DeVante's Coven (3 page)

Chapter 2



How to make a vampire

He wasn’t an innocent.

He liked to suck cock.

Or, at the very least, he didn’t mind it very much. And he’d heard about these private Vegas parties. Heard that they took place, heard that the young prostitutes made a lot of money without having to do a whole lot of work. And he heard the entertainment wasn’t limited to girls.

It wasn’t limited tonight.

The message came from an unnamed man through the brother of a friend. A brother who’d had his own parties where Tony had provided small bits of entertainment. Harmless, really. But Tony learned to suck cock at those parties. Learned he liked it. Or at least didn’t mind it very much.

What he liked was thinking about it later, days later, maybe, when he was showered and clean and curled up in bed all by himself. It was then he liked to think about the parties and his own part in them.

How being on his knees brought others to their knees. He liked remembering their helpless moans, the feel of their hands in his hair, pulling him closer, begging him please… please, don’t ever, ever stop.

He liked picturing himself on his knees, a vision of supplication, though the vision was false, for he knew he was the one in control.

The memories, the fantasies—Tony liked those better than the parties, better than the harmless homosexual acts. He dreamed of being a slave to some strong demanding and insatiable master. Dreamed of being kidnapped and trained in the art of giving pleasure.

He didn’t know if such things happened in the real world. If so, he didn’t know how to make such things happen to himself. He knew there were sickos out there whose fantasies weren’t harmless. He knew there were people who might enjoy hurting him for real.

He knew these things in a theoretical sense, but he had never met anyone like that.

The friend’s brother whispered the names of two streets that crossed each other. He named a price that made Tony’s head spin. Wait at the corner at eleven o’clock if you’re interested in making some money. A car will come. A man will tell you to get inside.

“How do I know it’s safe?”

The invitation came from a girl who’d seen Tony at one of the small parties, a girl who’d done this before. This would be her third time. Word came to her that somebody might like the attention of a boy, that’s all. Everything’s cool. Just make the old guys happy. They pay you when they drop you off again.

Old guys, Tony thought, and pictured himself kneeling before the cock of a guy of forty, maybe fifty. His belly trembled. It appealed to his slave fantasy. He might even pretend to be innocent.

The guy’s voice was still bored. “Or we can just let you off right here and you can walk back where you came from. Part of this gig is doing what you’re told. You’d be smart to either do that or get out of the car.”

Tony shrugged out of his jacket. He was startled to find that he was totally not horny. He was uncomfortable about getting undressed in the car. It wasn’t that he was being treated like a piece of meat. He was looking forward to that. It was that the people in this car weren’t treating him like anything at all. Complete disinterest.

The man’s hand brushed Tony’s limp penis as it reached for the door handle. A breeze from outside rushed in. Tony’s penis stirred.

***

The dumpster was his camouflage, the alley in the dark his just reward. He was here to smell the putrid garbage, to remind himself exactly what he was and what he deserved. This is no glamorous, high-class justifiable gig. No, this is the existence of wolves, the pack choosing the weak and tearing it limb from limb. This is the life of a vulture, circling human carrion, reveling in the demise of the rotted corpse.

He was thinking thus when a white van rolled by and a bundle wrapped in a gray paint-stained tarp was tossed out. It hit the ground with a thud, a mere five inches from Roderick’s foot.

Roderick’s nostrils twitched and he wrinkled his nose. He smelled the unpleasantness of human excrement. Human carrion. He had chosen this alley for slumming and here was proof. Cast away death.

Without urgency Roderick knelt beside the bundle and sliced the tarp away with his fingernails.
Subtitle the scene ‘Death hovers,’
he thought to himself with a wry grin.

He could hear the poor desperate heart beating a rapid one-two, one-two rhythm, forcing the blood more quickly toward whatever terrible fatal wound had been suffered. He could see the blood now, bright red.

The Hunger rose, clawing up from his belly, fierce need, too bold to fight.

He had come here to wallow among the garbage and this he would do.

The poor soul at his feet had not enough life left in him to care. Roderick would end its suffering and thus somehow redeem himself in the trash-filled street.

He reached inside the canvas tarp and turned the dying victim over. Silky black hair wound in a tangled mass over the face and neck. Roderick brushed it away for a clear taste of the throat.

As he lowered his mouth, he glanced at the face. Beautiful face. Young and sweet, and oh, so appealing.

The Hunger backed off, but his control had already slipped away.

He stared at the boy and wanted him. Wanted him for his own. He went still and took a deep breath, fighting for control of the monster, the beast inside his head. The beast that was screaming,
Mine!

The boy’s features were slack, lids half-closed, eyeballs rolled back in his head, a purple bruise throughout the left socket. One laceration along his right jaw, another across his forehead. Bloody nose.

Still, it was a face that pulled him beyond wanting blood, a well-defined face that would stay with him for a long time. Native American, mixed with Caucasian, sharp-featured, young… such promise… and he would be beautiful,
so beautiful…
echoed the beast in his mind… and the blood scent chased all rational thought away and he was drinking, drinking…

The blood was slow. There wasn’t very much of it. There wasn’t enough.

He bit into his own wrist; raised it to let his vampire blood drip on the jaw, the forehead. Lowered his mouth to the throat again. Part of him still struggled,
don’t do it, don’t!
But the stronger part, the beast, urged him,
do it, do it, make him mine, mine, mine!

