hand free of Ryan’s pretzel grip and prized open Ryan’s eyelid, peering in. “Your pupils are blown,” he declared, sounding and looking grim. “Someone slipped you something.” “No one and nothing but you, bay-bee.” Ryan tipped back to let the beginning cool of the night air wash over him. Not so much like a splash of cold water in the face as a gentle massage with a cool cloth, it cleared his mind nevertheless. Sort of. “Where’d Julianne go?” he blurted as the thought popped into mind. “Back to Temptations with a big fat check. I told her we’d be okay. Was I wrong?” “Nah. I’m go-o-o-o-d.” Ryan didn’t feel the need to laugh or dance, but he still felt damned good. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, steadying his weight on his own two feet. He stroked À Vincente’s cheek, marveling at how a vampire could have problems with a five o’clock shadow. “Don’t worry about anything, okay?”

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“You really are high.” À Vincente appeared to bite the inside of his cheek. “I love you.” Ryan shut his eyes and let his lover’s emotions wash through him, write themselves on his heart. “I love you -- God, so much -- but, Ryan --” “Shh.” Ryan covered À Vincente’s lips with a light kiss, silencing him. “Don’t worry about anything right now. I’m calling a time-out.” À Vincente backed off two paces. “You’re what?” “Time-out. You’ve never heard of those?” Ryan closed the distance between them and kissed the soft skin beneath each of À Vincente’s gorgeous eyes in turn. “I declare a moratorium on fretting, worrying, and angsting until we’re…” “Until we’re what?” À Vincente prompted, pulling Ryan tight against him, chest-tochest. Ryan noticed the vampire’s cock was starting to perk up at the erotic body contact. “Until we’re out of here? Until we’re somewhere safe?” “That’ll do.” Ryan dropped his head to suck the side of À Vincente’s throat. À Vincente pulled up stiff and sharp; his cock engorged to a fat, heavy weight lying flush to Ryan. Why waste the opportunity? Ryan wiggled his hand between them and wrapped À Vincente’s member in a loose grasp that was meant more to hint at good times to come than to get him off on the spot. “I was thinking we could go to your place,” he mumbled around his kiss on À Vincente’s slightly coppery-flavored skin. “It’s only fair. After all, you’ve been to mine.” À Vincente sighed. “There’s a lot I want to ask you, kid.” “Don’t call me kid.” Ryan bit. À Vincente spasmed and shuddered. “Oh, so the vampire likes to have his neck nibbled, huh?” “You’re playing with fire.” “So maybe I’ll warm up for once in my life.” “If you were any hotter, you’d burn us both to ashes.” À Vincente nudged Ryan’s mouth away and angled until he could lick under Ryan’s chin, making him shiver with the sudden chill and the rush of hunger for more. “‘Born to Be Wild,’ you were singing. Let’s put your money where your mouth is.” Ryan pulled away. “Huh?” À Vincente jabbed his thumb at the parking garage. “Let’s go for a ride.” The elements of the equation took a moment to come together. When they did, Ryan wanted to bounce up and down like a little kid out of sheer excitement. “Your motorcycle? You’re kidding me.” “Nope.” À Vincente angled his lips just over Ryan’s and spoke into his mouth. “I’ll show you what it feels like to fly.”

*****

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The chopper’s engine shrieked as they soared down the highway outside the city limits, skating the steam of blacktop with the speed of ravens before the north wind. Ryan clung to À Vincente’s waist, fists knotted in his jacket. He wore a helmet; À Vincente didn’t. He could still hear his lover’s screaming whoops of glee when he’d let out the throttle and they soared. As soon as they’d pulled out of the parking garage, Ryan had known what À Vincente had allowed himself to feel. Sometimes he had the strangest senses of comprehension, of knowing in a vague sort of way what the vampire was thinking, although he couldn’t have pinpointed when it had first happened. On the back of the bike, roaring like a demon king through the night, À Vincente appeared to have let all his problems slip away. He was no less than a feral beast declaring his mastery over the darkness, and Ryan loved him so much he thought his chest would explode. More than sunlight, he remembered saying, the words coming without prompt or explanation, but no less the truth. More than the air I breathe. Strange? Disturbing? More than a little hot? Hell, yes. Would he change this, if he could? Go back to a normal, boring life, eating pasta three meals a day and pondering his woeful lack of a love life? Hell, no. The helmet didn’t allow for what Ryan wanted to do, which was tucking his head into À Vincente’s strong back and nuzzling his cheek against the soft suede. He made do, molding the length of his torso to his lover and sliding one hand away from the vampire’s waist, up to his chest. In so doing, he accidentally rucked up À Vincente’s shirt. A demonic inspiration struck fire in the creative starburst in his mind. Did he dare?

You bet I do. Deliberately, making sure À Vincente would know what he was doing was on purpose, Ryan glided his fingers fully under the vampire’s T-shirt. À Vincente’s skin was cool and his muscles hard, reminding Ryan of a marble statue. He found one nipple and gave it a playful tweak. À Vincente risked taking one hand away from the controls to slap his wrist. Ryan might have second-guessed his desires if he hadn’t sensed the strong wave of lust rolling through À Vincente like crimson thunderclouds.

Let’s see if you like this. Ryan braced himself with the hand on À Vincente’s bare skin, his arm clamped around the vampire’s ribs. À Vincente hitched backward, the sure sign of an expert road devil who was aware that his passenger was about to do something insane. Ryan didn’t want to let him down. Giving À Vincente no chance to stop him, he thrust his other hand down the front of À Vincente’s jeans and seized his cock. He was developing a habit of doing this, but he didn’t think À Vincente minded. He knew he wasn’t about to complain. He steadied his balance and firmed up his grip, squeeze-stroking from base to head.

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The motorcycle bucked and jerked for a moment, then steadied. À Vincente’s roar -mixed lust and fury -- echoed in Ryan’s inner ear, somehow transcending the bellow of the engine and the keening of the wind they plowed through. He snatched Ryan’s wrist but didn’t pull him off, thrusting his erection into his palm instead. “Yeah,” Ryan whispered, the sound stolen by the night, knowing À Vincente would hear him all the same. “God, I love you.” He jacked À Vincente’s cock, slow and steady with a punishing grip meant to hurt, to thrill his lover from heart to soul. “Love you so much.” À Vincente shuddered. His hips bucked three times, and barely warm stickiness abruptly burst over Ryan’s fingers. The placket of À Vincente’s jeans was soaked before he’d finished. Knowing the vampire would be far too sensitive for the touch, Ryan persisted in teasing À Vincente’s sac with his fingernail until À Vincente abruptly jerked the chopper’s handlebars to the right. They crunched bumpily over the gravel of a well-hidden road. As they skidded to a stop, the sudden dwindling roar of the road echoed painfully in Ryan’s head. À Vincente kicked out the stand and twisted at the waist, tearing Ryan’s helmet off. He looked like a wild beast, untouched by any taint of mortality. He looked like a vampire, the creature Ryan had only glimpsed once before. Ryan saw, accepted, and lusted, even as his lover ranted. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could have gotten yourself killed if I’d crashed!” Ryan shrugged, nothing able to deflate his soaring sense of happiness, not even a cranky bloodsucker. It was obvious À Vincente wasn’t angry; he’d been terrified. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t wait. I wanted you,” Ryan answered simply. “I can’t get enough.” “Ah, God, Ryan…” À Vincente’s scowl softened into tenderness. “That’s pathetically mushy, you know that?” “Yep.” Ryan beamed at his lover and, with the helmet gone, found himself free to lean forward and mouth À Vincente’s chin and cheek. “Kiss me.” “Like I could say no to you. Ever. Lift your lips to mine.” Despite the awkward angle, À Vincente managed to cup Ryan’s cheek and hold him firm while Ryan obeyed so they could slant their mouths together. No innocent kiss from the start, it inflamed Ryan’s blood, setting his pulse on fire. This kind of passion could destroy a man, but what a rush! À Vincente’s lips clung to Ryan’s in a tight lock, battling for control. Ryan bruised his mouth against the hardness of À Vincente’s, moaning around the vampire’s tongue thrusting hard and fast, in and out, refusing any resistance. He kneaded Ryan’s bicep with each push of his tongue. Ryan closed his eyes and felt the phantom presence of À Vincente’s cock breaching him, the delicious, dark bite of

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pain sending him hurtling toward the brink. A little more…all he needed was a little more, and he’d go off… A small sting in Ryan’s lower lip made him realize he’d split it with the force of the kiss. He tasted the tiniest drop of blood as it rolled across his tongue and, reckless, rolled the flavor into À Vincente’s mouth. His lover stilled, arms and chest hardening until he was more immobile than the statue Ryan had compared him to earlier. His lips remained sealed over Ryan’s, but the puffs of air passing over Ryan’s tongue were laced with small, desperate cries. Ryan could feel the animal hunger and frantic need threatening to drown À Vincente, and he knew what he had to do. No -- what he wanted to do. For À Vincente and for himself. He bit down on the tiny split in his lip and opened the cut wide, pursing his mouth so that more drops of blood fell on À Vincente’s tongue. The vampire’s grip tightened on his cheek, fingernails digging in. “No,” he warned. “Don’t. You don’t know.” “I do.” Ryan lapped at the coppery fluid and spread it over À Vincente’s teeth. He thought he could feel the needle-sharp fangs descending in ravenous hunger. “I trust you.” “You shouldn’t.” “I do. Shut up.” Ryan took his chance and poked his tongue up to the roof of his lover’s mouth, spearing the soft flesh on À Vincente’s fangs. Blood spilled out, thick and heavy. À Vincente moaned, shuddered, and hello, Count Dracula. The X-rated version of Dracula, anyway. Damned if À Vincente wasn’t hard yet again, rolling his erection in the crease between Ryan’s hip and his groin. “You’re pushing me too far,” À Vincente warned as he pulled free, got off the bike, and jerked Ryan’s collar down as he yanked Ryan to his feet. “Last chance to stop me.” “Nuh-uh.” Ryan guided À Vincente and sucked in a surprised gasp at the near-orgasmic thrill that flooded him when viciously pointed fangs set themselves on the nape of his neck. “Drink.” His lover groaned, a deep and guttural sound. He bit, his fangs so sharp as they parted Ryan’s flesh that it never failed to shock Ryan. He inhaled quickly, lustily, astounded by the hot sliding sensation. Blood heat pattered over his throat only long enough to register before À Vincente’s pointed tongue swept up the drops. Curiosity compelled Ryan, even in the heavy fugue state his body insisted on immediately after the bite, to touch À Vincente. He ran fascinated fingers up the vampire’s neck and lost himself in wonder at the sensation of muscles working, swallowing his life fluid down in thirsty gulps. Warm wetness erupted from À Vincente’s cock, soaking his jeans.

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À Vincente loosed an animal whine and kneaded Ryan’s groin, pushing and rocking in turn until Ryan tore away from the bite, arched his spine, and came with a pulsing burst of seed. He hung from À Vincente’s grasp, keeping the vampire upright as much as À Vincente kept him from kissing the ground. They leaned on one another, dazed hands wandering, never lighting for more than a whisper’s touch, lips forming nonsense syllables that said everything far better than words could have done. A twin chuffing of air on the shell of Ryan’s ear tweaked him back to the here and now. “Are you laughing?” he demanded, cuffing À Vincente with the small amount of strength he could muster. “What’s funny?” “You.” À Vincente’s lips curved into a smile on Ryan’s temple. “I was thinking, ‘I’ll never survive this.’” “Must mean I’m good, to get you so mixed up.” “Mixing me up is your specialty.” À Vincente licked Ryan’s ear, trailing from lobe down to throat. Ryan thought he licked what spilled blood he could and thumbed away the rest. “You won’t have a scar.” “I wouldn’t care if I did,” Ryan confessed. “I like the thought of having your mark on me.” “Don’t say things like that. You’ll get us started again.” “How is that a bad thing?” Ryan found the strength to shimmy. “I could go back for seconds. Or is it thirds? Fourths?” “I’ve lost count.” À Vincente pressed a light kiss to Ryan’s nape. “You wanted to see my home, right? We’re here.” “Now you’re trying to distract me.” Ryan stroked À Vincente’s arm, deeply content. “That’s okay. I’ll save it up for a while.” “Good God,” À Vincente griped. “Vampire or not, you are going to be the final death of me.” He pushed Ryan, aiming him toward the stoop, and tossed him the keys. “You can open ’er up. Get inside, and once you’re through the door, get naked.” “Ooh, I like this plan already.” “I thought we could use a shower.” Contrary to the intention behind his shove, À Vincente cozied up to Ryan and whispered against his cheek. “Vampires love hot water. It makes us warm…makes us soft…” “Not everywhere, I hope,” Ryan teased. “What do you think?” À Vincente caught him by the hips and thrust; he was cocked, primed, and raring to go again. “I want to see you wet,” he purred. “I love the way you look with water rolling down your pretty face and over your naked body. I want to suck you off under the spray.”

