Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
F or a long moment, all Ilya could do was stare at Mario, uncertain he’d heard correctly.
“You aren’t human.” He frowned, repeating the words as though they might make more sense. Mario had to be joking, but it wasn’t April and Mario looked almost terrified, his hands clenching his phone in a white-knuckled grip. So either he was crazy, the thought of which made Ilya’s gut seem to twist.
Or he was telling the truth.
“No, I’m not,” Mario said quietly, still looking as though he wanted to run away and hide somewhere.
Mario didn’t look crazy, Ilya admitted. Perhaps he himself was in shock again, as he had been after the crane fell, because he didn’t feel the urge to laugh the way he might have under different circumstances. Too much had happened lately to make anything about this a laughing matter.
“Okay, let’s assume for the moment that’s true,” he said slowly. “Then what are all of you?” He didn’t want to direct that at Mario specifically, since it sounded too much like an accusation.
Mario appeared to relax the tiniest bit. “We’re all different, actually,” he said. “Cole and Daphne are shapeshifters. Cole turns into a coyote, and Daphne is called a Naga — she can turn all or part of her body into a snake. And according to Angel, Gina is a deer shifter.” He talked faster, as though the words had been bottled up inside of him and were now spilling out. “There were two others we think might have been taken in the past, a rigger named Sam who was a werewolf, and an elf named Alia, one of the silks performers.”
Ilya felt his eyes growing wide, caught by surprise by the last two names. He remembered Sam quite well, one of the riggers who had been quiet and withdrawn, and Alia had been one of the most talented of the silks performers. She’d also been very eye-catching, with long silver hair and piercing blue eyes. There had always been something ethereal about her, an other-worldliness that had drawn people to her like a magnet.
He must have been silent too long, because Mario spoke up again. “Say something, Ilya, please. Call me a liar or tell me I’m crazy, but please talk to me.”
“I’m not sure what to say,” Ilya replied. It was the truth. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around everything. It had been hard enough to accept that someone seemed to want Mario dead just because he’d been employed by a small traveling circus. But Ilya himself had been the one to make the first connection. “Okay, help me through this. I want to believe you, but it’s hard. What about Terry and your other friends? Why haven’t they been taken? I assume they aren’t human, either?”
“Actually Angel is human,” Mario replied. “She’s a witch, but totally human. Terry is half-Elven, and Otir and Frer are part Eten — they have giants somewhere in their ancestry. I don’t know how far back. I think that whoever is doing this wants ‘magical’ creatures for whatever reason. But maybe Terry and Angel and the brothers weren’t different or magical enough to be of interest.”
Ilya nodded, his mind racing. It was impossible, of course. Mario had to be insane, but Ilya found he didn’t want to believe that was true. But if he believed it, wouldn’t that make him crazy, too? He felt completely out of his depth, and he wondered if he’d fallen asleep and was having an elaborate nightmare, where humans weren’t human and people were trying to kill the man he loved.
And it was probably his feelings for Mario that were making him avoid the rather huge elephant in the room. Which he decided he’d better address while he was still numb enough to take the shock.
“And what about you?” he asked, looking at Mario directly and bracing himself for the answer. “Are you one of these shapeshifters too?”
“Not… exactly.” Mario licked his lips as though his mouth had gone dry, and while it might have been a sexy gesture in other circumstances, Ilya felt sympathy for just how nervous and lost Mario suddenly seemed. “I can change form in part, but I’m not like Cole or Daphne with an animal form.”
Ilya tried his best to keep his expression as open and nonjudgmental as possible. This obviously wasn’t easy for Mario and despite the surreality of the entire thing, Ilya felt sympathy for Mario struggling to make the admission. He was abruptly reminded of his own coming out to his family as a teenager, and his fear that they’d judge him, ridicule him, tell him to leave and never come back. They’d been irrational fears because he knew his parents loved him, but sometimes the terror of rejection overwhelmed everything else, just as it seemed to be doing to Mario at the moment. Maybe that was the right tack to take in this case; Mario seemed to be coming out to him about something, so Ilya could treat it the same way he would someone admitting their sexuality for the first time.
“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” Ilya made his tone soft and reassuring. “You can tell me. I’m not going to call you names, or say you’re lying. I’m not going to judge.”
