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He stood, feet braced on the mattress to either side of Wolfe's silk-draped hips. He only wobbled a little as his hands went to his fly and pulled the buttons open one by one. Wolfe's gaze tracked him, his hands on Matt's shins to help steady him. He helped Matt pull the jeans off, tossing them aside as Matt lowered to his side on the mattress.

  Their movement drew the sheets further down Wolfe's hips, exposing the pale length of his thighs and the quiet temptation of his cock. Not hard. No blood pressure, no erection. That would happen later. Matt lowered his head over it, taking the cool, soft flesh slowly into his mouth, knowing his lover enjoyed the sensation even if there was no answering hardness. Experience and Wolfe's agonized intake of breath told him so.

  Wolfe's fingers threaded through his hair, cupping the back of his skull as Matt happily suckled. His hips rocked gently. Matt kept suckling until he heard Wolfe's gasps grow more ragged. He looked up to see Wolfe biting his lower lip, fangs pressing dangerously into the pale pink.

  The time had to be right. Matt eased his mouth off Wolfe, leaving the wet flesh lying on his belly. He kissed his way up Wolfe's chest, his neck, to finally find Wolfe's lips. Wolfe groaned, melting into Matt's kiss. The vampire was hungry, purposely so in preparation of tonight. Tonight he had to nearly kill Matt to let him be reborn. Matt was no longer remotely frightened of it. He trusted Wolfe with his life and his death.

  Let's get on with it. Matt bit down on Wolfe's lip.

  Wolfe hissed at the pain, yanking back before Matt could taste his blood. He grabbed Matt's head, pulling him back and stopping him from tasting.

  "Bite me,” Matt taunted, arching his neck even more. His racing pulse had to be too much of a temptation. “Drink."

  Apparently, Wolfe couldn't take it anymore. Starved, aroused, he flipped Matt over onto his back. He shoved one hand into the hair at the back of Matt's skull, pulling his head aside to bury his nose in Matt's neck. “I love you,” he murmured.

  Matt wrapped his arms around Wolfe's shoulders and his legs around Wolfe's hips. “I love you too."

  Wolfe's tongue lapped over his pulse. Lips latched on and sucked hard. Matt gasped, arching up into his lover in response to the pleasure-pain. He barely felt it when Wolfe's fangs penetrated his skin. But he knew when the vampire started to feed. Matt tensed, then relaxed, concentrating on the spreading warmth in the skin under his hands and draped over his chest, not on the flutter of his heart as Wolfe drank more than he had before.

  Matt sank, feeling dizzy. His vision swam, so he closed his eyes. His breath stuttered, not seeming all that important. Panic tried to flare but couldn't catch hold as he drifted toward a misty gray coolness that beckoned.

  "Matthew."

  Lovely voice, very different from the cool gray. The voice was warm and red, dark and sultry. He should be interested. He couldn't quite recall why.

  "Drink."

  Heat. Taste. Taste? The vibrancy of the feeling that spread through his being couldn't possibly be explained in one word. Colors were food, red and black sliding into what had once been his body, or perhaps his soul.

  Thump. Thump.

  Sweet. No, spicy. No, copper. No, wine. There wasn't a way to explain. But it filled him with heat, made him aware of his arms, now clutching smooth satin skin. Of his legs, held up and apart while a delicious, hard warmth tunneled into his welcoming body. Of Wolfe over him, body straining as he thrust, blood pouring down Matt's throat.

  "Enough."

  Matt screamed in protest, mouth wide as Wolfe's hand ripped him from his hold on Wolfe's throat. Whimpering, he fought the hold, scrambling to bring the wound back where he could drink, but Wolfe held him, pinned him, fucked him, distracted him until he was whimpering for an entirely different reason than dark hunger.

  Wolfe's punishing kiss muffled his cries. His tongue plundered Matt's mouth, scraping on one of Matt's new fangs. Some of that sweet ambrosia spilled into Matt's mouth, and he suckled Wolfe's tongue, mewling from two types of ecstasy, two towering plumes of pleasure that finally touched off and ignited the explosion deep within him. He detonated, flying to pieces, and as always, Wolfe's strong embrace was all that held him together.

