Now Comes the Night (42 page)

Damian had gone altogether still. He cleared his throat with obvious difficulty. “How exceptionally…vivid,” he murmured, lips curling in disgust. “It is a wonderfully descriptive image your words have painted for me.
Muchas gracias,
Señor.
I’m sure I shall treasure the memory of it always.”

“I am sure you shall.” Once again Conrad shortened the distance between them. “In fact, I am confident I shall give you sufficient cause to remember this evening for a very long time indeed.” He stretched out a hand as he spoke, laying his palm against the center of Damian’s chest. Damian’s eyes widened in alarm. His heart lurched. Conrad smiled. “There it goes again. My apologies, my lord, I fear I must be frightening you.”

Damian shook his head. “No,
Señor
. This time it is
you
who are mistaken.”

“Do you really think so?” As he took in the stubborn set of Damian’s jaw, the rebellious gleam in his eyes, Conrad could not help but smile. The hunter in him was unexpectedly pleased with this sudden show of boldness. Where was the fun, after all, in a chase that was over too soon? “Myself, I do not see how that could be possible. For, as it happens, I am rarely mistaken.”

Damian swallowed hard. “I do not doubt it.” His chin lifted infinitesimally. “But I, on the other hand, am hardly
ever
frightened.” And, suddenly, he was in motion. Leaning in, he erased the gap between them, cupped his hands around Conrad’s face and kissed him—hard.

The move took Conrad by surprise. Damian seized the advantage and pressed closer. He slanted his head to the side in a bid to deepen the kiss, which Conrad allowed, giving in to his own, almost overpowering, curiosity.
What is he up to? How far will he take this?

An instant later, however, even his curiosity deserted him under the weight of a momentous discovery. Damian’s lips seemed to fit Conrad’s mouth so perfectly it was as though they’d been divinely crafted for just that purpose.
Made for me
. The thought was so alien it would have shocked Conrad had he still been able to think clearly, but Damian’s tongue darted between Conrad’s lips and hunger churned anew. His fangs pulsed with their need. Thinking clearly was no longer a possibility.
He was made for me.

Growling now, Conrad took a grip on Damian’s shoulders and forced him back against the door. Damian went willingly, arching against him, thrusting his hips into Conrad’s, leaving him with no doubt as to what Damian wanted from him tonight: the very same thing he wanted from Damian—wanted, and fully intended to have, with no thought to the consequences. Afterwards, they could both die on the spot, and he’d be content.

“Careful, young one,” Conrad warned as he pressed his lips to Damian’s throat and let his tongue trace over the veins that flowed beneath the surface, searching for just the right place to begin the feast. “You’re playing with fire.” As close as he was to losing control, the same could be said of himself.

A wild laugh escaped Damian’s lips. “Ah, but this old castle can be so dreadfully drafty at times. Do you not find it to be so? How else is one to stay warm?”

How, indeed? Conrad couldn’t help but agree. A moment later, his mouth found what it had been seeking. He sank his fangs into Damian’s neck, shuddering with the bliss of that first, sweet taste.
Made for me
. Unbidden, the thought came again.
For me and for me alone
.

“
Dios
,” Damian gasped as the venom hit. He clutched Conrad tighter, legs shaking as though they were about to give way.

Conrad pressed him harder against the door, using the weight of his own body to keep Damian from falling. His actions had unintended results. Damian’s erection rubbed against his own, reminding Conrad that there were other needs to be met, other desires to be fulfilled. He wrenched his mouth away from Damian’s throat.

“Your chambers,” he demanded hoarsely. “Where are they?”

Never forget what you are.

Community Service

© 2013 Vaughn R. Demont

Broken Mirrors, Book 3

The King is dead, long live the King. And, uh, could you float him a couple bucks?

Life as the only human sorcerer isn’t all it’s cracked up to be for James Black, the Lightning Rod. Between gremlins in the closet, paladins crashing through skylights and working spells in a storage locker, hunting a body-hopping spirit is a welcome distraction. If only he didn’t have to partner with a Coyote.