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“What if I want to suck you instead? Before you wash.” Ryan licked his lips, deliberately lascivious, gleeful at the sight of À Vincente’s eyes going dark and wide. His lover’s pupils reshaped from round to oval. “I think I’m going to lick you clean, shower be damned.” “Then get inside.” À Vincente flicked his tongue, now forked -- that was the coolest thing ever -- at Ryan. He slurred his words, full of hisses. “You’ll never forget what’s to come as long as you live.” “Counting on it.” Ryan flirted, and to show he could be an obedient little boy, he headed for the cellar apartment. “Underground. Who’d have guessed?” “Smartass.” “You love my ass.” He waggled for À Vincente’s benefit, enjoying his laughter. Amidst the thrill of triumph, a glimpse of stark white caught his eye. “Is that yours?” “Not mine.” À Vincente sounded annoyed at the interruption. “Leave it.” “I’m an earth child. Let me do my thing.” Ryan crouched to pick up the bit of white paper he’d dropped. “It’s the Division Investments business card, the one Stanley gave me. Jeez, good thing I didn’t go with Option Littering.” He stood and offered the card. “You keep it for me.” “Yeah, sure. Get inside already. I -- shit.” À Vincente had lifted the card, as men generally did when handed something of that nature, and read the embossed lettering. Except he hadn’t. The printed side of the card faced out, toward Ryan. À Vincente’s eyes were riveted to the back. “Ryan,” he said carefully, “did the card have this symbol drawn on the back when Stanley gave it to you?” “What, the double curlicue thing?” Ryan sketched in the air. “Yeah. It’s their logo, isn’t it?” “Jesus wept. You idiot.” “Hey!” Ryan bridled. “That’s a great way to talk to the man you love. The guy you’re fucking. What the hell ever.” “You idiot. Why didn’t you tell me about this? And for God’s sake, don’t go doodling it anywhere!” À Vincente shredded the card, his fingers blurring with the urgency and speed he employed. Ryan’s irritation began, uncertainly, to melt. The time-out clock clanged as loudly as the starting bell for a cage match. “It’s just a logo,” he stated, rather than questioned. “It was printed on the back of my card. Stanley gave it to me picture-side up. What’s the deal?” “Damn it.” À Vincente balanced his palm and blew over the scraps of paper cupped there. They turned brown and put off a charred stench. When he dropped the remains, the breeze whirled them to ash. “Whoa.” Ryan stared. “Did I know you could do that?”

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“I keep telling you. There’s a hell of a lot about me you don’t know. Look, I’m going to be straight with you here.” À Vincente looked suddenly all too human, angry and afraid. “You’re in danger. They obviously know what I am, and they know what you mean to me. That ‘logo’ is an old, old pictogram, and it spells death in big, gory red letters. You have to get out, Ryan. You have to go now, and don’t look back.” “I won’t.” “You don’t have a choice.” À Vincente’s sclera colored in with serpentine black. “This sigil is double-edged, Ryan. Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t stop what’s going to happen unless you run.” “Run where? Why?” Ryan protested. “I’m not leaving you.” “Then you’ll die.” À Vincente touched Ryan’s cheek with the utmost reverence and pain. “And I’ll have been the one who killed you.” Ryan rolled that over. Nodded. “Okay. So how do I help you stop this?” “You don’t.”

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Chapter Eleven “This isn’t up for discussion.” À Vincente turned away, refusing to speak directly to Ryan, to look him in the eye while he said what had to be said. If he did, if he saw those doe eyes full of shock and hurt… No. It’d be safer for both of them if the kid listened for once and got the hell out of Dodge. “You’re talking about killing me. I don’t know. I think I have a right to ask why.” “Would you just go already?” À Vincente gestured angrily at the gravel drive they’d torn through bare minutes ago. They’d been far too happy, he thought. He should have known better after all this time. Fate, the gods, karma, whatever -- they didn’t like seeing men that blissed out, and they’d bite you in the butt every time it happened. “No.” Small chips of rock crunched; sounded like Ryan was planting himself firm as an oak in front of his home. “Not unless I understand what’s going on.” “You stubborn ass!” À Vincente wanted to punch something hard and unforgiving, to bruise his knuckles and vent some of the rapidly building tension tightening in his head. “Do I have to fight you to get you to leave? Huh? Is that what it’s going to take?” “I guess so.” À Vincente glanced over his shoulder, a reflexive jerk to size up his opponent, and his anger crashed. Argh! He couldn’t pop Ryan one. It’d hurt him more than it did his lover. Ryan didn’t look like he had the same reservations. He raised his fists and took a stance that showed À Vincente that he had spunk, but zero training. “If you want to do this, then bring it. Otherwise, let me in. I’m not going anywhere.” “Ryan --” “No. I’m not leaving you alone when someone out there is threatening you, when someone might be working dark magic to turn you against me. That is what you’re talking about, right? Dark magic? I can’t believe I’m saying it, but it would make sense.”

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“God almighty.” With the damage done, À Vincente let himself turn fully around, not putting up his own dukes. If Ryan took a shot, it wouldn’t do him much harm. “Staying with me won’t help, Ryan. You can’t protect me,” he said, his heart heavy and dull with grim comprehension, knowing Ryan would just keep on trying, realizing what he’d be forced to do to stop his mortal lover. “You’d make me a happy vampire if you’d listen for once,” he suggested without any passion, knowing it to be a futile effort. “Ryan, pursuing this…it’s nothing but a nasty way to get yourself killed.” “So stop me.” Ryan’s fists tightened, the knuckles white. “Let’s go.” “I can’t, okay?” À Vincente burst out bitterly. “I can’t lay a finger on you in anger, and you know that damn well.” “Then let me inside.” “You don’t understand.” “Make me understand. Tell me what’s going on.” “Ryan…” À Vincente raked his hair. “It’s a long, long story, and we don’t have much time.” “I’m a medical intern, which means I’ve logged serious hours in college and medical school lectures. I’m used to long, complicated histories. Also, remember how much education I’ve been through. CliffsNotes are a gift from above. You can summarize.” “You’re really not backing down, are you? All right. Fine.” À Vincente nodded at the house and its metal cellar door nearly hidden under a trellis of heavy-growing vines. “Welcome to my humble abode. And if you say one word about it not looking like a real vampire’s home inside, I swear I’ll bite you.” “No, you won’t.” Ryan dropped his fists and shook his arms out. His lips curved in a sultry moue. “Not unless we’re fucking.” “For someone who was a blushing video virgin less than a month ago, you’ve come a long way, baby.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He was really laying the flirting on thick now, the devil. À Vincente figured he’d created a monster. Not oddly at all, he didn’t mind. “It was a compliment. You’re the most amazing hellcat I’ve ever met, and I know from hellcats.” “I learned from the best.” Ryan backstepped a few paces, coming to a stop just by the cellar steps. Standing there, he nibbled his lower lip, obviously chewing over a deep thought for a moment. “Thank you.” Huh? “For what?” À Vincente dug the house key out his lover’s hand as he approached Ryan at the portal to his home. “If you’re thanking me for putting your neck on the chopping block --” “No.” Ryan ran his hand down À Vincente’s arm, his touch leaving shivers of sensation behind him. “Thank you for trusting me.”

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He could think of absolutely nothing to say to that.

***** “Here.” À Vincente passed Ryan a mug brimful of steaming hot coffee, strong enough to stand a spoon in and hot enough to scorch his tongue. “Watch yourself.” “I know my way around coffee.” Ryan took a tentative sip and winced. “I don’t know my way around lighter fluid.” “Hey,” À Vincente protested, stung. “It can’t be that bad.” Instead of answering, Ryan chuckled and put his mug carefully down on what À Vincente had vaguely designated as his coffee table. It sat arranged between the recliner and a short couch, so he figured it served the purpose as well as anything could. Ryan tapped the dull surface of the faux wood. “It’s not the Cindy Crawford Rooms to Go collection, at least. You had me worried with what you said outside.” “And again, I say smartass.” À Vincente snaffled Ryan’s rejected coffee. He’d gone to all the trouble of digging out a dusty percolator and rummaging through the small imperishable provender the last tenants here had left behind to find the vacuum-packed brick of java. Be damned all over again if he’d let the brew go to waste. “I didn’t decorate. None of this belongs to me. It came with the joint.” Ryan made a big show of sighing with relief. His forehead furrowed. “Don’t you…I mean, I don’t know how long you’ve been around, but do you have things of your own in storage somewhere? Antiques, things you’ve had since you were human?” At least he hadn’t said “since you were alive.” They hadn’t dealt with the unpleasant corpse-related issues yet, and À Vincente wasn’t in the mood to get into them at the moment. “No. You’re still alive as far as I’m concerned,” Ryan said softly. A chill ran down À Vincente’s spine, tingling warnings. When he got a chance, they really needed to figure out that particular quirk. “Later,” Ryan added. “Answer the question.” “Yes, sir.” À Vincente snorted. “No. I don’t have much. I could afford more, what with the -- forgive the term -- killing I make doing the movies, but I like the simple life better.” He gestured to the bland rental surroundings. “Besides, I’ve been around since the Middle Ages, so this is a step up from my origins. I didn’t have a castle, not me. I had a hut. Actually, the lord had a hut that he let my family live in while we worked his land.” “You were a serf.” “Serfing Itali-A,” À Vincente agreed, singing to the tune of Surfin’ USA. “A hut with a straw roof. Lots of them burned down all the time.” Dark memories he’d tried his best to block out bloomed red in his thoughts. “They torched ours, with my mother inside, after they found my body dead, bitten, and drained of blood.” “Jesus.” Ryan looked horrified. “Your mother?”

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“Yep. I killed her before the fire did.” À Vincente spoke with no emotion in his tone, letting himself feel none. He couldn’t bear the telling otherwise. “I didn’t drain her. Just took enough for her to lose consciousness and breathe in enough smoke to do the job.” “Why?” Ryan’s horror had not abated. “You could have gotten her out.” “And where would she have gone?” he demanded. “Everyone knew she’d mothered a son of the devil. They’d have found other ways to slaughter her, and they’d have slept sweet at night afterward. I tried, Ryan. I did. In the end, it was the kindest thing I could do for her. Please believe me.” Ryan still looked troubled, but he nodded. “How did you get out? Did you have help from other vampires?” “Them? Please. No. Vampires, not that there’re more than a handful of us around, don’t go in for doing each other favors. You scratch my back, I tear a hunk out of yours -- that’s how it works.” “Cold.” “You have no idea.” À Vincente leaned back in the recliner, an ancient, beat-up monster he suspected dated back to the 1950s. It didn’t “recline” so much as “sit there like a lump.” A mental image of fucking Ryan in the chair, of Ryan seated on his lap either face-toface or back-to-chest with his cock up Ryan’s ass, distracted him sixty ways to Sunday. “Later,” Ryan purred, eyelids drooping with lust. “I promise.” “You’re creeping me out, kid. Stop it.” He tossed back a swig of the coffee. Ow. To Ryan’s smirk, he grouched, “Don’t say a word.” Ryan drew an imaginary zipper across his lips, mimed turning a key in a lock and tossing the key over his shoulder. À Vincente watched him suspiciously, not at all sure he’d keep his word. After a short span of silence, he continued. “You want to know how I became a vampire. Classic question, usually the first thing a human asks once they’ve accepted what we are.” Keeping his promise, Ryan nodded without a word. The light of curiosity burned in his eyes, and for once À Vincente found he didn’t object to the fascination mortals had for those who’d passed beyond ordinary death. “There was a man,” he said, slow and careful. “Not a rich man. The son of another peasant. We’d known each other since we entered the world, pretty much. We were born on the same day, and anything was grounds for suspicion back then.” He feigned over-the-top surprise. “Gee, isn’t it funny how some things never change?” Ryan cast his gaze to the heavens. “All right.” À Vincente took a smaller sip of coffee, wishing he could fully appreciate the taste. “I loved him. You probably already guessed as much, but I have to honor his memory when I talk about him by saying I loved him.” He smiled, bitter as ash. “We learned

