Blood Claim Read online

  "What are you talking about? Immoral life?” Even as he said it, Hunter knew what Malcolm meant. Knew it, but didn't want to believe it. Couldn't believe it.

  "He was vampire."

  It was short, simple, and carried a weight so heavy Hunter stumbled back. This time Malcolm did reach out, but it was to pull him brutally forward, both upper arms held immobile in a pair of cool, callused hands.

  Their bare chests and stomachs rubbed skin against skin. The silky sensation was full of waves of excitement like static electricity that rippled across Hunter's flesh and seeped into his muscle and bone. It was hard to catch his breath. He couldn't look away from Malcolm despite the fear that knotted in his belly. Close-up, Hunter could see the blood-red ring that flared around the man's irises.

  "I don't believe you.” It was indistinct, nothing more than a whisper of near soundless air, but Malcolm smiled, and his eyes told Hunter he had heard him. Then the smile grew, and the sharp, pointed tips of Malcolm's pearly white canines were visible. Light danced off them as they grew longer, and the reality of who—what—had him in its embrace struck Hunter squarely in the gut.

  Vampire. Mythical creature, folklore demon, living dead, nightmare fodder, unreal.

  Someplace deep inside, someplace locked far away, primal and old, told him it was true. He knew it was true. Just as he had known for some time that this man in front of him wasn't a man. Not any longer. It terrified him, and yet, goddamn him, it excited him more than anything else or anyone else ever had.

  Malcolm's stare was mesmerizing. Hunter shivered, unsure whether it was from the possessive gaze or the seductive caress. Both made him weak in the knees, a fine sheen of sweat popping out on his skin as he struggled with the concept of the deadly creature before him and his own ingrained, if foolhardy, desire to court danger in all its forms.

  The tangy scent radiated off Malcolm, sharp and faintly metallic. He stood so close, a powerful tower of sculptured white stone, suffused with sensual force and a dominating presence that captured Hunter's most base desires.

  He released one of Hunter's arms to reach into his pants pocket. Alarmingly, Hunter found himself wishing for the cool grip back, distressed by the loss of even a little physical contact with this ... this what? Vampire? He could barely make himself think it, let alone say it.

  A gold band appeared in Malcolm's hand, the vampire holding it so Hunter could see the inscription on the inside. It read, forever, my true desire, with a date. Today's date but a year from the past. His parents’ wedding date of twenty-six years ago. Malcolm had known his father.

  "He was like you? A vampire? That's why his body was never returned?” Hunter's personal history suddenly fell apart, unraveling to re-forming in a different pattern. “My parents weren't killed in a riot?"

  "Yes, they were initially. By villagers who had discovered William and his wife had been attacked and bitten by a local vampire that preyed on visiting foreigners. They knew if your parents weren't destroyed properly, they would rise as vampires. Your father awakened early and escaped, only wounded. Your mother was spared the awakening altogether."

  "Awakening?” Slowly, his parents’ deaths were making sense, more sense than they had years ago.

  "The conversion from human to vampire. It is somewhat ... unpleasant.” Malcolm extended the gold band.

  A peace offering or a gift, Hunter took the proffered ring in his free hand, clenching it in his fist, eyes closed and heart aching anew. A dull throb that ebbed to a pinpoint of pain. “It's weird, but I always felt like my father was still near until lately."

  He felt the burn of tears but blinked them back, suddenly seeing a different side to this whole surreal situation.

  "Did he like being a ... vampire?” There, he'd said it out loud, and no one had laughed.

  Malcolm stroked his thumb over Hunter's cheek, again and again tracing the line of his jaw up under his ear and then down his neck, mapping the artery that ended under Hunter's breastbone.

  There was a deafening pause while Malcolm stared into Hunter's face, scrutinizing every detail. Hunter knew how much he looked like his father. He knew Malcolm was comparing them at this moment. He could see the recognition in the vampire's expression. Finally, something clicked in Malcolm's eyes. His ramrod-straight shoulders relaxed, and his harsh façade slipped just a bit.