After being punted to the curb by his roommate (with benefits), things are looking dire for trickster Spencer Crain, until an old friend offers him a shot at a big score scamming the best of marks: a vampire. Thing is, he’ll have to work with his worst enemy to pull it off.

With lives in the balance, James is learning the hard way what being a sorcerer really means—and that he picked a hell of a time to quit smoking. Spencer is faced with the choice between his future and his friends. Yeah, like he’s never seen
that
movie before…

Warning: This is a work of urban fantasy containing arguments for and against Dungeons & Dragons, a closeted My Little Pony fan, awkward flirting, switching POVs, heist-movie logic, and a Dwarf who can’t hold his liquor.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Community Service:

“What’s going on, Spencer?” There are bags under his green eyes, his red hair mussed just on the right side of attractive, save the white streak that’s plastered to his forehead. He also sounds annoyed, but sorcerers always sound like that at four thirty in the morning, for some reason. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Time for breakfast? And some coffee? God, I need coffee. Could you let me in, I’ll even get it started.” I don’t give him a chance to refuse. It’s not like Coyotes need an invitation, so I slide past him and head out into the diner proper, getting the coffee pots ready while James follows me. “Don’t suppose you can conjure a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster?”

He gives me a blank look.

“Jesus, James.
Hitchhiker’s
. I cannot believe you’ve never read it.”

“I’m just not into satire, okay? Now what’s going on?” He sits at the counter, oblivious to Bank and Thornton who are outside.

I glance back at him. “Regular for you, right?” I pour in the water, set the machine to percolating.

“Spence, just spill it so I can get around to talking to you about something?”

I peer at him. “Wait, you’re giving me the ‘we need to talk’? Don’t we need to have sex at least once before you break up with me?”

He grumbles. “We’re not—” The sorcerer takes a deep breath. “I’m happy alone, okay? I don’t have the best track record and I don’t want to inflict it on someone else.”

I turn, leaning against the counter. “What are the odds you’ll go out with another guy who gets…” I don’t finish the sentence. No one wants to be reminded that both serious relationships in their life ended with a scissor blade through their lover’s heart. “You need time, I get it. In the meantime, could you get the grill going?” I motion to the front doors. “My buddies are hungry.”

James looks back through the window at Bank and Thornton, who wave and smile genially. He rolls his eyes. “What, recharging before you get back to the threesome?”

What is it with people thinking I’d want to sleep with my brother? I blame the Internet. “Dude. Sick.”

“The guy with the extra arms is okay, I guess, but Dave has a strict No Coyotes policy, remember?”

Right. I guess a Coyote swindled the dragon out of his hoard, and he’s a tad bitter about it. Dragons love their money, which is why they’re such tempting (and easy) targets for us. Even if we don’t make a dime, it’s worth boo coo goodie points with Fate. “Fine, I’ll use the rest of my free meals to cover him.”

He exhales hard, but nods. “Go let them in, I’ll tell Dave to stay upstairs.”

James heads into the back while I go to the door and unlock it. I point them toward a booth, which my brother lugs his duffel bag toward. “I can get us coffee, food’s going to be a while. And, Thornton?”

The Coyote looks at me. “Yeah?”

“Is this diner familiar at all to you?”

He takes in the surroundings. “No idea, I’ve eaten at a lot of diners. I think Dad took you here, right?” Yeah, and Dad skipped out on the check. Thornton suddenly grins. “Wait, is this the place the dragon owns? Shit, I took so much money off that moron.”

Why am I not surprised that it was him?

“Yeah, I don’t want the owner recognizing you just in case, okay? Just…cloak up or something.”