And he was suddenly thinking
Live! Live! If there be some God out there who feels pity for this boy, let him live!

Not enough blood. Roderick lowered his wrist to the boy’s mouth anyway, shifted to cradle the pathetic young frame in his arms. “Drink,” he said out loud in a firm voice. “Drink and live.”

He thought he felt some pressure at his wrist. Pressed it harder against the boy’s lips and lowered his head to the boy’s ear, “Drink!” The word was a roar through the deserted alley.

The boy jerked in his arms. His mouth opened to emit a reedy wail. Then his lips clamped onto Roderick’s wrist and he began to suckle.

A child is born.

Chapter 3


How to be a mortal boy

The apartment was cool. Way cool. Daniel’s eyes roved while Reed closed the door behind them, crossed in front of Daniel, and poured himself some kind of liquor from a bottle into a glass. “Want one?”

Daniel shook his head. He needed his
thing
, the peculiar few minutes he always needed in a new place before he could be comfortable, the odd holding back he’d always felt, even as a little boy. He felt mild concern that Reed had snuck up on him in the bar, but it must have been some effect of alcohol—he was drinking more and faster than the other dancers. The buzz came, but didn’t last long.

He was facing a living room furnished in black leather—a long couch, recliner, small sofa—all arranged pleasantly on a soft white room-sized rug.

Reed set his drink down and walked around Daniel, came up behind him and circled him in his arms. “Take off your shoes. Would you like a full tour, or shall we go straight to the loft?”

“Tour,” Daniel said, shrugging away from Reed’s hold.

“Don’t pull away,” Reed said firmly, pulling Daniel close again, tugging Daniel’s shirt up and easing it over his head. “I’ll give you the tour. But with one condition: in every room you lose an article of clothing. Ah—here’s the kitchen.”

Daniel almost laughed, because it was right there, separated from the living room only by a counter with stools, and an island work surface.

“Boring,” Reed said. “See the stainless refrigerator, dishwasher that never gets used, stove, sink. Everything would have water spots, except this is cleaning lady day. So you get to see it pristine. Lucky you. Now lose a sock.”

Daniel pulled off one of his socks and dropped it on the floor.

Reed pulled Daniel down a short hall. “Bathroom, ooh, that’s exciting. Other sock.”

End of the hall. “My office,” Reed paused to look Daniel up and down. “Mmm, you’re running out of things. Better take off your pants. Here, I’ll help.” Reed grabbed Daniel by his belt loops and pulled him forward until they were groin to groin. He smoothed Daniel’s shoulders with both hands, ran his fingertips lightly down Daniel’s chest, stomach, then waist... then he trailed his tongue from Daniel’s throat to his belly button as he pushed Daniel’s pants first past his hips, then his knees. Daniel lifted his feet free and left the pants behind as Reed pulled him back towards the living room. “Spiral stair-case to the loft, which is the master bedroom. Just in time.”

Reed pushed Daniel toward the stairs, body pressed close behind, and Daniel went up a dozen or so black iron steps and into a loft that was at least half the square footage of the downstairs. The iron continued as a railing that overlooked the living room. Very cool. Centered on the back wall was a bed. Daniel found himself staring at it, thinking it was a bed designed for fucking. It was huge, sprawling atop a low wooden frame. A black iron sculpture criss-crossed to the ceiling in the manner of a headboard. The coverlet was black, gray and deep rich blue, illuminated by soft recessed ceiling lights.

He stared at the bed and remembered the image he’d stolen from Reed’s mind. It turned him on, never mind he was already practically naked from the little game of strip-tour.

While Daniel took it all in, Reed stripped off his own clothes, came up behind him, and pressed his warm body full-length against Daniel’s back, arms draped over his shoulders, hands caressing his chest. Reed’s cock stirred against Daniel’s backside and Daniel leaned against him, fingering the smooth skin of Reed’s thighs, feeling his own cock ache.

Reed spoke. “You don’t talk much.”

Daniel smiled at him, suddenly embarrassed that he was so weird about studying a place before he could be comfortable. “Just taking it all in,” he said, and even to his own ears it sounded lame.

“The second bathroom is through there,” Reed gestured to the left. “And that’s the full tour, so now you can lose the shorts.” With that he toyed with the waistband of Daniel’s underwear and then tugged them down. He urged Daniel to the bed and Daniel went, Reed’s body pressing against him until he lay flat on his stomach and Reed was heavy and sexy on top of him. And warm. The heat that humans generated was amazing. Hot skin, hot mouths, hot blood.

The heat between himself and Reed was extraordinary.

Sensation exploded into Daniel as Reed’s hot mouth explored the back of his neck, the side of his throat, and finally his ear. Daniel shuddered. Reed slid off him and said, “Roll over.” Daniel did, and Reed kissed him on the mouth. It was a slow, sensual, exploring kind of kiss. Reed’s hands explored his body as his lips and tongue explored Daniel’s mouth. Fingers brushed through Daniel’s hair and caressed his neck, moving down to close tightly around Daniel’s cock. Reed’s heat flowed into him, and Daniel gave himself up to Reed’s hands and mouth, content to ride the moment helpless, to feel what Reed would have him feel. And still the kiss went on and on. Daniel moaned into it. Reed broke the kiss at last and sat up, just looking at him for a few moments, then said, “You really are an intriguing young man.”