Wolf in League Page 5

  "Yes." Gavin's voice was suddenly directly in front of him and Matthew gasped. Freaky quick. That would take some getting used to...

  Gavin's expression hardened. "Touch me with it."

  "I—" Matthew stuttered over his reply. Dozens of horror movies, novels, comic books flitted through his mind: burning, smoking flesh, screams of agony. "I don't want to."

  Before he could even consider moving away, Gavin clutched the cross. Matthew waited for what his mind told him was impossible, but his heart told him was truth: Almighty Power burning cursed flesh. Fury and pain. Shrieks from a condemned soul as the light of Belief seared the darkness.

  Absolutely nothing happened.

  "Do you believe that this piece of jewelry contains a power that is above and beyond your understanding?" Gavin said, his eyes seeming to bore directly through Matthew.

  Matthew swallowed. He nodded.

  "Do you believe it completely and without doubt?" Gavin asked. "Is your faith in what this trinket stands for absolute?"

  "Yes... But—"

  "Would I be correct to assume that you've touched it, held it even, during a few moments of trial or tribulation and found that it has provided you with solace and comfort? That you have proven to yourself that to you, this cross is as true and strong and righteous as any number of things that a priest might hold in his hands?"

  Again, Matthew nodded. If he could have spoken, he would have confirmed there weren't just a few of those moments but dozens. Hundreds. It was his talisman and, while he was no religious zealot, he did believe in a strong and powerful Other. This small piece of gold felt like direct contact with that presence. Some called that presence God, some the Universe, some Mother Nature. The name didn't matter; the believing did, and Matthew believed.

  Gavin leaned closer. He lowered his head and, still holding eye contact, Gavin dropped the cross onto his tongue as though it were nothing more than a piece of candy.

  "Ugh," Matthew grimaced. He pulled away. "That's disgusting."

  "Perhaps," Gavin said, wiping the trail of spit off his chin that the cross had left behind. "But necessary to prove my point. The cross may be everything you believe it to be. Maybe more, for all I know. My affliction, however, the virus..." He tapped his chest. "Is not magic. It's not spiritual. It is a physical series of manifestations within me to something in my blood that should not be there. It exhibits physical complications—the need to consume blood; sensitivity, with fatal consequences in the right amount of sunlight; an extended, perhaps even continuous lifecycle; heightened senses of smell, sight, and an increase in speed and vitality—but it is not and it never will be a fantastical or mythological wonder that can be controlled by superstition or religion."

  "Okay, fine—"

  "No." Gavin shook his head. He sat back. "No, not okay or fine, and it's imperative that you get that through your head. Not inviting a vampire into your home will not keep you safe. Wearing a cross will not keep you safe. Holy water will just make me wet, and, if there is a similar being in the O'Connells' home, it will just make him wet as well. Thank you for the shower and now if you don't mind, present neck. Do you understand what I'm saying, Matthew? Your knowledge is what is going to save you if things go bad, not your faith. Not the tidbits you may have encountered in Interview or Lestat. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Yes." There was no sarcasm in Matthew's voice this time. "I'm sorry."

  Gavin waved the apology off. "Don't be sorry, just be smart. That won't be hard for you. I didn't choose you to come along on this venture just because you're nice to look at."

  Once again Gavin lifted the TV controller, but Matthew snagged it. "Well, gee, thank you. But before you get back to your reality shows or whatever the Hades it is that box has that holds your interest so completely, tell me something?"

  Gavin shrugged, "Sure?"

  "So let's say that I get the whole 'no religious superstition' part of this. No crosses, no holy water. Fine. But what about the rest of it? No spontaneous morphing into a bat?" He waited for Gavin's glare of disgust. "Okay. So no. What about invisibility?"

  Gavin rolled his eyes. "No. That's a misinterpretation of facts. We are fast, yes. And in some cases, fast to the point that it seems as though the vampire was here and then was not. But that's not invisibility, that's speed."

  "Garlic?"

  "Love it," Gavin said, smacking his lips.

  "Roses?"

  "Gorgeous."

  "Hawthorn?"

  "I am ambiguous to it," Gavin confirmed. "Though definitely not allergic or fearful."