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to walk together, played together, and became experts at how to keep secrets. No one ever knew about those hot summers when we snuck out in the middle of the night to swim in cold mill streams…or the winter nights when we warmed each other up.” He saw, as if it had been yesterday, Nicolas lying beneath him, arms open in lusty welcome, and shivered at the phantom sensation of eager legs wrapping around his waist. Ryan must have seen À Vincente’s memories. “He was handsome.” “Beautiful. I still miss him.” Ryan appeared to accept that. “He died, didn’t he?” “He did.” The coffee suddenly tasted foul. À Vincente thumped the mug back on the table. “Not for the reasons you’re thinking, though. A hell of a lot of naughtiness went down back in the day. As long as we kept our noses clean and didn’t go tattling to the priests, no one raised a fuss. At least we weren’t getting it on with sheep, and trust me, that’s not just a Highland myth.” He saluted Ryan’s wrinkled nose. “History ain’t all pretty, my boy.” “Okay.” Ryan retrieved the mug and sipped. À Vincente understood he didn’t need the caffeine, but it was something to fiddle with. “How does all this tie together?” “I’m getting there.” He’d arrived at the hard part. The last person he’d told was Julianne’s ancestor, and she’d been one hell of a woman. Huh. Come to think of it, Ryan was the first mortal he’d met since then who made him feel like he could tell the truth. À Vincente took a deep breath. “Nicolas was…he got sick. It happened. People didn’t live very long back then. You were lucky to hit sixty, and most everyone died way before threescore. Back then, I didn’t know what was wrong with him. No one did.” He smiled mirthlessly at his own past ignorance. “I found out later. It’s leukemia these days.” Ryan’s eyes widened. “Cancer of the blood.” “Bull’s-eye.” He steadied himself for the next bit that had to be told. “Something you need to know about vampires is that the taste of blood gets really old, really fast. We like variety in our diets.” À Vincente saw the light bulb go off. “Oh, fuck,” Ryan breathed, paling. “You’re getting good at this,” À Vincente acknowledged starkly. “A vampire passed through my village one dark night, sniffing out his next big banquet. I never knew his name, so don’t ask. He came for Nicolas while I was there watching him sleep, counting each breath as it rattled out. Nicolas was close to the natural end by then, and I’d have done anything to save him.” His lips tightened. “Anything.” “God. À Vincente.” Ryan thunked the empty mug down on the table as he dropped to the floor and glided smoothly to rest between À Vincente’s calves. He lay his head on À Vincente’s knee. “You shouldn’t have had to make that kind of choice.” “Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”

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“Don’t.” “You asked for this. The vampire thought it was hella funny when I tried to protect Nicolas. Got a real big kick out of the peasant threatening to rip his sac off. So he offered me a deal. A two-for-one. No way he’d turn back from his tasty treat, but he’d bring Nicolas over -- if I agreed to succumb willingly too. He adored the thought of having two ‘pretty lovers’ to enjoy watching while they fucked, for all eternity. So I took the offer. After all, what did I have to live for if Nicolas was gone?” Ryan pressed his face to À Vincente’s leg, but said nothing. “Except he lied. My first lesson in vampire nature.” À Vincente dimly realized his voice was distant, lost as he was in the recollection. “He drained every last drop out of Nicolas and just let him die. Me, on the other hand, me he brought right over and laughed fit to bust when I woke up undead to the sight of Nicolas rotting in his straw bed.” “I hope you killed him,” Ryan muttered, clutching À Vincente’s jeans. “I feel more than one death in what you’re thinking.” Either his lover’s skills were coming along frighteningly quickly, or the intensity of his emotions sharpened Ryan’s senses. Either way, À Vincente decided to hurry through the rest. There wasn’t much. “I did. Drove a stake in his heart and buried him at a crossroads. Then I went home to find out they’d discovered us dead in Nicolas’s hut and run away, thinking we had the plague. Surprise, surprise. Cue the mob, the torches, and you know the rest. After that, I went on.” “Alone.” “Alone,” À Vincente assented. “Always alone.” “Until now.” Ryan looked up at him, stunning him with the depth of love he saw shining in the kid. “That’s why I’m never going to leave you, except now I understand why.” “Ryan…” À Vincente couldn’t withstand the need to touch. He ran his fingers through his lover’s soft hair. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I already handed one true love over to that unholy bitch named Death. I can’t do the same to you, and I will if you don’t run as far and as fast as you can. The blood curse can’t be broken.” “Explain it to me. I need to know.” Ryan got to his knees, facing him almost level to him now. “Please.” À Vincente dry washed his face with his palm. “I don’t know much, just that it’s one of the very few things a contemporary of my maker told me along with a medieval version of ‘Ding-dong! The witch is dead.’ No one was too sorry to see him go. The sigil is old magic, the kind that imbues a corpse with vitality and makes him what he is. It’s used to trap us. Make us do things against our will.” He looked away. “Turn us into killers.” “You might not kill me,” Ryan ventured. “Won’t I? When vampires go insane, for whatever reason, they’re far more dangerous than lunatic mortals, but they’re fixated on the same targets. They’ll kill their nearest and

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dearest first. In this case, that’d be you.” À Vincente tightened his grip on Ryan’s hair. “Leave. Please leave. You understand why you have to, now.” “I do.” Ryan grasped À Vincente’s wrist. “But I won’t.” He rose fluidly and pressed a kiss to À Vincente’s lips. “We’ll stop this together. We’ll find a way.” “No.” À Vincente felt icy inside and out, like iron and marble in a glacial December. He carefully released Ryan’s hair, his fingers aching, and stood as well, calculating the distance he’d need in mere moments. “We won’t,” he said, raising his arm to strike. Ryan still didn’t understand. “Forgive me.” “Forgive you for --” Ryan clutched the back of his head and went down in an ungraceful heap at À Vincente’s feet. À Vincente watched him, shaking out the fist he’d used to knock his love out with one blow, not letting himself reel from the pain in either hand or heart. “I’m sorry. I do love you,” he whispered. “Maybe someday you’ll forgive me.” God, he wished he could kiss Ryan one last time, but he couldn’t take the chance. The tiny bit of blood he’d spilled when he knocked Ryan out, the smear of red on his fist, smelled far, far too good and too tempting. So he left without a backward look, only taking the time to say, as he walked away, “Good-bye, kid.”

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Chapter Twelve The next morning, the sun rose on an extremely unhappy porn actor slash med school grad. As soon as he could get there, Ryan stormed through the common area of Temptations, Incorporated, mad as hell and not giving a damn about who stopped and stared as he charged past. He wrenched open Julianne’s door, flung it wide, and let his ire vent. “Tell me where he is.” Ryan kept one hand clamped firmly to his skull, knowing that if he took the pressure off, his head would explode, or close enough. “Tell me where the bastard is so I can hunt him down and kick his ass.” “Uh-huh.” Julianne didn’t take her eyes, large with surprise, off Ryan as she spoke into her cell phone. “I’ll have to call you back. There’s a problem with one of the talent. You too. ’Bye, now.” She snapped the phone shut and laid it on her desk, very carefully, then tented her hands. “Ryan. It’s good to see you. My door is always open to my employees.” She looked deliberately past Ryan to said door, clucking her tongue in mock awe. “Speaking of which, it looks to me like if you’d hit it any harder, my door would have been permanently open to not only you, but to God and all his cousins. What crawled in your Wheaties and died this morning?” “I don’t have time for this.” “You do seem to be in a hurry.” Julianne sat back, tucking escaped strands of blazing red hair behind her ears. “Why don’t you start by telling me what the hell is going on? And shut the door, if you don’t mind. I have a feeling this isn’t something I want everyone else to hear.” When Ryan gaped at her, she stared back, immovable. “Go on.” “Every second counts,” Ryan snapped, but kicked the door closed, regardless. “Happy?” “Almost.” Julianne indicated the guest chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat. I may put up with a lot of crap, but I won’t tolerate your barging in here and treating me with this

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much disrespect, so you sit your ass down, or I’m not saying a word, no matter what this is about. Are we clear?” Ryan clamped down the rant that wanted to spill out. Julianne would be stubborn enough to make good on her word. “Fine. Okay.” He dropped clumsily into the chair. “I’m sitting.” “Then go ahead.” Julianne waved with the graciousness of a queen. “What’s on your mind?” “À Vincente. He’s gone.” The change that flashed over Julianne in an instant would have alarmed someone not already eyeball-deep in alligators. She sat up straight, tension lines whitening in her pretty face. “What do you mean, gone? He’s not scheduled to work today. I thought everyone knew.” “That’s not what I’m talking about. He’s gone from everywhere. Vanished. Disappeared. He’s become one with thin air.” “He’s…he’s ashes?” Julianne looked like she was going to be sick. “Shit. I didn’t even think about that.” Ryan’s own gorge rose. “I don’t know.” Julianne buried her face in her hands. “You just about gave me a heart attack. Okay.” She raised her head to meet Ryan’s eyes again. “What happened? Be concise.” “He hit me on the head. Knocked me out cold. When I woke up, he’d flown the coop.” “Maybe a little less concise.” Worry crossed into annoyance. “I know À Vincente. He wouldn’t just take off if he didn’t have a damned good reason, especially when I could see with my own two eyes that he was falling in --” She stopped herself. “Never mind.” She flinched. “Oh, God. Look here, what I said about ashes --” Ryan held up his hand in the universal “stop” position, trying to be as patient and kind as he could manage. Julianne hadn’t done anything. As far as he knew. He needed her to help him find À Vincente, if she could. She’d hired the vampire. She had to know something. Looked like something was just about everything. Julianne subsided, her mouth setting grimly. “You know, don’t you?” Ryan nodded. “He didn’t wipe your memory like he swore he had, after all, did he?” “I think he tried. It didn’t take.” “And he didn’t tell me. Typical. That is so damn typical.” Julianne fumed in brief silence. “Can you be trusted?” The question startled Ryan. “Excuse me?” “You heard me. Can you be trusted? Can I trust you?” Julianne leaned over her desk, projecting deadly determination. “If you can’t, I’ll rip out your throat and dance on your grave. Understand?”

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“That’d kind of defeat À Vincente’s point. Why I think he left.” When Julianne blinked at him, Ryan expanded on the sarcasm. “There’s a sigil, okay? Some weird scrawly thing Slimy Stanley scribbled on the back of the business card he gave me. À Vincente says it’s a blood curse.” “Fuck.” The news evidently hit Julianne hard, harder than Ryan would have expected. “And I never once guessed. How could I be so stupid?” She knuckled her head. “Look under the desk. Right-hand corner. There’s a pack of cigarettes taped there.” Ryan frowned, irritated. “You want to waste time on a buzz? And I thought you didn’t smoke.” “Bet you thought vampires weren’t real too. Give me the nicotine before I do something stupid. Stupider.” Ryan heaved an impatient sigh. He found the smokes and passed them over. As Julianne tore open the cellophane and pulled out one long cylinder, he asked, “Don’t you need a lighter?” Julianne’s lips quirked humorlessly. She lipped the cigarette and spoke around it. “Nope.” An ember ignited on the end without external assistance. “Holy…” Ryan had the urge to back away and beat feet. Okay, he hadn’t seen that coming anywhere in her aura. Even now, fire or no fire, she wore an emotional halo that shouted of its positive approach to humanity and its overall good intent. “How?” “You thought À Vincente was the only freak around here? Why did you think I hired him? He’s not just another pretty face.” Julianne exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I needed that.” “I don’t understand.” “Means you’re human. Congratulations.” “And I guess you’re not.” It wasn’t a question. Julianne sucked on her cigarette. “What do you think? You, though, you’re as human as they come. I’m sure of that much.” “I don’t know,” Ryan said slowly. “I might not be. I’m…changing…when I’m around À Vincente.” Julianne’s gaze shot in the direction of Ryan’s throat, probably to the exposed bite mark. “Don’t tell me that’s more than a love nibble.” “I’m not a vampire. I don’t think so, anyway.” Ryan adjusted his collar. “I can read his thoughts. Not like words, more like images. Memories.” “Can you do it at a distance?” Julianne, thank God, didn’t ask the why question, choosing instead to snatch her purse up from behind her desk, raring to go. “Can you track him?”