The words seemed to help, since Mario nodded. He took a deep breath.
“I’m a sort of specialized hunter — my mother is a human, but my father is a vampire.” He held Ilya’s gaze. “I’m a dhampir.”
“A… dhampir.” Ilya repeated the word slowly. It was familiar to him, and then he remembered. “My baba — grandmother — from Albania used to tell stories about all kinds of fantastical creatures. Witches and werewolves and vampires… I remember her talking about the dhampir, the immortal children, and the shtrigan. She said the dhampir hunted vampires.”
Mario nodded, seeming relieved, perhaps because Ilya knew the term and he didn’t have to explain. “Some vampires, at least,” he acknowledged. “I know it’s hard to believe, and I hate to dump this on you, but your life is obviously in as much danger as mine. You deserve to know.”
Ilya wanted to believe him. That was probably the part of him who had hung on his baba’s stories about all the creatures of the hidden world around them. But the rational part of his mind balked, rejecting the notion that anything existed that fell outside the familiar sphere of what science and technology had taught him. Yet Mario had no reason to lie, did he? What could he possibly gain by it? The conflict within Ilya’s mind was maddening, and he didn’t know what to think.
Then suddenly Ilya remembered how Mario had saved Patrick, before somehow getting out of the straps when Patrick was injured — the impossible move that he claimed not to remember having done. And there was also the way Mario had picked Ilya himself up and thrown him when the crane had crashed down, hurling him at least fifteen feet away from a standing position, before getting out of the way himself. His mind also replayed the times he’d seen Mario’s face seem to change when he was angry, the dangerous, predatory light in his green eyes.
“Show me,” he said, needing proof, needing to know Mario wasn’t insane or involving Ilya in some elaborate hoax.
Mario looked pensive, and he hesitated for several long moments before finally nodding. “Fine. I understand. But please don’t be frightened. I’d never hurt you, I swear.”
Ilya stood up from the stool, facing Mario and mentally preparing himself. Then, as he watched, Mario raised his hands, and the nails of his fingers grew longer, curving into wickedly sharp looking claws at least four inches long. Mario’s face changed as well, his jaw harder, cheekbones more prominent. Then Mario parted his lips slightly, and Ilya saw the way his canines had also lengthened and sharpened into wicked fangs.
A thrill ran down Ilya’s spine, but strangely, he was neither repulsed nor afraid. Perhaps it was because he could still see Mario in those grass green eyes, and the expression on his altered face wasn’t rage or hunger, but a strange sort of vulnerability.
“Do you believe me?” he asked hesitantly.
Ilya drew in a shuddering breath. “It’s hard to deny what’s right in front of me.” He reached out hesitantly, then when Mario didn’t move, he touched one of Mario’s hands. It was real, the claws there beneath Ilya’s fingers. And they were sharp, as Ilya discovered when he nicked his index finger.
When Mario saw the drop of blood welling up, he stepped back, and in a blink he was back to normal, though his face was twisted in something akin to panic. “I’m sorry!” he gasped, then fumbled for the kitchen towel and handed it to Ilya. “I’m so sorry! Do you have bandaids? Are you okay?”
Ilya took the towel and dabbed at the tiny wound. “A scratch, nothing more. I didn’t even feel it. Calm down, Mario! I’m fine!”
Mario was breathing hard and fast, his eyes wide as though he were expecting Ilya to attack him — which would have been incredibly stupid of Ilya to do, even if he’d had the inclination. He stepped closer, and Mario backed up, then stopped when he couldn’t go further because the sink was behind him.
“It’s okay, I promise,” Ilya said again. Perhaps there was irony in him offering the comfort, but he couldn’t bear seeing Mario like this, with all his confidence gone and apparently on the verge of bolting. He reached out, putting a hand on Mario’s cheek. “I’m not hurt, and I’m not angry at you. I’m not even scared.”
“You aren’t?” The words were so faint Ilya wouldn’t have heard them if he wasn’t standing so close that he could see flecks of blue and gold in the green of Mario’s eyes.
“No, I’m not.” Ilya stroked Mario’s cheek with his thumb. He could even feel the strong, fast beat of Mario’s pulse where his fingers rested against the side of his neck.