  "Spontaneous combustion in sunlight? Or," Matthew grinned, "to quote our fearless leader, frying like a piece of bacon?"

  "Spontaneous, no. Frying, yes. Eventually as opposed to immediate, however. Every vampire has a different experience. For some, it could take up to an hour. For others, moments. We've found that the older the vampire, the harder it is to kill him, but that his body's reaction to death is more intense and dramatic. While not all of the vampires have the dramatic photophobic reaction that I do, they all do have a reaction. So even in the vamps that are heartier than the rest, if the assailant could stand the screaming—and there would be screaming—yes, a vampire can be fried 'like bacon'." He finger-quoted the phrase.

  "Stake to the heart?"

  "That works on just about anyone, I would imagine."

  "Then I guess I won't add cutting off your head to that inquiry."

  Gavin nodded. "See how smart you are?"

  "No ill-tempered imps running about to perform your every wish or severely kyphosis-burdened, angst-ridden minions?"

  Gavin reached behind him and threw a pillow. "That's what you're for."

  Matthew knocked the pillow away with a laugh. "Good. I don't have to worry about my spine suddenly curving just because I'm in your employment. So... coffin in the basement?"

  "Absolutely," Gavin drawled. "Silk-lined, even. With a mini-bar tucked into one side of it."

  "What about the glamour thing? No charming folks into dire consequences with a long hard stare?"

  Gavin tilted his head, pulled his lips over his teeth with a hiss, and exaggerated a shrug. "Well..."

  Matthew sat back on the bed. "Well, what?"

  "That depends on what you mean by glamour." He slid closer to Matthew. "Have you ever seen a rabbit caught by surprise in an open space?" He waited for Matthew's nod. "How about a deer in the headlights?"

  "It's a saying for a reason," Matthew replied.

  "Yes." Gavin agreed. He was close enough that Matthew could smell his breath. It wasn't entirely fresh, but it was sweet. A weird sweet, the kind of sweet that a mind associated with sharp wine—by nose sweet to the point of cloying, by taste dry to the point of tears.

  "Tell me, Matthew. Are they scared stiff or have they been charmed?"

  Gavin was uncomfortably close but Matthew didn't move away. Short of standing and walking away from the bed (which he refused to do because he didn't want to make it seem like he was giving Gavin any more control of the situation), he couldn't. He'd fall right off the corner of the mattress and look like a blinking fool if he shifted even a couple of inches. "They're assessing. Waiting to see if the circumstance requires fight or flight. Nothing more, nothing less."

  A smile slid over Gavin's mouth. Matthew watched it grow, then drew his gaze up until he caught Gavin's. A shot of adrenaline raced through Matthew's body. Gavin's eyes were so dark, the reddened whites seeming to make them darker than they'd probably be in sufficient lighting, and for just a second—really, not even quite a second but a tiny little fraction of one—Matthew wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would Gavin's teeth feel sharp against the tongue? Would Matthew be able to taste the sweetness he could smell on Gavin's breath? Would Gavin's lips be as cold as Matthew knew his fingers were?

  "And what are you doing?" Gavin whispered. "Are you assessing?"

  "Don't," Matthew tried to say. The word came out as nothing more than a breath.


  "Don't what?"

  Gavin's words fell against Matthew's skin like a surprise breeze in a desert. Yep, Matthew swallowed once, again, and a third time before his throat would clear. I want him to kiss me.

  Maybe there'd be no need for websites or bar visits, after all. Gavin was here. Right here. Close enough to touch, if Matthew could just get enough confidence up to reach out and do it. Hadn't Gavin said he was cute? Something like that... there'd been something like that. Not just another pretty face. Or, not just because he was nice to look at. Yes, that had been it...

  "That's the point, see?" Gavin whispered. "I'm not really doing anything. My eyes haven't changed. There's no hypnosis involved in the reaction that you're having right now. I'm not exuding any kind of intoxicating hormone or chemical. We know. We've tested for it."

  Right, Matthew thought. Sure. Because his body felt like it was oozing into a puddle on to the mattress for no reason. Because he couldn't break eye contact for the same no reason, and his skin was so hot that he wanted to take of his shirt... his pants... his everything for absolutely no reason. Because the air in the bedroom suddenly seemed like it weighed a ton for the absolute same no son-of-a-monkey reason!