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Ryan hated to disappoint her, but lies wouldn’t help at all right then. “If I could, I wouldn’t be here. I haven’t been able to sense him since I woke up with this goose egg on my head. Don’t know if it’s cause and effect or effect and cause, but no, I don’t think I can track him.” He twinged with sympathy as she sat back down, drained. “He said this blood curse signaled that someone was working old magic. That they’d drive him insane and turn him into a killer.” He swallowed, wanting nothing more than the security of À Vincente’s arms around him. “He tried to make me leave. I wouldn’t. So I think he took off to try and protect me.” “Typical.” The scorn didn’t dull with repetition. “Let me think for a minute.” “We don’t --” “One. Minute. Sixty seconds won’t make a difference.” “How sure are you?” “We’re working on eighty-three seconds now, so shut up.” Ryan shut. He couldn’t keep from watching every move Julianne made, the tiny repositioning shifts of her muscles. He closed his eyes and started counting silently, knowing he couldn’t handle reading her any deeper, catching wind of her fear or sensing a roiling cloud of turbulent disturbance in her thoughts. He closed his strange reading ability off, promising himself that he’d open back up later and deal with the mystery that was Julianne then. Once they’d found À Vincente, they could cope with the rest. There’d be time for lots of things, later. “Blood curse,” Julianne muttered. “My great-granny told me about those. They were big back when À Vincente was young, still human. He mentioned, once, that he wanted to use that sort of thing on the bastard who’d made him, but not only was the creature already dead by his own hand, but there were no sorcerers left with the skill to pull it off. Guess he was wrong. I have to wonder who he pissed off enough to get saddled with a freakin’ curse.” “I don’t know who, I just know they’re powerful.” Ryan had a bigger worry on his plate. “À Vincente said it couldn’t be broken.” “It can’t. That’s not the point.” “Seems pretty damn pointed to me.” “You’re not seeing the bigger picture.” Julianne tapped out a second cigarette and lit it with the cherry on the first. “Yes, I was a chimney in my time. Also not a point for debate here.” She returned his stare. “À Vincente, as you might have noticed, is about as subtle as a meth-head bull in a china shop. He makes enemies left and right. There are a dozen-plus bouncy babes and brutal bullies on staff at Temptations who’d love to scratch his eyes out -Lolly, Taffy, Domino, all of them. Thing is, they’re all human as far as I know. They don’t have this kind of power.”

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Grim comprehension dawned. “What do you want to bet they know someone who does?” “Cynical, but I’m going to bet accurate.” Julianne studied her cigarette as if she wished it held some answers. “I could shake them all down, but that’d take a while, and you’d selfcombust long before then. Doubt I could take the wait, myself, and I really don’t want to rip my bread-and-butter to pieces.” Ryan bit his tongue in an attempt to choke down the question yearning to breathe free. It didn’t work. “So, if À Vincente’s a vampire, then what are you?” “Besides someone you don’t want to mess with?” Julianne cracked a morbid grin. “I’m an average person, more or less. I just have a few skills by right of birth.” “You’re a witch?” Julianne rolled her eyes. “Not exactly. The short version is that my great-great-et cetera, granny was a proud sharecropper who refused to sell her homestead after her husband passed. She stood her ground and nearly starved. Enter À Vincente, or Vernon, as he sometimes liked to be called back then.”

Vernon? Ryan swallowed a totally inappropriate snicker and motioned for her to go on. “À Vincente needed sanctuary; she needed help. They worked out a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She spread her hands wide in a “what are you gonna do?” gesture. “We protect him when he needs us. We give him a home and a cover story and find him a job if he wants one. He likes playing human.” The hardness of her smile softened briefly. “He never will be again, but if it makes him happy…” “It’s not just business and a handshake,” Ryan blurted, the realization sinking in with a leaden shock. “You love him, don’t you?” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it there all along. Julianne shot him a narrow look which he thought confirmed rather than denied. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” She stubbed out her second cigarette, eyeballed a third, and tossed the pack at Ryan. “Get rid of these. And you’re going to hate me for saying this, but…” She sighed. “Kid, my grandmother raised me, and she told me all the stories. There’s one in particular that goes back to the original bargain. À Vincente made this condition, not my forebear, mind you. If he ever became a killer, then we’d have to take him out.” “No.” Ryan shot to his feet. “I won’t let you.” Julianne pointed at a memo, which immediately burst into flame. The paper browned, curled, crackled, and was a no more than powder within seconds. “Do you really think you can stop me?” “No. But I’ll die trying.” Julianne sat back, clearly taking his measure. “You would, too, wouldn’t you?” “Damn right.”

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“You really love him.” She sounded amazed, and for Julianne, that was huge. “Does he love you?” Ryan nodded, tamping down a swell of pain at the memory. “He said so, right before he hit me.” “Bless me.” Julianne stared at Ryan. “He said so himself. Unreal. He opened up to you. He chose to keep you around.” “I had some say in the matter,” Ryan pointed out. “I’m not his Renfield.” Julianne ignored the interruption. “He loves you,” she mused. “Loves you enough to try to save you from himself.” She pressed her hands together. “Here’s the deal, then. You can go after him. If you do, I’ll give you twenty-four hours before I posse up with my sisters and cousins.” “Or otherwise…?” “If you don’t go after him -- and you know that even if he loves you, he doesn’t want you to follow -- then I can maybe get your ass out of the whole mess. The family has connections. People who know how to hack systems. We can change your identity all legal and proper. Get you into a new residency somewhere else on the globe. Hell, we can set you up with a trust fund so you won’t get tangled up on a night job again.” Ryan reined in his temper. “No. No way in hell.” “Be it on your own head, then.” Julianne picked up her phone and waved it at him. “Twenty-four hours. Go.” “I’m gone.” Ryan headed for the door, not much wiser than when he’d come in, but with at least double the motivation to track his lover down. At the threshold, he paused. “You make your family sound like the Deep South Mafia.” “You’re not far wrong,” Julianne agreed dryly. “You’re going to ask why, if I have all these resources, I’m running an adult film company. Right?” Ryan shrugged. “Can you blame me? You could be rich as Midas. You could be a seriously powerful woman of influence.” “What makes you think I’m not?” Ryan glanced back to see Julianne’s glittering eyes. “Don’t knock the sex industry, kid. It pays better than most people think and it’s fun. Now, go on, would you? Shoo. Find À Vincente and figure out a way to stop him so I don’t have to do this.” “I’m on my way.” Ryan fired one last shot over his shoulder. “Stop calling me kid!”

***** Quiet, Ryan decided. He had to get someplace where all he could hear were his own thoughts. If nothing else distracted him, then maybe -- maybe -- he could get a fix on À Vincente.

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Despite what he’d told Julianne and had known to be true, he didn’t have any other options. Not unless he dragged in the cops and told them to look out for a killer vampire on a vintage chopper. He doubted that would go over well. And if À Vincente had already lost himself to this crazy curse…if he turned on the police… There was no other chance but this single slim thread of hope. Still, where on earth in a city like this could he find a place peaceful enough to concentrate as he needed? An idea came to mind. He groaned. “Sanctuary. I’m so going to hell for this.” St. Francis wasn’t too far away, and mercifully, it was a Jesuit church. They wouldn’t know him there. “The bells, the bells,” he muttered. “Better not be any bells.” One foot in front of the other, then, and quick march. The plan was good in theory. It failed in practice. No sooner than Ryan had made it halfway down the block than he sensed a presence looming behind him. He stiffened, though he kept walking, wondering if it was a vampire or a werewolf or a chunk of hell spawn, oh, my. He’d have believed just about anything. What he hadn’t expected was a glossy black Lincoln Town Car gliding nearly silently alongside of him. The backseat window hummed into its well. “Good evening, sir,” a familiar, oily voice addressed him. “My employer would like to have a word with you.” Ryan considered, very seriously, punching Stanley in his sharp nose. “Maybe later.” He stepped to the far side of the walk and kept going. Stanley’s car followed. “This will only take a moment of your time. My employer has gone over the raw footage from your audition. I’m pleased to inform you that they’re very happy with what they saw. My employer is ready to make good on their feature film contract and even discuss future employment.” “You know what? Not interested. I don’t care how much money you offer Julianne, and you can shove my take of the profits up your ass and spin on it, ’kay?” “You’ve lost your taste for the adult entertainment industry?” Stanley clucked his tongue like a mother-effin’ hen. “That is a shame. However, I suppose that as you’ve lost your screen partner…excuse me, your lover…you’d also have lost your taste for fucking on camera.” Ryan had gripped the car door with white-knuckled fists before he realized he’d moved. The Lincoln purred to a complete stop. “How do you know that?” “My employer likes to keep track of those indebted to them. If you’d be so kind as to let go? I assure you, I won’t leave before we’ve finished this discussion. Thank you.” Stanley prissily wiped Ryan’s fingerprints off the soft interior leather. “Now, if you’ll take a short ride with me, I’ll be glad to fill you in completely.”

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“Not going to happen.” Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from succumbing to the need to blacken Stanley’s eye and bloody his snout. “You set this up. All of it. The blood curse was written on the card you gave me. You knew À Vincente would see it sooner or later, so that means you’re playing us.” “Indeed. I did doubt your mental acuity, but as ever, my employer was right in assessing your character. Intelligence and a hot temper, such a delicious combination.” “Stop playing games. Tell me straight up what’s going on, or I walk away.” “I wouldn’t do that. Not when I can tell you where À Vincente is right now. I assume you do want to know, don’t you?” “Bastard. Did you do something to him?” “Of course. He planned to skip town and renege on the contract with my employer.” “You reneged first!” Ryan blurted, aghast at the man’s ballsiness. “Irregardless,” said Stanley with a cheerful disregard of logic and correct word choice. “We simply can’t allow him to set that sort of precedent. My employer is not a patient individual.” “So you tracked him.” “We have our ways. You’ve already realized my employer is well versed in the arcane. How does the famous quotation go? ‘There are more things on heaven and earth…’ Correct?” Stanley slid his tongue over his lips, leaving them shiny, slimy, and slick. Ryan recoiled. Fuck. Why hadn’t he seen it before? “You’re a toad.” “My, but you are sharp. I suppose I can drop the glamour long enough to give you a peek.” Stanley’s skin rippled, turning a hideous shade of decaying brownish-green. Warts dotted his skin. His eyes, still unblinking, bled completely to black and bulged. “Well guessed, young sir. Let’s continue this conversation during the ride to my employer’s place of residence.” “Not the studio, huh?” Ryan took another careful step back. “By the way, can I just say you’re the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen? What happened, the princess kissed you without tongue?” “Very amusing, sir,” Stanley replied, reassuming his glamour, but not before Ryan caught a brief flash of anger and a rolling wave of fury. Ryan knew the creature wanted to kill him for the insult -- and he was so cocky about his chances of success, so sure of himself, that he no longer appeared to consider À Vincente a threat at all. The realization chilled Ryan to the bone. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, but he needed a chance to think. He stalled. “So, why not the studio? Still haven’t gotten the dry cleaning back yet?” “You do keep up quite the steady stream of witticisms. One might almost wonder if they’re a cover for an extreme case of nerves.”

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Ryan bristled. “You’re trying to distract me. Quit it.” “I think not. My employer did predict that you’d ask this very question, and I am at liberty to answer truthfully. The studio is presently undergoing some alterations to further suit the films that have been planned.” Stanley buffed his nails against his lapels. Then he clicked his slimy fingers, and without any warning Ryan found his consciousness abruptly sucked inside Stanley’s, flooding him with thoughts and emotions that formed a near-crystal understanding of what was happening to his lover. As the cascade of information overwhelmed him, he could almost see it: pools of crimson splattered on the lushly carpeted floor of the gilded bedroom set. Trays of gleaming steel instruments intended for medical use, everything from a sadistic dental pick down to a heavy bone saw. All the tools were smeared with scarlet. Government-issue handcuffs looped around one of the hanging rafters. Ryan could see À Vincente hanging limply, although he no longer knew if this was all his morbid imagination extrapolating from what he read off Stanley or if he really “saw” the scene. It seemed so real, as if he stood on the set, unable to look away from À Vincente dangling from the cuffs, his wrists scraped raw, his lips parted slackly, and his eyes closed. Hurting. Painted crimson with his own spilled blood. All but drained of his vitality and in pain, so much pain. Agony that had filthy Stanley on the edge of shooting his wad. Stanley had wielded most of the cutting blades with his own two hands. Death wasn’t good enough for the Frog Bastard. Ryan knew he wouldn’t be merciful even if he reached À Vincente before the vampire collapsed to ashes. All this and more passed behind Ryan’s eyes in the space of a breath before Stanley let him go. He thought he might be sick on the curb. Then he swallowed down his nausea. “How?” he asked shakily instead. “How did you catch him?” That was one thing his mental connection hadn’t illuminated for him. Stanley shrugged primly. “Much to my disappointment, it wasn’t difficult. He really should have avoided lingering at his home after recognizing the sigil. We tracked him from the house to the first stretch of open road and…” He preened. “Quite simple, all in all.” “I’ll kill you.” “Will you? An innocent intern with a bright medical future ahead of you? Be reasonable.” “God, you’re a piece of work.” “Thank you. Now, for the last time, please enter the car.” “For the last time, no. And for good measure, screw you.” Ryan backed up faster, gathering strength in his calves and thanking every lucky star out there that he’d only had a bicycle to carry him around for years. He couldn’t outrun a Town Car, no, but he could sure as hell cut through alleys and back streets he knew would lead him to the studio, narrow strips of the city no shiny coupe could squeeze through.