  Sanity returned very slowly. Just as slowly, Matt took stock. His body felt pleasantly used, but that was nothing new after having sex with Wolfe. His neck kind of hurt, but again that was nothing new. His skin tingled, kind of like the marching-ant sensation of a limb reawakening after having been asleep. The fact that when he tried to hum his pleasure he couldn't because there was no air in his lungs was a tad alarming. Idly, he wondered and decided his last breath had been a contented sigh after Wolfe came and sank down on top of him.

  Consciously drawing in a breath, he nearly expelled it again in shock at the riot of scents that flooded his head. Sex, sweat, and blood, yes, all far more intense than usual, but he could also detect what he finally decided was the laundry detergent on the sheets and the faint floral odor of the shampoo he and Wolfe had been using. He pulled in a second breath as a sample, wiggling a little underneath Wolfe, which provided another distraction. The softness of the silk beneath him, the sink of the mattress, the indescribably velvety goodness of the man draped across him. Fascinated, he ran his hands over Wolfe's back and neck. Finding hair, he moaned at the sheer sinful sleekness of it.

  Chuckling softly, that sound a whispered caress in Matt's overloaded brain, Wolfe braced on his elbows above Matt. “Are you all right?” Fingers lightly caressed Matt's jaw.

  Matt opened his eyes, jerking in delighted surprise at the dazzling display of colors in what had before seemed to be a simple monochrome black silk canopy. The sight distracted him from the oddly familiar and oddly foreign sensation of breathing. If he'd thought Wolfe was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to what he now saw. “Oh, man.” The sheer spectacle nearly brought tears to his eyes.

  Wolfe smiled, gently smoothing the tears away with his thumb. “Take your time. It takes getting used to."

  "This is what it's like to be you?"

  Wolfe's smile was breathtaking. “Yes."

  Matt brought his hands around, reaching to cup Wolfe's face. He panicked a little to feel strength ebbing from his limbs.

  No doubt reading his expression, Wolfe caught one of his hands and brought it to his lips. “You'll need to sleep now. Your body needs to finish changing, and it's better done when you're not awake."

  Matt shuddered when a shiver of pain seeped into his bones. “I'll wake up?"

  Wolfe's gaze was nothing but reassuring, his lips ghosting over Matt's knuckles. “Yes. I promise."

  Matt blinked heavily, but he jerked his eyes back open, not wanting to relinquish the sight of his lover. “But..."

  Smiling, Wolfe leaned in to kiss each of Matt's eyelids. The shutters over his eyes closed and refused to obey Matt's drifting mind's command to open again.

  "Sleep, love,” Wolfe murmured, decadent voice tucking Matt into delicious warmth. “When you wake, we'll be together.” Lips brushed his forehead. “Always."

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  Gift of the Raven

  Angela Fiddler

  The river was shallow here, which only made the currents cutting through the rocks by the shore all the stronger. A flood had carved out the edges of the banks, and the city had yet to rebuild the safe pathways, mini cement roads with dividing lines. The crumbling remains of the old path went in fits and starts down the new banks, and the fading remains of human interference left Luke feeling better than if there were no signs of humans at all.

  It was quiet. Humans could take dark and cold, but combine them and even the roughest beat it to the safest, brightest lit path. The only creatures down here with him had four legs and the bright, piercing eyes of predators. The thermometer had taken a dive during the day. Luke felt it even deep in the basement of the house he'd taken as his. It wasn't just the smell of burning dust from the central heating kicking in; when the first delicate lines of ice had formed on the edge of the smallest pu
ddle left over from the three days of rain, he'd felt it in his bones.

  He exhaled, and his breath fogged around him. He wasn't as warm as he could have been; it had been at least a day since he'd fed, but it was a wholly human response to the change of season. It had been years—almost a century, now that he thought about it—since the last time he saw a flock of geese flying south, but the desire to trade his long, dark evenings for heat was so strong he felt his body sing with the need.

  A bird screeched above him, the sound echoing against the trees and rocks around him. It wasn't Corbin, but one of his minions, Luke had no doubt. He would have felt Corbin, even in winged form. And sure enough, the silence had time to settle down around him before he heard the beating of wings just a little bigger than they ought to have been. Luke didn't crane his neck to see; Corbin was as black as an empty eye socket. The beating wings were just in front of him, but Luke didn't see Corbin until he landed and shifted, if that was the right word for abruptly becoming something else.