  "No. He didn't. He hated every moment of it.” Malcolm sighed and dropped his hand away from Hunter's cheek. Something exasperated, even affectionate, entered his voice, something he couldn't hide with harsh words and a piercing stare. “As ridiculous as it was, William regarded suicide, even as an unholy creature, as out of the question.” He glanced at Hunter's fist, where the wedding ring was still tightly clasped. “He felt it would lessen whatever chance he still had of seeing your mother in the afterlife.” A fire blazed to life in the vampire's eyes, anger and pain obvious. His words were sharp and clipped, resentful, spat out between gritted teeth. “He was full of idealistic theory and foolish sentiment."

  "But you liked him.” A flash of insight hit Hunter, leaving a jolt of excitement and, surprisingly, jealousy in his chest. “You had feelings for him, didn't you?” Malcolm sneered at him, but Hunter could see the pain and loss. Malcolm's feelings for William were transmitted in one flashing glare before they were smothered by a murderous scowl, but Hunter had seen and he knew. “You loved him."

  It took several seconds for Malcolm to respond, the words resigned and slightly bitter when they did come. “William's heart belonged only to your mother. Forever, just like the ring's inscription says. He hated every single day they were apart.” It wasn't an answer, but it told Hunter everything. Malcolm had loved his father. An unrequited love.

  As shocking and unreal as all this was, standing in the harsh embrace of a flesh-and-blood vampire, touch as cool as the late autumn breeze and fangs glinting sharply in the lamplight, it made sense. The pain of Malcolm's fingers digging into his arm was real. The thrill of excitement in his stomach and the heat of desire at his groin were real. The revelation of his father being newly dead meant little. William had been long gone from Hunter's life, if not his memories, for many years. The renewed loss he had momentarily felt dimmed and slipped away.

  "And now he's gone. Not so immortal after all. Another old wives’ tale?” He didn't expect an answer, and he wasn't disappointed. He didn't think the vampire was going to offer up a list of viable ways to end a vampire's existence. Certainly not one Hunter might be tempted to use at some point. “How can you be sure he's gone?"

  Malcolm pulled Hunter more tightly to his chest, his cock stiff and tall in his pants, pressing into Hunter's bare belly. Hunter's cock answered, full, eager to escape out the top of his partially unbuttoned jeans. Malcolm bared his fangs slightly, the effect at first chilling but ultimately fascinating to Hunter.

  "I know because I killed him.” It was a guttural growl, but something choked and painful entwined around the words like an unwelcome, clinging vine crumbling the mortar between once solid brickwork.

  Hunter searched Malcolm's face, so close to his own, looking for some sign of weakness and finding none except a shimmering, elusive need for ... what? Him? His father? Or maybe just a need to feel something again.

  "Why?” He was surprised at how calm he sounded, how calm he was. There was no animosity toward Malcolm for his deed, just a growing sense of amazement.

  "We had a bet.” A hand grabbed his waist, slipping around it, traveling up his spine to grip the back of his neck, forcing him to arch back to keep a distance between his bare flesh and those glinting fangs. “He lost."

  Hunter knew it was meant to sound cold and uncaring, but Malcolm's eyes betrayed him. Experience created by years of courting and then embracing or eluding danger gave him an instinctive ability to see more than one side of a situation. And there was definitely more here. “You know what, Malcolm? I think my father won."

  The grip on his neck became bruising. Malcolm shot him a murderous glare but
said nothing. The silence was as telling as the spoken truth would have been. “You freed him from an existence he hated, when he couldn't do it himself. You gave him his chance at being reunited with my mother."

  Malcolm's nostrils flared, his mouth pinched until he ground out, “I cut out his heart and watched him crumble to ash underneath me.” It was merciless.

  Hunter stared, unfazed, into the unyielding gray eyes boring into his own. His answer was short and sincere. “Thank you."

  And apparently unexpected.

  Malcolm flinched, just a little, before he brought himself back under control. “An idealistic fool, just like your father."

  Disdain. Harshness. Intolerance. They were all there, along with a twist of grudging wonder. Malcolm's gaze traveled searchingly over Hunter's face, and Hunter had the feeling the vampire was memorizing him, drinking in everything about him, looking for something. Hunter decided to throw the last thread of self-preservation to the wind and give Malcolm what he was looking for.

  "Maybe. But there's one way we're very different.” He relaxed the arch in his spine, feeling the grip on his neck lessening as his muscles shifted, bringing his face closer to Malcolm's mouth, his lips almost brushing the pale, thin ones as he talked.