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“Please, don’t run.” Stanley’s greasy patience seemed to be wearing thin. “I have a cell phone. Who doesn’t, these days? My employer is on speed dial one. If you attempt to flee, your vampire will take the punishment for your disobedience.” Ryan knew he wasn’t bluffing. He tried a bluff of his own. “Your employer won’t kill À Vincente. They’d have had you saw off his head and scatter his ashes to the wind already if they wanted him dead.” “That is a foregone conclusion, young sir.” The malice in Stanley’s evil smile made Ryan’s gut ache. “The vampire will die. However, if you cooperate he will die in far less pain than he might otherwise.”

Stall him, stall him. Stanley’s forefinger hovered far too close to the dial pad for Ryan’s peace of mind. “And if I do play along? What then?” “I suspect you have a good idea. À Vincente -- such a pretentious name for a beast of his pathetic mortal bloodline, faugh -- has already told you his tragic story, I assume. The heartrending ballad of a man who sold his soul for the sake of love.” Stanley smirked. “Ah, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when that nasty bit of work was finished, or so my employer tells me. Granted, they were tears of laughter. Such a fool as he was, your vampire.” “And so?” “Do stop attempting to dissemble. You love À Vincente. You will do anything for him, as he would for you -- as he did for his Nicolas. Quid pro quo. To spare him the agonies of the slowest death imaginable, my employer is prepared to offer you a deal.” Ryan scoffed. “Why don’t I think it’ll be a good deal for me?” “So quick to judge, tsk-tsk. Let me elaborate. If you agree to come quietly and pledge your allegiance to my employer, then the blood curse will be unmade and À Vincente released. A simple trade. Your soul for his freedom.” Stanley’s oily, malicious thoughts betrayed him. Ryan could smell the stench of the lies. He knew the toad’s boss wouldn’t kill À Vincente until Ryan was there so À Vincente could watch another love of his life die, repeating hellish history. And he knew what he had to do. Unleashing the tensed strength in his legs, Ryan took off in a leap an Olympic pole vaulter would have been proud of and hung a sharp right down the narrow stretch of filthy alley between a Chinese takeaway and an all-night video store. Stanley’s screech of rage pierced his ears painfully, but Ryan didn’t stop running. Not until he reached a pay phone three blocks over and dialed the 1-800 collect call line. He jittered on the spot, desperate, then danced in place when his call was picked up. “It’s Ryan,” he rattled over the electronic monotone of the operator. “I need you, your street lab, and your help. Now.”

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Chapter Thirteen “You really don’t understand anything, do you? I’m disappointed in you.” The Employer lurked in his thick cover of shadows as he mocked À Vincente, knowing full well, À Vincente was sure, that refusing to reveal his face enhanced the fear of those around him. Not knowing who or what hurt you was almost worse than the hurt itself. À Vincente tried his best to sneer, the effect ruined when it came through a split and puffy lip. The pain in his cheek was a sure tell that they’d broken the bone. He tried to kick at The Employer, knowing that the silver cuffs and chains on his wrists, with another chain connecting the two looped over one of the set’s low-hanging beams, would never break. The metal stank of blood magic, dark and foul. Silver. The Employer knew his vampires, all right. He didn’t remember much from the night before beyond the sickening lurch of a deep sinkhole in the road, a death trap that he hadn’t sensed until it was too late. He’d realized he was about to crash and had wanted to laugh at the sheer ludicrousness. When he woke up, he’d been back in the mysterious studio. Irony, heaped on in double measure, was truly a bitch. He hadn’t initially been able to get a good look at his surroundings, which had thrown a big crimp in escape plans. How could he run if he didn’t know where to run to? But the ensuing torture had forced him to be alert and aware of his tormentors and his environment. Still, one of his eyes was swollen nearly shut, the result of a blow from Stanley’s fist -- after he’d fitted brass knuckles over his slimy fingers. Crazy little sleaze hit harder than one might think. The bastards had even stripped him naked and planted a spreader bar between his legs. His kick went as badly awry as he’d feared, leaving him swinging momentarily from the wrist chains. He roared with indignation, swearing for the umpteenth time that he’d kill his

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captors if he got a chance. Drink them dry, burn their bones, and dance a hornpipe on their ashes.

If he got free. If being the operative word. If, À Vincente thought bleakly, pigs suddenly sprouted wings and flew, then the world would’ve gone just crazy enough to give him a shot at getting loose. Otherwise, no way. They had him, melodramatically and terrifyingly, at their dubious mercy. “They” being Stanley -- before The Employer had whispered a word or two in the weasel’s ear, and he’d scampered off like a gleeful, yappy dog bent on another set of ankles to gnaw; Stanley with his surprising knack for handling sharp instruments -- and The Employer, who had apparently taught Stanley everything Stanley knew. The Employer didn’t make the effort to appear menacing. He didn’t have to. His scalpels and branding irons did the work for him. “You look quite the fool, trying to defy me.” His tormentor sounded bored. “That’s not new, of course.” “So, what are you, some kind of whack-job fan? If you wanted an autograph, all you had to do was ask.” The Employer sighed. “Banal and unimaginative, as I expected. You didn’t even realize that the whole foolish blood curse was a mere MacGuffin. Why waste time on expenses and preparation when I could hoodwink you so completely with a simple scribble? Besides, enough virgins for the amount of blood that would be required for such a curse are terribly difficult to gather together these days.” À Vincente glowered and said nothing. Inside, he kicked his own ass. He should have thought, he knew -- there couldn’t be many practitioners left who had the knowledge, skill, and might for such a nasty piece of work -- but he’d been so damn terrified for Ryan the moment he saw the dark-magic sigil that he’d panicked. A black leather glove emerged from the thick cloud of impenetrable shadow The Employer had cloaked himself in and selected a wickedly curved dagger with a crucifix handle. “The cross itself will do you no damage, of course,” his nemesis mused. “However, the blade should suffice to make my point.” Said point plunged between À Vincente’s floating ribs. À Vincente bit his tongue to hold back his agonized scream. He’d heal, oh, yeah, but that didn’t mean getting stabbed didn’t hurt like hell. “Let’s come to an understanding, you and I.” The sadist twisted the dagger, carving circles in À Vincente’s abdominal cavity, blood flowing from the wound he was cutting deeper and deeper. His or her -- À Vincente had assigned his torturer a male aspect, but he couldn’t really tell from the toneless voice which gender was the correct one -- inflection remained calm, a near monotone, as if torturing À Vincente was a humdrum annoyance.

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That in itself told À Vincente that whoever this person was, he had a serious beef against him. No one put that much effort into sounding blasé while performing heinous acts unless he was out for blood, pain, and death -- which appeared to be the case. Most people thought evil involved baying at the moon through bloody teeth. Not so. Evil came greyly by day and in the hands of those no one ever would’ve suspected. Why else would there be so many jokes about postal workers? If you pushed someone hard enough, something in their soul would snap. On the other hand, you also had creeps like Stanley, who clearly got his jollies from pulling the wings off flies and hadn’t mentally grown up since the age of six. And there were the psychopaths and psychotics. Okay, so his logic had been faulty. Who could think straight when he practically had a freakin’ scimitar shoved through his guts? À Vincente pierced the meat of his lower lip as his fangs extended. The taste of his own thin, watery blood turned his stomach. It was still better than giving his tormentor what he -- or possibly she -- wanted. He made an effort to brazen through his pain. “Let’s play a guessing game instead.” The words came out lisped, damn it. He’d never gotten the hang of talking around his fangs. He was glad Ryan couldn’t see him now, for more reasons than the obvious. Ryan, the poor fool hero, would’ve tried to tackle The Employer and pummel him into oblivion. À Vincente couldn’t have watched his lover die in the attempt.

Shit. That had been why he’d tried to run in the first place. Smooth move, Johnny Bravo. “A guessing game? How infantile.” A black leather finger thrust beside the blade and through the ragged hole in À Vincente’s flesh, playing with the shredded meat inside. “Perhaps I’ll indulge you if you indulge me. Does that sound fair?” À Vincente shrieked in agony, unable to swallow the cry. “Nothing coherent to say? You surprise me. As I recall, you were impossible to silence when we last met. Ah, but you don’t remember that, do you?” À Vincente refused to answer, to reveal his ignorance. Instead, he rattled his chains despite the bright flare of pain in his raw wrists. He let his thoughts drift to the custom-made sex toy he’d recently bought, heavy and steel shaped like a reverse heart, then Ryan, naked on all fours, exposed ass raised for him to play with. The memory of the richness of Ryan’s musk made À Vincente part lips with longing. He fell into the dream, hoping it would carry him away from this foul chamber. No longer a sybaritic pleasure palace, it resembled a psychopath’s boudoir, and if that didn’t make your brain hurt, nothing could.

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The Employer noticed his preoccupation, of course, and whipped the knife free. The blade hurt almost as much emerging from À Vincente’s torso as it had going in. “No. You don’t get to escape this.” He picked up a small, innocent-looking vial. “Such a terrible wound,” he murmured, probing the edges and poking inside once more. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we go any further.” À Vincente’s body wanted to rear back, to thrash and fight. He let pride rule instead and held back all but a barely swallowed scream as The Employer tipped his vial’s contents into the jagged, carved-up muscle. Smoke billowed from the wound, thick and foul with the sickly bitter stench of burning flesh. The Employer tipped the dregs over the flat of À Vincente’s stomach, allowing the fluid to drizzle down. It seared and sizzled as it made contact with his skin. “Now, before you start huffing and puffing in amazement, I do know holy water and blessed items have no effect on vampires. Witness the cross-shaped dagger. No, my child. These are very, very sturdy gloves, and this is acid.” À Vincente did lose control and shriek, then, flailing his hips. The dangerous spatters of liquid flew off bare split seconds before they reached his groin. He couldn’t tell, not through the red haze of rage and pain and the wall of shadow, but he thought he’d pleased The Employer at last. “Yuk it up,” he said, summoning the last reserves of his balls and bravado. “And let’s cut through all the mysterious blah-blah-blah bullshit, okay?” À Vincente got the vague impression of a lackadaisical shrug. “Do you wish to finalize that as your last request? Please make no mistake. Even a creature of your pitiable intellect should have deduced by now that, no, I have no intention of letting you walk out of this room alive.” À Vincente found he had a few remnants of nerve after all. “I’m not that dumb. I’ve lived for centuries while others went down.” “Pure luck,” The Employer yawned, the gape muffled as if behind his glove. “Nothing to say to the blatant announcement of my plans to kill you?” “I’ve died once. The repeat tour can’t be much worse.” “You have no idea.” Quicker than even À Vincente’s vampiric vision could trace, the Employer had dropped his empty vial and seized an ordinary pair of salad tongs from Stanley’s neatly laid tray of toys. He inserted the tongs in the hole the dagger had opened in À Vincente’s belly and spread them wide. His scream hurt his own ears as À Vincente convulsed as far as the chains and bars would let him. “I’ll ask you one more time to indulge me,” the Employer said calmly, as if he were discussing the weather. “We’ll come to an understanding right now, you and I, or I won’t kill you.”

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Okay, that was unexpected. “Let me clarify: I won’t kill you before I kill that doe-eyed neophyte lover of yours before your eyes.”

Shit. “Don’t you touch him,” À Vincente growled, straining against his bonds. “I swear to God I’ll --” “You’ll what? Show some sense. If you wish to spare Ryan the slowest and most hideous death a mortal man has ever suffered, you’ll cooperate. Or I could entertain myself some more until he arrives.” “Damn you.” À Vincente had hoped against hope. He should’ve known better. “You sent Stanley after him.” “Why, he can learn, after all.” The Employer withdrew the bloodied tongs and held them to the dim yellow light, the macabre display even worse in an ambience that was meant to suggest romance and sex. “The understanding is simple. You submit to me. When my pet toad returns with Ryan, I’ll send him away. He’ll never know the first touch of pain.” À Vincente didn’t trust him. But if there was a chance, even a tiny chance that Ryan might get away…damn this bastard. “Submit to you,” he ground out. “Submit how?” “Interesting. Could that be a sign of intelligence? Or is it merely cunning?” The Employer dropped the tongs. “I merely want you to fulfill the blood curse, fake or not, and not fight against your destiny. No longer deviate with nunnish primness from the course you were created to run.” “You want me to be a killer. A mindless murderer.” “Precisely.” À Vincente twisted against his chains, albeit weakly. Not even a vampire could handle most of his blood gushing from an open wound without losing considerable oomph. “Why? You want me to hit the earth like the eleventh plague? Doesn’t make sense.” “And we devolve into mindless stupidity once more. Why, why, why? Ask some more obvious questions, À Vincente. Why the cat-and-mouse games with Temptations? Why capture you now?” “Because I’m just too hot to be resisted?” “There is that, of course. Mostly, there’s that. However, I also wanted to see how far you’d go for the sake of sex and love. Again. I was never so entertained as I was when you handed your Nicolas over to death for the sake of saving his life. Delicious irony. I can still taste the bitter tears you wept as you died in your lover’s arms. Delicious.” À Vincente fell quiet. Extremely quiet, though his limbs shook, the silver links chiming from the force, their merry tinkling a sickening bright chime. “Nothing to say, À Vincente? I’m sure you’ve guessed who I am.”