Ilya could feel the pull between them, and the way his own heartbeat sped up to match Mario’s. Need was written on Mario’s face, the hunger for acceptance, maybe even for absolution. Ilya wasn’t certain what had happened in Mario’s life to leave him so vulnerable in the wake of revealing himself, but Ilya found he couldn’t withhold what Mario required.
Leaning in, his eyes slid closed as he captured Mario’s lips in a kiss.
He felt as much as heard Mario’s gasp. He’d meant to keep the kiss gentle, a benediction, but whatever he’d thought he was going to do became irrelevant as Mario placed his hands on Ilya’s chest and parted his lips in silent invitation.
Ilya found himself completely powerless to resist. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, tasting Mario as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. Mario’s hands moved upward, sliding around Ilya’s neck as Mario made a needy sound in his throat that only fanned the flames of Ilya’s desire.
Mario’s tongue twined with his, and they dueled for control of the kiss for a moment before Ilya, never one to back down from a challenge, pressed harder against Mario, letting Mario feel his arousal. He slid a hand upward and buried it in Mario’s long hair, twining the silken strands around his fingers and tugging.
Mario broke the kiss and tipped his head back. Ilya buried his mouth against Mario’s throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the pulse he could feel fluttering wildly beneath his lips. Mario’s own hands grasped at Ilya’s shoulders, as though his knees had gone weak and he needed to cling to Ilya for support.
“Please.…”
The sound was a moan of such powerful need that Ilya felt it like a wave of heat over his entire body. He knew what Mario was asking for, because it was the same thing he wanted for himself. For a moment he went still, a tiny part of his mind whispering a warning, a distant sound of thunder that spoke of too many unknowns swirling around the both of them, of danger to them, and maybe even to him alone if Ilya made this choice.
Then Mario repeated the plea, and any hope of rationality was swept away by the clamoring of his body, leaving Ilya unable to resist the lust fueled by Mario begging for what they both needed. Growling deep in his throat, Ilya pulled away, but he grabbed Mario’s hand and pulled him out of the kitchen, down the hall to the first open door, which was Mario’s bedroom. When Mario seemed to realize Ilya’s intention, he turned into Ilya’s arms, wrapping his own around Ilya’s body and pulling him to the bed. They tumbled down onto the spread, Ilya landing on top as Mario grasped the hem of his t-shirt, tugging at it while Ilya once again captured Mario’s lips in a searing kiss.
Fabric parted, and Ilya felt the cool air of the room on his back as Mario ripped open the flimsy fabric. He didn’t know if Mario had used his claws or not, but just the thought of it sent a further shiver of excitement over Ilya’s skin. The dark and dangerous part of Mario’s nature was alluring in a way Ilya had never experienced, and he wanted more. Something in him wanted to face that darkness and make it his own.
They tore at one another’s clothing, breaking away from the kiss only long enough to remove Mario’s shirt and the remnants of Ilya’s. Then they were naked, bare skin sliding against hot, bare skin in a tangle of limbs as Mario rolled to be on top of Ilya. He lifted up, looking down at Ilya for a moment, then he reached toward the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a bottle. He dropped it on the mattress, then leaned down to whisper in Ilya’s ear.
“Fuck me.”
Ilya had every intention of doing just that. He couldn’t remember ever needing anything as much as he needed Mario, and he growled again as he grabbed Mario’s hips and flipped him backward, his head toward the foot of the bed. Mario’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he gasped as Ilya knelt between his legs and bent to take Mario’s hard, leaking cock into his mouth.
Mario entwined his fingers into Ilya’s hair and tugged, and Ilya retaliated by swirling his tongue around the head of Mario’s cock. This earned him a low, throaty moan that made his own cock throb in response. The sounds Mario made were like a drug, making Ilya want more.
He took Mario in deeply again, then pulled back almost all the way. Fumbling behind him, he found the bottle of lube Mario had dropped, then flipped it open. Once he’d coated the fingers of his right hand, he moved it to Mario’s ass, sliding over the warm mound and into the cleft. When he found Mario’s tight pucker, he rubbed in small circles, while still teasing Mario’s cock with his lips and tongue. After a few moments, he carefully probed with one finger, easing into Mario’s tight hole.