  The world was various shades of gray under the bright moon, but Corbin reflected silver light. His black hair was short enough that the handsome shape of his skull was visible, and his green eyes were arctic when compared to his warm skin. He wore a black turtleneck, and jeans were tight on his ass. It wasn't hard to remember those details; it was what he always wore. The only concession he'd make for the seasons was the gauge of the cotton. That night was freezing, but Corbin still wore leather gloves that were as soft as a dying sigh. He never took them off, not even during sex, and the smell of them left Luke hard and yet still full of loathing.

  "Moping is beneath you,” Corbin said. “Truly. You sicken me just by looking at you."

  "Then go away, Corbin.” Luke picked up a smooth, flat rock, just meant for skipping across the water, but he didn't throw it. Instead, he clenched his fist around it. “It will solve both our problems."

  "I'm bored."

  "My heart bleeds."

  "Then you won't mind if I lick it up for you,” Corbin said, and was suddenly kneeling over where Luke sat on one of the crumbling remains of the path. Corbin was hot and heavy, too full of blood. It gave his cheeks a blush that Luke could only envy. “It's cold, you're hard, and I'm horny. Let's just fuck."

  Luke stood despite Corbin's weight over him. He pushed Corbin away, and one of Corbin's fangs cut his lip as he twisted back. Corbin dabbed his lip with the back of his fist. The blood he gathered up was invisible on the black leather in the dark, but Luke smelled it. “Playing hard to get,” he said. “Or should I say, playing already got, but would like to get again."

  "It's over, Cory. Everything. I'm done with you.” Using Corbin's human name was an admission of weakness, and if Luke could have swallowed his tongue in the next instant, he would have. Corbin, of course, saw it. Corbin missed nothing.

  Corbin smiled and opened his arms widely. “Wouldn't you like the two of us to go back to your place, get naked, and fuck in front of the fire? I'll even let you suck my fingers. You know you like that."

  Luke brushed off his jeans and headed back up the path to civilization. “Fuck you, Corbin."

  "I'm trying,” Corbin called to his retreating back.

  The parking lot was empty except for a derelict car parked in the far corner. It had half a dozen parking tickets from the city, probably worth more than the car itself. The leather seats were ripped and shredded in what had once been a pretty nice interior, but Luke smelled the death in the car. His gift told him more than he wanted to know. The owner hadn't died here, but down by the river, and he'd fallen into the fast current. It had been a night like this, with the same strong current, and no one had seen the body slip out of the city. Luke shook his head, knowing he shouldn't be feeling a pang of regret. In his heyday he'd caused more than a couple people to disappear, but he couldn't help the morbid sense of loss inside him from growing.

  Corbin perched up on the car's hood, coiled like a bird that had just come to rest. He steamed in the chilly air, visible now under the single streetlight that lit the otherwise dim parking lot, and Luke knew if he took three steps over to where Corbin was, he could pull Corbin down to him, force him over the hood of the car.

  Corbin's dark eyes were black under the harsh lights. He parted his lips, offering, and this was different than the offer down below. No words. It was primal. They weren't meant to be solitary creatures, and Luke had been alone for years before he'd found Corbin turning tricks on the street. He hadn't wanted to turn him, didn't want the responsibility, especially not after what had happened to him, but he'd believed Corbin and his lies.

  And they had been lies. How Corbin had looked at him and known what he was still escaped Luke, but he thought about it practically every day. He'd hunted Cory only to find himself trapped. Cory had renamed himself, and Corbin hadn't been reborn so much as he'd been ... released.

  Still, Luke went to him. Corbin spread his legs wide enough that the tight denim didn't have enough fabric left to wrinkle. This close the warmth coming off him was hot enough to prick the skin on Luke's face. He grabbed Corbin's hips, wishing he could just overlook what a cold bastard Corbin was underneath all the heat and unspoken invitation.