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“No.” À Vincente refused to speak above a whisper. “I killed you. I know I did. You were ash, and no one comes back from being scattered in the air.” “Yes, yes, you killed me. You of all creatures under the moon, however, should know that death is hardly the end.” “How?” “Is this, then, your last request?” “Maybe. Depends on what you answer. How?” “There are ever so many children born at the same moment in which others die.” “I don’t get the connection.” “Thick as ever, with mere momentary glimpses of the intellect you might have otherwise developed.” His captor lightly laid his gloved hand over a shining, silver, pearshaped instrument À Vincente had only previously seen in torture museums. Thrust up a man’s ass, it would open into sharp blades and pulverize him. À Vincente could deal with the pain but not the perversion. “You do understand,” the Employer warned, voice soft as silk. “My consciousness remained after my former shell crumbled. All I needed to do was find a new, nearly empty vessel, and take control. From one to another to the next, generation to generation, until I managed to break through from the empty ghost world to the realms of the properly living. And here I am.” “Then show yourself.” “I think not.” The shadowy figure fairly rippled with snide mirth now. “That would ruin the surprise. I want to see Ryan’s look as well as yours when I reveal my face.” “I thought you said Ryan would be out of this.” “Only if you agree to my terms and conditions.” The glove lifted off the pear. “I’ll amend those, if you’ll indulge me.” “Do I have a choice?” “Not really, no. We’ll have to work on dulling that sharp tongue of yours if you accept my offer. I will let you live, À Vincente, if you bow your head to me. It’s a very small thing I ask of you, À Vincente. Vittorio. Victor. Vernon. Your allegiance. Your strong right arm.” The cloud of shadow drew closer. À Vincente could smell no humanity nor pick up any sort of vital signs. “Join me and rule the world, and spare Ryan for all time. Make amends to your dead Nicolas. It’ll be easy, À Vincente. All you need do is say yes. Say yes, and the pain will be over.” À Vincente glared fiercely as he could. “Fuck you and your head games. You’ve contradicted your story seventy ways to Sunday. You know it, and you don’t care. I’m not about to believe anything you say. Go to hell.”

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“And what about your Ryan?” The cloud tipped slightly. “I hear Stanley’s particular sort of footstep. He’s returned. Do you suppose loverboy is here too?” “Don’t you fucking touch him!” “Stop me, then.” “Screw you. Kill me now.” The Employer’s laconic patience was abruptly laced with irritation, filling À Vincente with jubilation. “For your insolence you will watch him die. Hmm. Perhaps, when you no longer have anything to live for, you’ll welcome this.” The Employer’s torturing hand disappeared within his shadows. When he emerged, it was with a sharp-ended chunk of wood, charred black and stained with blood. “Do you recognize this, À Vincente? You used it to destroy my earlier body. I’ve kept it with me all this time; under the glamours I employed, you never recognized your murder weapon.” He stroked the length of wood. “Why, in recent days I made my best use of it ever as a sign you looked at morning, noon, and night.” Shit. Shit. No. À Vincente couldn’t speak. “Surprise, darling.” The dark curls of smoke parted to reveal shining red hair, blazing green eyes, and a mouth he’d always thought sweet curled in the foulest of smirks. “Sad to say, your career as a porn star is over.” À Vincente swallowed bile. Sweet Jesus. “Julianne,” he murmured, broken at last. “My pretty boy.” Julianne cupped À Vincente’s shattered cheek and ground the bones in with the inhuman strength of her fingers. He gritted his teeth against the agony.” My pretty, stupid boy.” “You really are going to kill me. And Ryan. Jesus. I trusted you.” “More fool you, then.” “Why?” He had to know; it hurt too much not to know. “Why now?” “When else? There was no better time or place or person to hurt you with. I could have remained patient for centuries, but as you were stupid enough to fall in love again, there was no longer any need. I did so hunger to see your pain.” Julianne trailed her nails down À Vincente’s bruises. “Here endeth the lesson.” “No.” “No?” Julianne’s pretty, neatly plucked eyebrow arched. She smelled of sulfur and blood, now, underneath her cinnamon perfume. “And why not?” “Because,” À Vincente said, swallowing over a foul knot in his throat. “I have a question about you. Indulge my curiosity. You can make that my last request.” “Hmm. And it doesn’t have to do with your pretty little Ryan. Fascinating.” Julianne leaned in to scent his throat. “You’ve captured my attention. Ask what you want to ask, and then, you stubborn fool, you die.”

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“How’d you get in the real Julianne’s family? That’s what I can’t figure out. They have wards. Serious freakin’ wards no one should have been able to knock down.” “À Vincente, À Vincente, À Vincente.” Julianne kissed his swollen cheek. “I know you know this one already. The key to getting what you want is never quitting. Even weeds can grow through stone. I lived on as a wraith since you slew me, waiting and watching for my chance. Where you went, I followed, and I stayed with the family who won your affection and with whom you traded allegiances. Clever, huh?” “I’ll tear you apart,” À Vincente swore, yanking at his chains despite the flares of agony they caused him. “You could try. I doubt you’d get very far. Unlike me.” Julianne simpered. “I can go anywhere. Even inside people, like mist through a keyhole. In the moment when the Julianne-that-should-have-been was born, before the puling human drew its first breath to cry, I slipped my spirit into her mind and her body and snuffed out that small life, draining its vitality as once I drained blood. And then, I replaced her, although I did smuggle away her family’s magical talents and traits for my own use. I have lived for the span of a human life trapped in this body, all for the sake of slaughtering you someday.” She giggled. “The pleasure of tormenting you via the betrayal of a ‘friend’ makes it sweeter still, don’t you think?” “You unholy bitch.” Julianne’s smile was blinding. “Yes, and so are you. More, you’re blind. You never saw that I wasn’t on your side at all, and neither did Ryan.” A new voice, terrifyingly familiar, spoke from behind Julianne. “Not always. Right from the start, I thought you were too good to be true.” “Ryan!” À Vincente bellowed, fighting the cuffs and chains with all his remaining might. “Get out of here! Go!” Julianne didn’t flinch, whirl, or look shocked. Her leer merely widened. “Ryan. Kid. Good of you to join us.”

***** “You know,” Ryan said conversationally, “I’d like to kill you for the nickname alone.” “Spare me the theatrics.” Julianne still hadn’t turned to face him. She focused all her intensity on À Vincente. Ryan got only a glimpse of her mind, and it sickened him. “Empty threats mean nothing. After all, my Stanley is right behind you, isn’t he?” “Shit, Ryan,” À Vincente moaned, falling forward in his chains. Ryan caught sight of the red weals and blistered burns on his lover’s wrists, and the vicious, bloody wounds on his chest and stomach. His temper flared white-hot. “Poor baby vampire here never stopped hoping you’d escaped,” Julianne mocked.

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“No, he didn’t.” À Vincente’s thoughts were clearer than ever before, albeit muddied with swirling crimson pain. That, at last, intrigued Julianne enough to turn. Ryan barely recognized the woman, her kindly mask dropped to display pure malice. “And how would you know that?” À Vincente stiffened, his bearing shouting the plea for him: Don’t tell her! “He knows me well enough by now to know I wouldn’t give up until I found him.” Ryan shrugged. “The frog here was a means to an end.” Stanley piped up obsequiously and unnecessarily, as if on cue. “I brought you the boy. He did flee, at first. He ran foolishly, hoping to deceive me. I found him less than a mile away trying to hail a cab. I have no doubts he would have come here on his own; I thought it best to make sure he could play no more tricks.” “Amateurs.” Julianne rolled her eyes. When they focused on Ryan again, they were no longer hazel, but colored a dark, muddy red, the shade of dried blood. “So did you quit running, or did Stanley here hound you to death?” “Fuck you. I’m here, aren’t I? There’s your answer. How about you answer a question for me?” Ryan spread his hands. “What’s your hard-on against À Vincente? What did he ever do to you?” Julianne smirked. “Oh, my, my, my. I suppose you wouldn’t understand who I am, would you?” “Should I?” Ryan brazened. She lifted one shoulder. “You will now. He told you he’d killed me, and he did end my original body, but my spirit lived on.” Ryan swallowed a filthy curse and stepped back. “You made him?” His head swam with an onrush of puzzle pieces clicking together. “Son of a bitch.” “Me, myself, and I.” Julianne blew him a kiss. “À Vincente told me that the vampire who made him played him by claiming he loved ogling pretty bodies fucking. Put a peeping Tom together with an adult film mogul and voila.” Ryan smacked his own forehead. “Jesus wept, woman. And that whole scheme with Division Investments? You must have laughed yourself sick over the ruse.” Julianne giggled, the sound obscene. “It was entertaining, yes. A little game to see how easily I could make you dance to the tune of my piping, All those larks with blank contracts, forged signatures, the ‘audition’…oh, it was marvelous. I am disappointed that you didn’t figure it out until now.” “Why, though? That’s a lot of work just to get some jollies.” She lifted one shoulder. “Work isn’t work if you’re enjoying yourself as much as I was. It was ever so enjoyable to twitch your puppet strings.” “God, you’re twisted.”

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“I am what I am,” Julianne snapped, dropping her façade of urbane amusement. “I’ve learned to bide my time and make the most of what I have, and I’ve been trapped for centuries in the emptiness beyond death. I understand, better than most, the value of diversion.” “And you wanted a believable excuse to get À Vincente off the set, alone, and disempowered,” Ryan guessed. “Gold star, kid. Entertaining and useful. Vampires don’t drink only blood. You didn’t know? My, my, my. Write that down; it’ll be on the test. I drink souls too. Yours will be delicious. I’ve waited a long, long time for this. You’re worth the delay in finding the right person to torment À Vincente with, I think.” Ryan’s hands bunched into fists. “So this is how you get your kicks?” “I’m only just beginning. Ooh, you are feisty, aren’t you? I do enjoy a young man with spirit,” she crooned, turning wholly from À Vincente and slinking to him. “You know, if you hadn’t gotten involved with À Vincente, life could’ve been pretty sweet for you, with your pretty face. I hadn’t planned to abandon Temptations after I’d finished with your lover. If you’d chosen to stick around -- and you would have, after you’d seen the money you can make in this business -- I’d have made you a star, lusted after by millions. Think of the power. What medical degree could ever compare?” “All this can be yours if you follow me?” Ryan asked dryly. “That, and more. It really all could’ve been yours. Now, I can’t even let you live, you stupid child.” “Don’t count your corpses before they’re killed. À Vincente’s not out of the game yet. I’ve heard about everything he’s overcome in his past. No reason he can’t do it again.” “Ah. Let’s ignore the chains and his own near-total loss of strength after Stanley played with him, and focus on the really sad part. So, he told you his poor pitiful sob story and how he was the Vampire Who Lived. Pfft. Like that amounts to the worth of a hill of beans.” Julianne crossed her arms and smirked smugly. “Actually, you know what? Let’s not ignore those chains and the physical damage any longer. How stupid are you, Ryan? He can’t get free. I made sure of it. You do realize you’re only delaying the inevitable, don’t you? I will see À Vincente dead. There’s no open clause or room for negotiation. But you, now…I could make his death easy if you choose to become my ally.” “Not stupid here.” “Did I say you were? Well, all right, I implied.” Julianne’s smirk turned sly. “Your answer is no, then?” “No, plus ‘in hell,’ which equals no way in hell.” “Then I’ll see you there, by and by. First, your last request. What’ll you have?” “Say what?” Ryan’s nerves prickled. This reeked of a trap. “Why would you offer me anything?”