He shrugs and closes his eyes, concentrating, his appearance shimmering before me, the Coyote features vanishing, taking on a human appearance. Gentle green eyes with a hint of mischief, medium-length brown hair in a mussed-up curtain style, light beard and goatee, casual attire, all attractive, of course. It’s a handy trick we Coyotes can pull off. To most humans and mythics we can look however we want so long as we’ve seen the clothing or hairstyle or whatever. It’s because of this I can wear tailored Armani suits whenever I want. Really, there’s only one kind of person who can see through it.

“So, what do you three want? It’s going to be a long while because the grill’s heating up.” James glances at Thornton. “By the way, that’s the most obvious cloak I’ve ever seen. No one’s going to believe that a Hollywood actor’s eating at a diner in Beckettsville.”

Sorcerers. It’s because of James that I don’t just put on a cloak over my boxers and shoes and head out for the day. I sit next to Bank, since the other side has Thornton and his duffel bag.

Bank orders—coffee, black, keep it coming, a generally simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast—and thanks James sincerely for opening early after giving him a five-dollar tip. If there’s one thing Bank knows how to do, it’s treat people in the service industry like people. No one wants to make anything complicated coming on five in the morning.

Thornton chews his lower lip. “Uh, I need a minute, but coffee would be great to start me out.” James nods, writing it down. Thornton tics his head toward him while looking at me. “So, you hitting that?”

“What, James? God no.”

He tilts his head. “Wait, what? But, he’s a sorcerer, so he’s the hero, you’re obviously the sidekick. I mean, the unresolved sexual tension
alone
…”

Finally someone says it. “I know, right? After six months I should’ve been living a ‘True Confessions’ letter to
SlashFan International.
”

He shrugs with a grin. “Well, maybe you’re just not what he goes for. He could be looking for someone charismatic, more mature, a bit dangerous, can affect a decent London accent.” Thornton reaches over the table and pats my cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you how he was.”

I stare daggers at him. “Not if I do him first, you won’t.”

An aggravated sigh comes from our right. “I’m standing
right here
, you know.” James then glances at Thornton, his voice slipping into a natural British accent, Oxford, as he puts it. “And I don’t go for Londoners.” He looks to me. “Or tricksters. I want to be
left alone
.” He storms off, and we both watch him leave, Bank suddenly finding the street outside very interesting.

Thornton mutters. “Damn it.”

Bank chuckles. “Got you pegged, sounds like.”

Thornton shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.”

I nod in assent to my brother, half-chiding myself for slipping back into the rhythm we had before. “He had to go and say it, didn’t he?”

Bank looks between the two of us. “What are you two talking about?”

Thornton, like me, is a Bard, which is the reason he’s as smooth as he is and understands television tropes almost as well as I do. Turn on any TV show or watch any movie, and if someone says that they only want to be left alone, it can only mean one thing…

The Coyote grits his teeth. “Twenty bucks says he falls for our mark, and Spencer here has to make a decision between money and friendship.”

“My twenty says he meets the love of his life in the next forty-eight hours and following a whirlwind romance and a hair-raising adventure, they move in together after say…a week.” I snort derisively. “So much for crashing on his couch.”

Bank blinks, looking between the two of us. “Or…he just wants to be alone.” He watches James pour the coffee. “And is spitting in your joe as we speak.”

I get up. “He wanted to talk to me about something, anyway. A sidekick’s work is never done.”

James is behind the counter, turned away from me. I clear my throat.

“So, I’m sorry to put you out like this. I wasn’t expecting either of them to show up, especially the Coyote. Figured that part of my life was over. This is probably a bad time to ask if I can crash on your futon…” James still isn’t looking at me. “You’re mad. I can see that. So just get it off your chest and we’ll all feel better.”

“He didn’t want to see me.”

Okay, a little cognitive dissonance there. “Huh?”

He turns to face me. “Cale.” His eyes are a bit red. “Cale didn’t want to see me.”

Cale is the last guy James dated, also the last Ra’keth who had a reign lasting longer than six hours. According to James, he died in his arms, but since sorcerers are sorcerers and glibly flip off the laws of reality, he gets a “conjugal visit” in Hades four times a year.