  Corbin slid down to his ass, about to wrap his legs around Luke's hips, but Luke stopped him, pinning his knees down. Corbin fought, but as strong as he was, he was still barely out of the pup stage. Luke was just stronger. “Not even if you were the last set of prick and balls in western Canada,” he whispered in Corbin's ear, but still couldn't stop himself from dragging his fangs across Corbin's cheek.

  Luke felt Corbin's groan reverberate through the metal of the car. “Luke,” he began, his voice halfway between a drawl and a plea, but then he stopped talking. Luke heard it too; the soft chinking behind them was the sound of a hand drawing back drapes. The only thing behind them was an old historic restaurant. Luke turned, suddenly ill at ease having his back to the blacked-out windows. But when he turned, one of the windows was lit.

  It wasn't the window in the attic, though he expected it to have been for the effect. Attics always made him think that the ceiling was about to collapse on him, and he'd always hated the feeling. It was the second-story window, the one on the left. And there was definitely a man's shadow against the bright light, looking down at him. It should have meant nothing. There was no reason for the alarm Luke was feeling—but he was. He watched as the man lazily pointed his finger from Luke, to Corbin, back to Luke, and then came to rest on Corbin. “Get in my car,” Luke said without looking away. He was parked on the street, and the engine would still be warm.

  "What?” Corbin asked.

  "Get in my car,” Luke said, and the car's alarm shreeped. He didn't want to sprint the few yards between the two cars, but in another moment or so, the panic would force him to bolt. Instead, he grabbed Corbin by the arm. “Get in the fucking car, Corbin. Don't argue with me."

  Corbin, for once, didn't. He threw himself into the passenger seat, sprawling like he owned the car, like he had every time he'd gotten into the car from the very first. He even drummed his fingers against his inseam. “My place or yours?” he asked.

  Luke didn't look at him, but stared at the restaurant they just passed. The Deane House, it was called. He'd passed it a hundred thousand times on his way to the river bed. It had only been opened for brunch, so he'd never been inside it, but it had seemed fairly innocuous in a neighborhood full of historic buildings. It had even been painted a cheery red brick color, before the fire that had gutted it months ago. It seemed odd that they were just now renovating. The windows on the front side looked like bruised eyes in the darkness, and the cheery sign advertising their hours had a Closed for restoration sign over it. It hadn't been there at midnight, when Luke had driven past.

  "I said, your place or mine?” Corbin said, louder this time. His fingers were constantly moving over his inseam, a dead giveaway for how personally he would take the rejection. Luke was suddenly too tired to fight. “Mine,” he said.


  "All right,” Corbin said and leaned back. “I knew you couldn't resist."

  Luke looked behind him in the rearview mirror, but all the windows were dark again. The knot in his belly didn't go away. “It means nothing, Corbin."

  "Keep telling yourself that, old man."

  Luke's house was so far in the suburbs, the first time he'd driven up the driveway to the attached garage, Corbin, then Cory, had made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

  "You're still here?” he demanded.

  "Yes,” Luke said. When he'd been in Seattle, his old master, Marcus, had had one of the huge, decaying old houses that he'd saved from the wrecker ball. It had been divided up into eight different suites, and in the late evening, before the sun went all the way done, Luke had hated wandering the broken-down halls. When Marcus had picked up everything and moved to Calgary, Luke couldn't wait, until he saw Marcus had purchased practically the same house as a replacement. There was a dead man who searched through a bureau that wasn't there anymore, and a woman who sometimes climbed the narrow, winding staircase with her walker, and sometimes just lay there on the main floor of the landing, her head at a strange angle.

  Marcus and Luke had rattled around the huge house together, but grew further and further apart. When they'd had their first, last, and only fight. Marcus had left him there, in a house Luke hated, and promised he'd send for him when he was settled back in Seattle and had cooled off.

  Only he never did. Eventually, Luke sold the house. The housing market had been hot, and the huge lot the house stood on had been worth more than Luke thought possible. He'd used half the money to buy the small, cozy house on Maple Creek Drive, and the rest he invested. It had done quite well for him, too.

  "Luke, buddy, you here with me? It's getting light out there."

  "Right,” Luke said. He turned off the engine and closed the garage door before getting out of his specially treated car with its specially treated windows. “After you."

  "I don't have a key,” Corbin said.