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Julianne rolled her shoulders, thrusting her impressive breasts forward. “Mostly for the fun of seeing what you’ll ask for. And if it tickles me enough, I might give you what you want. Don’t get smart and ask for a free pass out of here for either of you, now. That’ll just make me cranky.” “And lord knows we wouldn’t want that,” Ryan snarked. Inside, he laughed. She had no clue. He faked a cough and put his hand to his mouth to cover it, perfectly polite even in the face of death. Thank you, Teddy. The slightest pressure of his tongue to the tiny, fleshcolored plaster on his palm and the bubble ruptured, spilling a miniscule, odorless pellet between his lips. He nudged it quickly between cheek and gums. “Excuse me.” “Do you want a lozenge, or do you want to speed this up?” Julianne made irritated “hurry it along” gestures. “Fine. I want to kiss him good-bye. Maybe we’ll meet in another life.” Julianne heaved an exasperated sigh. “That’s your big problem, both of you. Romantics.” “Do I get my last request or not?” “Life would be so much simpler if you’d asked for a cigarette.” “No thanks,” Ryan replied with a straight face. “Those things’ll kill you.” Julianne loosed a semistartled, semiapproving laugh. “It is a shame, Ryan, a true shame. You and I could have gone a long way, baby. I can’t convince you not to lay down your life for the sake of this sad sack?” “Not a chance.” “Fine. Your funeral.” Julianne’s lips thinned. “All right, have at it. Suck face. You don’t mind if I watch, do you?” “Knock yourself out. I have a feeling that you would no matter what I said.” “I’m awed at your powers of observation.” Julianne lost every trace of her faux good cheer. “You have until I count to ten or no kissy-face. Go.” “All right.” Ryan shoved away from Stanley, uncaring of the gun he knew the weasel would instantly whip out and point at his back. He closed the distance between himself and À Vincente and let himself waste a couple of precious seconds mourning the havoc the toad and Julianne had wrought on his beautiful vampire. “You shouldn’t have.” À Vincente’ ruined lips slurred as he protested. “You could have escaped.” “Not without you. Where you go, I follow.” “You could have lived.”

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“It would’ve been a poor life without the man I love.” Ryan laid his lips as lightly as he could over À Vincente’s. His lover, apparently not so worried about a little extra pain, pushed into the kiss. And thus it was that À Vincente noticed the small bulge of the pellet lodged in Ryan’s mouth. He tore away, even his swollen eye flying open wide in shock. “No.” “I love you.” Ryan kissed his vampire one final time and stepped back. “Don’t ever forget me.” He looked over his shoulder at Julianne and flicked out his tongue to show her the tiny pill balanced there. “See you in hell.” He swallowed. He fell. Let this work, Ryan gabbled over and over in a litany of a prayer. Let this work. His eyes closed on the sound of À Vincente’s agonized scream, and then the world was darkness… …But only because he’d knocked the back of his skull on the floor and used the momentum to roll on his stomach, whereupon he’d smacked his forehead just as hard. Ah, hell, every plan had a few drawbacks. He didn’t dare open his eyes to see what happened next, but he heard plenty. “You idiot!” Julianne howled. “All that training and you couldn’t smell a suicide pill?”

You didn’t pick up on it either, Sparky, Ryan thought with an internal chuckle. Granted, there wasn’t actually any poison to smell, thanks to Teddy, just a good, newfangled mix of morphine and sedatives, powerful enough to dull pain and dampen fear. They wouldn’t do him any favors, but knock wood, the ruse would work and he’d live. They’d both live if this threw Julianne off her game, and À Vincente took advantage of the moment… The sound of a ringing slap, and Stanley’s shocked cry echoed off the walls. Stanley yelped again, loud even over the noises of a brief struggle. “Don’t,” he begged. “I’ve served you well for years. I even pretended not to know you during the ‘audition!’” “That doesn’t win you anything.” Julianne’s tone was colder than ice. “I don’t give second chances to incompetent employees.” The roaring blast of fire was horrible, but the soft patter of spraying blood and Stanley’s death rattle was even worse. Ryan remained where he’d fallen. He shallowed his breathing to the lightest possible wisps of oxygen, praying they’d think he was well and truly on his way off the mortal coil.

Wait for it, he cautioned himself. Wait for it… “Fucking morons,” Julianne snarled and seemingly blasted Stanley again for piqued good measure. The room reeked like a charnel. “You thought you were so clever, didn’t you?”

Uh-oh. Is she talking to me? Shitshitshit --

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The fireball that punched through Ryan’s spine didn’t feel like he’d always thought a death strike might. No instant blaze of pain that would have made him scream, no. Just the slamming jolt that lurched his body forward and a horrifying, instant numbness sheeting him from chest to legs. À Vincente’s renewed howl of grief and rage said it all. “See?” Julianne had calmed down, but her aura was no less malevolent. “That’s what love gets you, À Vincente. It makes you stupid and you end up dead. What? Nothing to say?” À Vincente remained silent. Julianne clicked her tongue. “Honestly. You’re no fun at all anymore. Fine. You’re not in any shape to make a decent fight, or I might even consider taking off the chains.”

Get up, À Vincente keened in Ryan’s thoughts. Don’t be dead. Please, please, don’t be dead. I’m not, Ryan sent back, wishing À Vincente could hear him. I love you. Three heartbeats’ worth of a pause passed, and then Ryan heard, in some small corner of his mind, À Vincente’s shocked question. Ryan? How?

I don’t have a clue. Maybe this is what happens when I try to read people when I’m this worked up. You -Shh. Don’t let her know. I was going to rescue you. Get her from behind. I tried, À Vincente. I tried. Don’t die, À Vincente begged. I can’t help it. Medical training spelled out the facts in cold, clinical terms. Sheer force of will only went so far. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, and he couldn’t move. The loss of plasma, blood, and the shock to his charred system would steal his life in a matter of minutes. Possibly seconds. I’m sorry.

No, À Vincente insisted. Ryan’s head spun with the whirling vortex of his lover’s thoughts. Can you reach the instruments tray? The one with all the sharp…things. I don’t think so. Try. Why? You’re chained; I’m dead. The hell you are. Do this for me, Ryan. Grab the leg of the cart, and when I say go, you go. Pull it down. And then what? You’ll figure it out. “À Vincente…you really have nothing to say?” Julianne crooned as his lover hissed. Ryan burned to know what she’d done to him this time and loathed not being able to turn

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and look. The numbness in his body crept closer to his mind. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to hear À Vincente either mentally or aloud any longer.

Hurry, he thought in anguish. I’m almost gone. “Kill me,” À Vincente muttered. “Kill me. Go for the glory. Make as big a mess as you can.” Julianne sighed. “I hate anticlimactic endings. Very well.” Her feet shuffled, presumably as she turned to her abhorrent array of tools, no doubt to select just the right one for the last act in this gruesome game. Metal clanked as she picked up an instrument. À Vincente’s voice exploded in Ryan’s mind. NOW! Ryan acted on instinct and a surge of energy, using the final drops of his strength. He hadn’t thought his arm could move, and it went against medical logistics, but he did. Force of will, he thought in the split second as his hand closed around the wheel of the cart. Go, team adrenaline. The cart crashed onto its side, raining heavy, sharp metal on Ryan’s back and legs. Julianne swore in shock -- and made her fatal mistake. She turned to Ryan. His eyes snapped open to see Julianne descending on him, no longer resembling a human at all, fingernails extended like claws, ready to shred him to ribbons. He would have recoiled in terror if the sound of a massive crack! and rattling hadn’t distracted him. Dear God in heaven. À Vincente had broken the ceiling beam. Split it in two and slid the loops of chain binding him off a splintered end. Ryan stared in a rapt mix of fascination and horror as À Vincente flew to Julianne without hesitation. The heavy silver chains wrapped around her neck and pulled tight, hard, fast. There was a small, sickly crunching noise. Julianne’s pupils blew, black overwhelming the irises, and she fell, head lolling on her broken neck. Ryan wanted to get up, pump his fists, and stomp around for joy. Ding-dong! The bitch is dead! Damned right! Still moving faster than Ryan had dreamed possible, À Vincente was on his ruined knees on the blood-soaked carpet. He registered, as if they came from a far distance, the sounds of À Vincente cursing, smashing open the locks on the spreader bar clamps with adrenaline-fueled strength. Then, the vampire was holding him. “I’ve got you,” his lover said thickly. “I’m not letting go.” Ryan managed to smile. You’ll have to. The thrill of victory faded fast in the rolling rush of mortality. Don’t forget me.

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“No. I won’t.” À Vincente kissed Ryan, quick and hard. He stood, the silver cuffs still dangling from his wrists, and held Ryan tight with one arm. With the other, he knocked over one of the fat, brightly burning studio candles. Flames trickled across the spill of paranormal blood -- Stanley-the-toad’s, À Vincente’s, and Ryan’s -- and, when they touched Julianne, exploded. Ryan could have sworn he heard a thousand-thousand high, sharp screams of delight. The cheers sounded strangely like revenge to him. The souls she devoured, Ryan realized. If you play with fire… “Yeah. You know the rest. I’m getting you out of here.”

Save your strength. Leave me. Run. “Whither thou goest, so goest I.” À Vincente thumbed Ryan’s lip. “Till death do us part, and that’s not happening. Not this time.” The flames parted around them, surrounding À Vincente and Ryan in a curtain of deadly fire, screaming shrills of burning death drawing close to mortally near. They had bare moments to work with here. “Be damned all over again,” À Vincente murmured, sounding impressed. “Don’t hate me for what I’ve got to do. Okay?” Ryan watched through graying vision as À Vincente’s fangs descended and tore into the meat of his ravaged forearm. “It won’t work,” he heard himself say. “I have to try.” So Ryan let it happen. It wasn’t what he’d planned for his life, but he reasoned, plans had a way of changing when you were in love with a vampire. He let À Vincente press the bleeding arm to his mouth. He swallowed. Again. And again. And then he was gone.

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Chapter Fourteen The front door to À Vincente’s new-to-him Seattle home opened with nary a squeal or a scrape. He preferred it that way, liking the quiet. Whisper-soft in, breath-quiet out. Its lock fastened automatically behind him. He didn’t bother flicking on the azure-shaded lamp on the carved wooden table beside him, although he did dump his keys without bothering to see if they landed as directed or fell silently to the thick pile of the carpet. Soft and deep, the plush material took footprints as well as freshly turned earth, its rich brown shade reminding him of tilled fields after harvest season. He’d furnished his home as he never had before, lavishing color and texture until they surrounded him. Bits and pieces he’d found during night after night of combing Seattle’s wealth of secondhand shops transformed an ordinary converted cellar apartment into a shabby, Bohemian, yet comfortable den. In the year since he’d fled Temptations, while he healed and regrouped his strength, he’d called in old favors, leaned heavily on those he had leverage with, both old and new. He couldn’t access his bank accounts, not unless he wanted the police to find and question him about his mysterious disappearance immediately following Julianne’s death, but he hadn’t lived this long without being resourceful in the crunch, and he made do just fine. He’d scraped together enough money to make a new life, and to create a place for himself that he knew he’d never want to leave. Soft. Inviting. Home. Even if he had to be alone, it was a better life, and if he’d lost Ryan, that’s what Ryan would have wanted for him. “Hey there, lover.” He looked up with the ready grin the sight of his mate never failed to bring him. “I hoped you’d be home soon.”

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If he’d had to be alone, even this better life would have been hell. Luckily, being alone was the farthest thing from his mind. Ryan glided to À Vincente with the grace he’d developed since the terrible night when a small corner of the South burned. He nibbled À Vincente’s neck with his wholly human teeth and tilted his head so that À Vincente could return the kiss over his healthy, bloodwarm, vitally alive pulse. À Vincente closed his eyes tight and shivered. Ryan should have died after Julianne had shot fire through him, life fluids draining from his wounds and his soul shocked past the point of any return. À Vincente had done the only thing he could think to try, feeding Ryan a taste of blood. He couldn’t have turned Ryan, not even then. Instead, he’d given his lover mere drops and prayed they’d work. They had. Ryan lived, mostly mortal. Changed, a little, stronger, and not quite ordinary, but then he never really had been, had he? He lived, he thrived, and he swore he still loved À Vincente more than the life he would have traded for his sake. Fuck. If he had lost his second chance…his Ryan… “Stop that,” Ryan whispered, lips tickling À Vincente. “Give a tired intern a break.” His mouth twitched. “I’ve been slaving my ass off at the hospital for thirty-six hours. I knew it’d be a rougher schedule than hematology back when I switched, but wow, an emergency medicine resident really gets no breaks in this life, my friend. And here you are, prancing around the dark of Washington carefree as you please in” -- he found À Vincente’s waistband and gave the fabric a stretch -- “my old gym shorts?” “Guilty.” He didn’t feel a bit sorry, trading good-natured banter for banter. “So tell me about the shift from hell. Anyone suspect anything yet?” “Nope, not a one. Thanks to Teddy’s boyfriend Isaac and his mad hacker skills in getting me not only a new identity complete with degrees and experience, but this stellar residency, especially with a couple of weeks’ delay so I could finish healing. Who’d have guessed he could do such a thing, much less get back together with Teddy?” Ryan waggled his fingers in a maniacal mockery of typing. “I think he was grateful or something for my warning Teddy off the set before the vice raid. He forgave Teddy, anyway, and took him back after the whole porno venture, and not a moment too soon, huh? Who knew that crazy Lollipop was trying to deal in the back room of Temptations too? Of course, she practically snorted all of her stock before anyone could actually buy…and you know, it’s so interesting that her partner-in-crime Taffy and that asshole Domino just happened to be there when vice came bursting down the doors…” À Vincente eyed his love with amused suspicion. They’d had this conversation many times before, and while Ryan always said the same thing, he kept on teasing him by asking. “You swear you didn’t call the cops?” “Cross my heart.”