  "Do tell.” Malcolm made no move to stop Hunter, his breath teasing Hunter's purposefully parted mouth.

  "My heart doesn't belong to anybody yet, and ... I'm not inclined to rebuff your advances. If that's why you came here."

  Hunter stroked a thumb over Malcolm's lower lip. A light passing touch to one canine unexpectedly produced a small cut on the ball of the digit. He jumped but didn't pull away.

  A stonelike tower of control, Malcolm waited, a faint narrowing of his now red-ringed eyes his only reaction.

  Hunter took a ragged breath, watched the red eyes as they dilated. He rubbed his injured thumb over a pale lip, smearing it a ruby red, then slid his thumb into Malcolm's parted mouth. Malcolm's tongue instantly laved it, blood wiped away, a groan vibrating in the back of the vampire's throat so husky and raw, a shiver of anticipation raced down Hunter's back and burst into a thousand little bolts of pleasure.

  When the blood stopped flowing, Malcolm tilted his head up and carefully forced the thumb from his mouth. “I came to claim my winnings."

  Hunter was left panting, hard and more aroused then he could ever remember being. He was still afraid, but it was nothing compared to the passion and need he was experiencing. The warm flush, the dizziness, the sheer craving to be touched and satisfied.

  The smell of lust and sweat filled the air between them, musky, potent, intoxicating. Hunter was enveloped in the vampire's power and strength, captured, restrained, cradled. He felt unsteady just standing still. The air in the room grew thicker. His next breath was hard to drag into his protesting lungs and then suddenly the hard-won air was locked inside, his mouth sealed to Malcolm's cool lips.

  It was a rough, raw, ravenous kiss. Hunter's lips parted for Malcolm's questing tongue, and his mouth surrendered without a fight, opening wide to the invasion, his hands clenched on Malcolm's smooth alabaster shoulders. He swallowed, and the taste of copper washed down his throat, spicy and sharp, a more exotic elixir than the blood he knew it was.

  Blood. Malcolm's blood, vampire blood, thick liquid ambrosia that literally burned like whiskey and left him more intoxicated. It was like sucking the syrupy brown sauce off his favorite Chinese dish, full of bite, sharp and spicy, a little burn, a little sweet, all delicious, making him quest further down Malcolm's throat, yearning for more.

  In his mind he could see the blood coating the roof of his mouth, trickling over the crevices in his tongue, creating tiny rivers of black-red to tantalize every taste bud it touched. He felt it slide down his throat and seep into his cells, staining everything in its path. It felt like it had a life of its own. He wanted more.

  It was ... addictive.

  That he was going to have a lifetime of savoring this rolled though his mind, and he sobered slightly. He flinched. A frown knitted his brows together, his eyes narrowed, and his heart tripped into high gear, uncertainty pushing lustful needs aside. He never thought of the long term in anything. Why would he feel that way now? He lived every day for the moment, never planning ahead, and certainly not planning a future with a vampire as his lover.

  He wanted to lose himself in the fierce embrace, but a nagging itch kept tickling his brain until he pulled back, panting, flushed, sweaty, and reeling. He didn't think he could take a steady diet of this without stroking out. His lips and arms wanted to dive right back into the kiss, but he needed to hear one more old wives’ tale shattered before he could fully enjoy it.

  Head tilted back by Malcolm's grip, Hunter let his lust-heavy eyelids flutter up to study Malcolm's chiseled, pale features, hoping to see the answer in the vampire's expression as well as hear it in his throaty voice. “If a vampire tastes a person's blood, can they really know his thoughts? Control him?"

  "No.” It was said in part smugness, part disdain. “A vampire is merely nourished by a human's blood."

  "That's a relief.” Hunter drew in a deep breath to sigh out his gratitude, but the air was pushed from his lungs with a grunt. His back slammed up against the wall by the bedroom door, his body pressed chest to chest to Malcolm's iron length.

  The vampire's hand wove its way into his hair and tugged, bowing his back slightly and arching his groin out to grind on the thick thigh forced between his legs. It was delicious, if unexpected, demanding yet wholly seductive. As powerful, as swift, as the lift and slam had been, Hunter knew Malcolm was being restrained, and the thoughts of what more lay beneath that restraint thrilled him as much as it frightened him.