  I'm drowning. Or suffocating.

  "I'm not doing this," Gavin said. "You're doing this. This is your body's reaction to mine. What is it, Doctor? Tell me what it is."

  Trickery. Sorcery.

  But that was suspicion and Hollywood. That was exactly the thing Gavin had told him not to believe in. "Instinct," Matthew mumbled, the word coming as though self-sourced—from instinct.

  "Bingo."

  Gavin sat back and began flipping channels on the television. Matthew felt his withdrawal so sharply it stung—like they'd been held together by an elastic band and it had let go. Unfortunately, it seemed to have snapped back on Matthew alone. Gavin appeared completely unaffected.

  "In my opinion, what you just experienced is similar to the reaction of the rabbit and deer, but we, as human beings, are not similar in thought and practice. Initially, we react in kind: there is no thought at that point, it's merely their mind—or in this case your mind—flailing helplessly at the understanding that you are faced with something you don't know how to deal with. Something you know is more powerful than you. Something potentially lethal. For the rabbit or the deer, fear will take over eventually. That fear will inspire fight or flight.

  "With human beings, however, there are other mitigating factors to consider, fascination being the main one. I look like you, I act like you, and I move and think and even kind of smell like you. I have monster qualities, but your mind continues to tell you that I am a man and, as such, I'm not nearly the monster to you that a predator is to the rabbit, even if society has trained you to believe that I am a monster. You know I have power, though. And power, to mankind, is stimulating. Stimulation can easily override fear. In other words, your interest will evoke a much more powerful reaction to stay put and see what's going to happen. Especially if, as it is in your case, there is an added bonus of sexual attraction."

  Matthew swallowed and resisted the urge to shake his head and resettle his brain. "Because I'm gay?"

  Gavin shrugged. "Potentially. I can't see a man who is dead set against relations between men having the same pull of interest. But in my non-scientifically researched experience, there are fewer of those men than you might think. What people say with their lips are quite often not the same thing they feel with their guts. Or their cocks."

  Matthew pushed himself off the bed. His legs were shaking. "Everyone is gay," he said, trying to lighten the moment. "Or so Cobain wanted us to believe."

  "I'd hate to argue with a great lyric."

  Matthew tried to choke down the question that came to his mind. It wouldn't stay down. "Are you?"

  "Arguing?"

  Matthew eyed him. "Gay."

  Gavin laughed. "I am open-minded."

  "Wonderful," Matthew sighed. "Well, if it's merely an instinctual reaction than I can learn to control it. It's not like we walk around scratching our testicles in public because they get itchy, right?"

  "You of the I-just-talked-myself-out-of-being angry mindset?" Gavin stared at him directly for a long second. "I have no doubt."

  Matthew nodded. "I'm going to make myself something to eat. If you eat—food, I mean—you're welcome to join me." He reached the door of the bedroom and then stopped dead in his tracks. Dread slipped up his back as though his spine had been caressed by the cold, hard fingers of a corpse. "Wait. How did you know I just talked myself out of being angry?"

  "My heightened sensory perceptions don't end at my nose or my eyes, Doctor."

  Matthew looked over his shoulder and the expression of disapproval on Gavin's face was cringe-worthy.

  "But you should have picked that up from reading my file," Gavin deadpanned. "You did read my file, yes?"

  The word 'skimmed' shot through Matthew's mind and Gavin's frown deepened. There had, after all, been a lot of files. Randy's (though that one had been awfully tiny), Vaughn's, Lyle's, all the members of Vaughn's pack, and at that point in time Matthew's focus had been on the strange and magical men that transformed into wolves...

  "Maybe read it again, then."

  Matthew didn't need to be a mind reader to understand that wasn't just a suggestion. He walked out of the bedroom.

  *~*~*

  When night began to fall in Wolf, it did its business quickly. Blue to gray, purple to black, all within the span of thirty minutes. Matthew watched the blanket drop, darkening the trees into a solid mass of black, erasing the definition between horizon and sky. September afternoons could be as beautiful and summer-like as they decided they ought to be, but September evenings made no bones about the fact that the days were getting shorter and the nights were getting deeper.