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“You adorable little liar. Guess it was just Julianne’s day to go down in flames.” À Vincente sighed. “Trouble is how many people burned up alongside. I haven’t heard from her family in months, you know? The long tradition broken, the generations up at arms against one another…damn, she had a lot of decent people fooled. Her mother cried when she found out that bastard had stolen her daughter’s life and body. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her tears.” He shuddered. Ryan, bless him, sought to lighten the gloom. “I know it’ll be a while coming for me, but what about you? Think you’ll ever want to star in an adult film again?” “Only if I could handpick my leading man. Hey, want to make one for me? Maybe playing the dirty doctor? I could get down with some of that action.” “Doctor Ryan, at your service.” “I’m glad.” À Vincente chafed Ryan’s arm. “If you’d had to quit medicine, I’d have loathed myself forever for destroying your dreams.” He still hated the necessary severing of Ryan’s ties with the few family members he had left, although Ryan swore up and down, looking suitably disdainful, that the gay-bashing lot weren’t worth losing any sleep over. “They’d have been empty without you around anyway, so stop it.” “Good thing Teddy was useful for more than scaring me halfway to a possible third death with fake suicide pills.” “À Vincente.” He could tell from the cold bite in Ryan’s order that he wasn’t playing. À Vincente hadn’t been, either. “Yeah.” He nuzzled Ryan’s neck with a sigh. “Okay, we did this wrong. You want to start again?” He could sense the smile return. Ryan shimmied against À Vincente. “Let’s.” Two could play that game. À Vincente seized his lover around the curve above his ass and cradled him. “Hey, pretty boy.” Ryan’s mouth thinned out in not-so-kissable lines. “I told you not to --” “Hey, kid.” “Swear to God, if you can’t use my real name --” “Okay, fine. Hey, Dr. Kissinger.” Ryan sighed and slumped against him, which suited À Vincente just fine. He copped a palmful of good tight ass and patted Ryan’s shoulder in faux comfort, avoiding the puckered firebolt scar. He still couldn’t bear to touch the blemish, although he couldn’t avoid seeing it during sex, when they showered together, and when Ryan walked shirtless around the home they’d made together. And yet, he loved it too. The ugly red scars he bore were beautiful to À Vincente, proof that Ryan had lived through Julianne’s near-mortal attack and, thanks to the small infusion

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of vampire blood that had made it possible to survive through that dreadful night, survived to heal. Sometimes he didn’t understand himself, but what else was new? Ryan bit just under À Vincente’s collarbone. “If you haven’t figured it out since the Middle Ages, you’re not going to now, so quit trying.” “Ow,” À Vincente protested without heat. The instant surge of arousal in his groin gave away his total lack of turn-off. Ryan, bless his heart, picked up on the less-than-subtle hint right away. He rubbed into À Vincente, putting his heart and soul and impressive leg muscles into play. The kid -- fine, fine, Ryan -- could give a man one hell of a ride when he put his mind to it. And he’d only ever ride À Vincente for the rest of his life. So why not start now? “I almost stopped for take-out breakfast in the cafeteria before I left,” Ryan said, apropos of nothing. “Jeez.” À Vincente hammed up his shudder. “What did I do to deserve that?” “Well, there was the matter of someone saying they were too tired for a fourth round the last night we had alone together,” Ryan teased. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one with all the preternatural stamina?” “Don’t sell yourself short.” À Vincente sobered for a brief moment, as he always did when trying to wrap his head around what Ryan had become after the last-ditch attempt to save Ryan’s life by bringing him over. The last chance both had and hadn’t worked. No bloodlust, no fangs, and only a mild problem with sunlight. His lover’s heart beat, his lungs needed air, and he ate genuine food with relish and the kind of appetite À Vincente hadn’t seen since the Depression. Damn, but À Vincente was proud of his lover. “Hey.” Ryan tapped À Vincente on the bridge of his nose. “Quit thinking.” “Oh, yeah? Why should I?” À Vincente’s body, particularly his eager cock, risen hard and full in his shorts, was happy to answer that question. Still, he had to lead Ryan on at least a little. He didn’t need to give it up on cue anymore. “Do you have something better in mind?” “I do, and I know you do too.” The low growl in Ryan’s voice, the one that got À Vincente right where he lived every single time, was his sole warning before Ryan tackled him to the floor. “You little son of a bitch!” À Vincente rolled so that he lay on top of Ryan. The darling brat didn’t try to fight him as he sat up, adjusting his ass over Ryan’s hips and his oh-sointerested cock.

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“Oh, my.” Ryan batted his eyelashes, so over the top that À Vincente groaned. “Whatever have I done? Clumsy me.” “Clumsy, my ass. Gonna make you pay for that,” he mock-scolded, the thick, languid warmth of playful lust warming his limbs. Not just his limbs. Ryan cupped À Vincente’s ass, massaging with his thumbs. He rocked his groin, thrusting up slow and sweet. “You can’t stay mad at me,” his lover informed him. “I’m just way too cute.” “Always have been, and that’s your problem right there.” “I don’t know. I think it’s netted me the best shake I could ever have gotten out of life.” Damn it. He had to go and get mushy when what À Vincente wanted, most of all, was a good hard fuck. However, come what may, he knew he’d never get tired of hearing or seeing the proof of Ryan’s love. “Kiss me,” he ordered, gruff, “then fuck me.” Ryan’s horny gleam darkened to a devil’s deep coal glow. Not literally. Good enough for À Vincente, though. “Hell, yeah,” Ryan purred, his busy fingers tugging À Vincente’s shorts down to rub inside the crease and circle the tightly drawn muscle he found. À Vincente hissed, bucked, and thanked all his lucky stars that he’d chosen the baggy cutoffs that day. When Ryan’s finger penetrated him, the rasp of pain drew a sharp, shocked gasp from him. Not that it hurt badly. More that if he didn’t get plowed right away, he’d…okay, he didn’t know, but it would be drastic. He didn’t have to say anything out loud. Ryan popped his ass with the flat of his other hand. “Get up,” he ordered, then tucked his hands behind his head as À Vincente stood on unsteady legs. He eyed the erection distorting the front of À Vincente’s shorts with a lascivious, deeply attentive appreciation. À Vincente whimpered when Ryan encircled his own cock and loosely stroked the length of the shaft under the scrub pants. “Undress for me,” Ryan suggested. À Vincente rushed to obey. The muscle shirt flew one way; his sandals ricocheted off the couch. When he cursed out the knot in his drawstring, loose enough to allow groping but too tight to let him slip out of the shorts, Ryan laughed at him, efficiently shedding his own clothes all the while, choosing speed over stripteasing. As it got Ryan naked and on display right away, À Vincente couldn’t complain. “It’s not a race. Trust me, I don’t mind watching.” Ryan bit his lip and hissed; his fist tightened around his cock. The sight and smell of a clear drop issuing from the darkened head kicked À Vincente into double-time speed.

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“Like hell you’re going off before you fuck me as hard as you promised.” He gave up and ripped the drawstrings, kicking off the shorts the second they came free. Collapsing to his knees, he licked a long, wet stripe from Ryan’s ankle to his inner thigh, well pleased by the small, desperate whimpers Ryan made by the time he’d reached to where he could catch the next drop of precum on his tongue. Ryan passed him a tube of the high-quality silky lubricant they both loved, stashed under their couch. They’d learned to keep it handy in every room, as no surface or wall was too sacred to fuck on or against. “Slick yourself up for me,” Ryan ordered, lazy and smug as a cat in the cream. He rolled his hips to tease À Vincente’s throbbing flesh with his own, uttering small noises of praise and watched, fascinated and needy, at À Vincente’s hand as he pushed it underneath himself, behind his hips. He hissed, clearly fighting off climax when he saw À Vincente’s hips jerk and realized he was fingering himself open. “Fuck, but you’re hot.” À Vincente refused to make the obvious joke. He felt hot with Ryan -- he burned from the inside -- and that was what mattered. Still, this could be better. “You too,” he urged, tugging Ryan’s wrist. “Come on, pretty boy. I want both of us doing this.” Ryan quivered, eagerly following where À Vincente led. He didn’t offer much, just one finger slid alongside À Vincente’s, but it was enough to drive him nearly over the edge. His lover’s instincts saved the day by squeezing the base of À Vincente’s cock. All the same, À Vincente whined in frustration. He didn’t care what people said about practice and experience, he’d been around for centuries, and he had yet to learn how to appreciate a hard pinch to the dick when he was on the verge of coming. Ryan glared at him in warning. “You don’t come until I’m inside you.” À Vincente grasped Ryan’s wrist and shook it. “Yeah? Then hurry it up, or there’s no stopping me.” “So fucking sexy, the way that turns you on. You love it and you know it. Slick me, now.” À Vincente took great pleasure in failing to warm up the lube before drizzling a heavy dollop over Ryan’s cock. He waggled his eyebrows and hooted at Ryan’s indignant yelp. There was nothing better on the green and verdant earth than someone who you not only loved to fuck and got to fuck at every possible opportunity, but who also had fun in bed. He left his thoughts an open book for his lover to absorb. Ryan’s leer softened. Not speaking -- there was no need -- he helped À Vincente rise to his knees and guided him until À Vincente’s weight and steering slid Ryan home deep in his ass. À Vincente hissed, reveling in the quick sting that faded so amazingly to core-deep thrills.

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“Yeah,” Ryan whispered. He arched up and the game was on. À Vincente lost himself to the flood of sensation under his skin. Hot fingers grasping. Steely cock plundering his hole. Heated puffs of breath, faster and ever faster, burning in his chest. His knees clamping Ryan’s sides. The burn, the hunger, the pressure in his cock. He erupted, spilling thick streams over Ryan’s chest. Under him, Ryan snarled and pumped, ass leaving the floor, lifting À Vincente with his gyrations. Their bodies spasmed as one. Good goddamn, two for one. That almost never happened. And didn’t he go mad for it when it did? After carefully easing Ryan’s satiated cock from his ass, À Vincente slumped over his lover’s chest. He lay limp, too satisfied to want to think about moving, and let Ryan count his scars. When he chuckled, struck by a sudden thought, Ryan paused over a knotty line where Julianne’s dagger had struck, and the wicked, heavy spiderweb of scars on À Vincente’s stomach. It seemed like so long ago, now. “What’s funny?” “Temptations,” À Vincente explained. “Temptations, Incorporated. The snake and the apple. Draw ’em in, and damn ’em to hell.” “And this is funny, why?” Ryan poked À Vincente, soothing the action with a kiss to the shoulder. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” À Vincente tried to explain. ““You’re the temptation. The bait and the prize. The most appealing piece of ass I’ve known for so damn long.” “Thanks,” Ryan replied dryly. “That’s not the point.” À Vincente lifted to brace on his forearms and examined Ryan’s face, from doe eyes to generous smile, loving each and every part of him. “I guess I’m saying that sometimes temptation is worth the price.” He kissed Ryan. “Or maybe I’m not saying it right.” Ryan followed À Vincente, nipping his chin. “So why don’t you think it? The heart doesn’t lie.” “All right.” He closed his eyes and concentrated hard. And in reply, he heard the echo of Ryan’s voice in his soul: I love you too.

Willa Okati Although a relative newcomer to the field of e-publishing, Willa Okati has been writing since before she was old enough to pick up a pen. She thinks she knows where those dictated stories are hidden, but she'll never tell. Willa is also very interested in the paranormal: magery, Wicca, New Age philosophy, transgender studies, and of course, writing. You can drag her away from the computer if you really fight, but you'd better be prepared for a battle. Just so she doesn't sound entirely dull, Willa has her fun: she is a practicing member of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) and is involved in her community. She is owned by far too many cats, all of which have serious attitudes, and addicted to anything made out of chocolate or involving coffee. She is quiet, but has a very wicked sense of humor that springs out when you least expect it. A secretary for eight years, she now writes full-time -- and wouldn't trade it for the world. She loves to hear from readers, and always responds. You can contact her at [email protected], or feel free to visit her website to check out her work at www.willaokati.com.