  Harsh, raw, and unapologetic, Malcolm murmured, “It's after a human tastes a vampire's blood that the mental and physical binding occurs."

  "Fuck."

  The taste of spiced copper and vibrant, liquid lust lingered on his palate and burned the corners of his mouth. The tip of Hunter's tongue immediately darted to one corner to wipe it away, but captured it instead as though it was the finest ambrosia. His skin prickled at the thought of what he had just done, what Malcolm had just said. He believed the truth in the vampire's words, felt it coursing in his own veins, heard the whispers weaving ghostly tendrils of control through his mind.

  "Well ... just ... fuck."

  Hunter sucked in a deep breath to tell Malcolm to stop, to let him go, to move away so he could think, but his hands, one still tightly clenching his father's ring, moved to the vampire's neck instead. Once there, they hung on. He pulled the taller man closer and wrapped a leg around him, his hands now busy undoing both their flies, his fingers suddenly thick and uncoordinated, fumbling over the remaining buttons on his own jeans and battling with the zipper tab on Malcolm's dress pants.

  Bracing them both, Malcolm let him work, merely transferring his own lips to rain attention on the line of Hunter's jaw and the curve of his sweat-slick neck.

  It took too long, but finally both cocks sprang free. Then things moved too fast for Hunter to process. Air whipped around them, vibrating with electricity, leaving his flesh feeling slightly scorched. One minute he was pinned between his living room wall and Malcolm's body, and the next he was gasping for air, lying completely naked, pinned between his bed's mattress and the vampire's cool, hard weight.

  His pulse pounded in his head, and his cock matched the hammering beat with its own throbbing rhythm. Hunter's nerves were so hypersensitive, every lick to his neck felt like a wet stroke that ended at his weeping cock. The scent of pre-cum filled the air, and the bump and grind of cock on cock turned slick as satin on steel.

  He struggled to fill his lungs, the air heavy despite the light breeze from the open window. Lips moved from his neck to his mouth, devouring, dominating, and delicious. Malcolm's rough, wet tongue sucked on his lower lip, teasing its sensitive lining, urging his teeth to open. His mouth surrendered, and Malcolm invaded full force, crushing Hunter's mou
th to his, arms wrapped tightly around him, hand holding his head in place by a powerful, possessive grip on his hair.

  The kiss was deep, powerful, all encompassing. It made the room spin and the dim bedside lamplight glow like a supernova. It stole Hunter's breath, his rapidly diminishing resistance, and his last lingering doubt that this was real. He knew with certainty that it was not some bizarre erotic dream. Or nightmare. The creature who had him locked in his arms was a vampire after all. But any fear he had over what making love with a vampire might entail was overshadowed by the passion and desire consuming him.

  A deep moan of pleasure escaped him, and there was an answering murmur that could have been admonishment or agreement. The murmur vibrated through his chest, sending shocks of need and want straight to his groin. His balls pulled up and his cock jerked, frantic for more than belly friction in its own wet droplets. Hunter craved the heat of a thick, hard shaft, slick and supple as satin-capped steel sliding into his body, piercing him to his heart, stoking the fires of passion until it burned him from the inside out.

  Suddenly the spicy hot burn of slick copper washed over his taste buds. And this time Hunter gulped greedily at Malcolm's blood, hungry for the connection that intensified every nerve in his body, every touch and stroke, every response from his willing lips to his eager cock and spasming opening. He hungered for it all, his soul consumed by the need as much as his body was consumed by Malcolm's mouth and hands. The vampire's cool-as-ivory cock skated alongside his as the taller, larger man hunched over Hunter, curled around him from on top, lips to lips and cock to cock, weight and ravenous hunger enfolding him as completely as Malcolm's arms did.

  Skin sweat-slick and fevered, Hunter clenched his ass and tried to buck his hips, desperate for more contact, more friction. He moaned and whimpered, the sounds muffled by tongue and lips, but the tone clear. The grip in his hair tightened, but Malcolm didn't relent in the kiss or his dominant, unyielding position. As frustrating as it was, Hunter felt a thrill wash through him as Malcolm pinned him more fully to the mattress and renewed his oral assault.