  The shower had started up as Matthew had been slicing red pepper and trimming kale. Strips of sirloin waited on a cutting board beside a heating frying pan and a rice steamer worked soundlessly in the corner, transforming hard grains into fluffy puffs that would serve as a bed for the rest. But while his fingers worked, Matthew's mind was light-years away. His train of thought had started at Oh, Mother, if you could see me now, and was at this point approaching the village of But what does he taste like? The train had already crossed the bridge between Does he ejaculate? and Why can't he reproduce? even though he'd tried desperately to reroute at the junction of 'mild interest' and 'obsessive sexual pondering.' Whether the wheels had been greased or his timing had been off, he'd sailed right past 'mild interest' and went barreling on, full-steam ahead. 'Casual urges' hadn't seemed like that dark of a place to ride through but he should have paid more attention to the warning signs when he chose not to stop there.

  It was strictly a lust of the moment thing—sparked by the visit of the pretty man from across the street and fanned into flame by the way his body had heated up at Gavin's bizarre intimacy in the bedroom—but now that it had caught him, it was holding on with all ten fingers of both gnarled hands and digging in.

  As he dropped the steak into the pan, his gaze unfocussed and his mind reeling with oral fixations best not dwelled on over a hot stove, a hand fell on his shoulder and Matthew squealed.

  "Husband," Gavin said with an obvious mock in his voice. "You seem edgy. Got something on your mind you'd like to discuss with me?"

  Matthew turned to hiss at Gavin over shocking somebody at a stove, but at that moment the steak in the pan began to pop and spray fine but furious drops of scalding oil. "Fudge nuggets!"

  Matthew snagged the pan off the burner and Gavin cooed. "Oh, meat! And it looks perfectly done, too." Gavin dipped his fingertips into the pan and plucked out a piece of steak, still brilliantly red on the top. He dropped it into his mouth and moaned. "Yep. Perfect."

  "Ugh," Matthew deadpanned. "That's still raw."

  Gavin winked. "I know. Like I said, perfect." He walked to the fridge and pulled out the smaller meat and cheese compartment. From there
he pulled out a clear plastic bag of burgundy fluid. Stuck to the bag was a white label with a large O in the upper right hand corner and several bar-codes. Matthew's stomach twisted.

  "Why is that in this fridge?" Matthew set the pan down and glared. "That's supposed to be in the fridge in the back. What if someone showed up? What if Randy had come in for that beer? Or wanted cream for coffee? Seriously, Gavin, you need to work with me here. I'm lying my buttons off trying to come up with reasonable backstories and Facebook accounts that don't exist and you're leaving bags of blood in the blessed fridge. What would Dyball say if one of the O'Connell babies came out of the kitchen clutching one of those things and asking what it was? Highly irresponsible. You should know better."

  "Okay, wow." Gavin set the bag on the counter and leaned against it. He eyed Matthew. "If you want to ask me, just ask me. Don't get mad at me because you can't get your mind out of my pants and don't know how to approach it."

  Matthew frowned. He turned back to the stove and adjusted the temperature knob. "What in the H-E-double hockey sticks are you talking about?"

  Gavin grimaced. "Okay, that's going to get old fast. Here's an idea: either swear or don't swear. Talking like a six-year-old who desperately wants to say 'hell' but is afraid mommy is going to hear him doesn't make for a viable setting to start a conversation wherein you want to ask if I'll fuck—"

  Matthew sighed and glared at him. It was an expression he was starting to think he would use often.

  "Sorry," Gavin smiled. "Shag. Bang. Ride the baloney pony. Bump uglies. Do the horizontal bop. Bump and grind. Whatever. Take your pick. Point being, if you want to ask, just ask. Try something along this line: 'Husband, what would your opinion be on us taking this simulated relationship of ours into the bedroom?'"

  Once again the steak began to chatter in the pan and Matthew stirred the meat, gratefully relinquishing eye contact. "First off, you're a pig. Secondly, I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "Matthew," Gavin said around a feigned sigh. "We literally just had this conversation. I can hear you as clear as if you were shouting it. So if you want to share a bed, then put on your big boy pants and ask if you can."