It had been so long since Ilya had done anything, even pleasuring himself, and he knew he was far too eager to hold out for very long. Fortunately, Mario seemed just as anxious, and he pressed down against Ilya’s fingers, groaning as Ilya slipped another finger inside. Pulling back, Ilya let Mario’s cock slip from between his lips. When Mario made a sound of objection, he chuckled, then wrapped his left hand around Mario’s cock, stroking the hard shaft as he watched Mario’s expression, wanting to see the pleasure written on his face.
“Yes,” Ilya murmured, watching as Mario fisted his hands in the bedspread, his skin growing flushed and damp with excitement. His eyes were closed, head thrown back as he gave himself over to Ilya’s ministrations. The sight of him so lost in pleasure was almost enough to set Ilya off himself.
Ilya added a third finger, and when Mario moaned in pleasure, Ilya knew he couldn’t take much more. He eased his fingers out, grabbed for the bottle of lube again so that he could coat his cock. His hands were shaking, and the viscous liquid went everywhere, but he didn’t care. All he wanted now was to give them both what they needed, what they’d been headed toward for months despite all the circumstances around them.
Moving upward, Ilya braced himself on one hand, using the other to guide his aching cock. Mario had opened his eyes, moving his arms to rest above his head in the most sexy, wanton pose Ilya had ever seen. But then he arched upward, shouting “fuck!” as Ilya’s thick, hard cock slid into his body.
The feeling of Mario’s tight heat surrounding him had Ilya echoing Mario’s sentiment. “I can’t…” he muttered, but the words were choked off as Mario wrapped his strong legs around Ilya’s hips, and pulled him in deeper.
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to go off without you,” Mario muttered. “Now, Ilya! Move!”
With a groan, Ilya did as he was bidden. He thrust forward, burying himself deep in Mario’s body, and was rewarded by Mario’s incoherent cry of pleasure. He pulled back, then thrust forward again, and again, then quickly lost himself in the moment, his awareness narrowing down to where their bodies touched and melded, to the heat rising from Mario’s skin and the begging, needy sounds Mario was making. He reached between their bodies, wrapping his fingers once again around Mario’s cock and stroking him in counterpoint to the rhythm of his thrusts.
Despite his fear that he couldn’t last, Ilya found himself thrusting again, and again, riding a rising wave of heat and pleasure that kept building to an almost painful degree. Then he heard Mario cry out, felt his cock pulse wetly in his hand, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized had fallen closed. He saw Mario lost in ecstasy, looking impossibly wild and beautiful in the moment, and that was the trigger for Ilya’s own release. He buried himself deep with one last thrust of his hips, throwing his head back with a shout as he came.
It seemed to go on for so long that his vision grayed out at the edges, and he drew in a lungful of air, not realizing he had somehow forgotten to breathe. He looked down at Mario, whose lips were curved in a sated smile, his eyes gleaming and half-lidded in pleasure. He was a mess, hair damp, body wet with sweat and lube and his own cum, but he was also the sexiest thing Ilya had ever seen.
Ilya felt his throat growing tight; he’d never thought to experience this kind of love again, the pleasure of not just a purely physical release, but the joy he could take in someone else, in Mario. Mindless sex was something he’d grown tired of even before he’d met Derek, and the love he’d shared with his husband had made the act transcendent. He’d thought that feeling was gone forever, but now he had it again, and it overwhelmed him, tears pricking at his eyes as he turned his face away so Mario wouldn’t see and get the wrong idea and think Ilya regretted what they’d done.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s fine. I’m here. You’re here. It’s all good.”
Now Mario became the comforter, seeming to sense Ilya’s feeling and apparently reading it for what it really was. He moved, somehow flowing upward, then gently helped Ilya to lie back against the pillows before wrapping his body around him. He put his head on Ilya’s shoulder, stroking Ilya’s chest in slow, gentle caresses and pressing his lips against Ilya’s neck.
And it was comforting, both the physical touch and Mario’s lack of judgment for the tears that slowly spilled down his cheeks. It wasn’t the wracking sobs of grief as it had been when Derek had died, but a gentle, cleansing release.. He wrapped his arms around Mario in return, holding him close, knowing that Mario had provided the last bit of healing Ilya hadn’t even realized he needed.