Chapter 4
Four
Marcus walked along, his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks.
The evening air still held on to the day’s oppressive heat as if it had gotten trapped in the narrow streets of the city.
It was already well after midnight, and he had no desire to be out wandering, but he’d put off his task for far too long.
His head was down as if he were oblivious to his surroundings, but he could hear the telltale scrape of worn rubber on the rough concrete.
Footsteps followed him. They had started off steady but were picking up speed.
He lifted his head slightly and saw the black gaping maw of the alley a few dozen feet away. The perfect place for an ambush.
He maintained his current pace while listening to the approaching person.
The wind shifted and he picked up a faint hint of sweat and body odor that had him crinkling his nose in disgust. It would have almost turned his stomach, but he was already so damn hungry.
His would-be attacker was not going to be saved by his poor hygiene.
Just a few feet from the alley, the figure finally reached him, shoving the muzzle of a gun deep into his lower back.
“Keep walking into the alley and you won’t die,” the pungent man instructed.
Marcus took one step toward the alley and quickly spun around, grabbing the wrist of his attacker with his left hand. He squeezed tight enough to feel the bones start to give. The man shouted, and the gun fell to the pavement with a noisy clatter.
Stepping in close, Marcus tried to ignore the smell that grew worse with his increasing panic. “Yes, let’s go into the alley, and you might not die tonight,” Marcus said calmly.
The mugger placed a hand against Marcus’s chest as if to keep some distance between them, but still took one sliding, unsteady step after another until they were cloaked in the thick darkness of the unlit alley.
As soon as they were free from the view of any other midnight pedestrians, Marcus twirled the attacker as if he were a willing dance partner and slammed him face first into the brick wall. The mugger groaned, his free hand pressing against the bricks in front of him.
“Wh-what the fuck, man?”
“Silence, and this will be over quickly,” Marcus snapped.
Putting his hand onto the man’s shoulder, he pressed him to the wall while he dropped his head back.
His fangs slid down, and some of the hunger and desperation that had been gnawing at him for the past several hours receded a tiny bit.
He’d waited too long to go hunting. His mind had been too occupied with this damn move, finding a new assistant, and the endless mercurial demands of the Ministry. He’d not wanted to bother with it.
But now that he was walking in the comforting darkness of the night, holding his prey captive, that old need to feed came rushing with a sense of freedom and joy he didn’t want to look too closely at.
He didn’t understand this part of himself, and even after more than one hundred and seventy years, he still kept it under a tight rein.
The joy and the freedom felt too delicious and wicked.
Too decadent. If he remained in control, there would never be any accidents. Nothing to regret later.
With a tight grip, Marcus pulled his meal a little closer.
His fingers dug into the man’s shirt, stretching it away from his neck.
The smell of sweat and fear was growing thicker, but now that he was so close to him, Marcus could also smell his blood.
The sticky sweet scent teased his nose, whispering its dark delights and forbidden promises. God, why did he wait so long to feed?
He struck quickly, digging his fangs deep, hitting veins with unerring precision.
His dinner cried out again yet didn’t try to escape.
Marcus removed his fangs but kept his mouth over the neatly placed holes, allowing the blood to flow down his throat.
He sucked hard and captured a delicious mouthful, sending it down his throat.
The worst of the hunger pangs eased, and Marcus could finally give a small thought to his donor.
Tapping the swell of magic hiding behind his heart, Marcus sent a feeling of deep pleasure to the mugger. He could hear the man’s heart slow from its frantic pace to a steady thump-thump.
A low moan escaped from the foul stranger, and Marcus could feel muscles relax in his victim as he continued to feed.
“Oh God, fuck yes,” he groaned. It sounded as if he’d reached down and stroked his own hardened cock even though neither of them moved.
Marcus shifted slightly from one foot to the other as if to reassure himself that no part of his body touched his victim besides his mouth and hands. Another needy sound left the man, and it tingled along every nerve ending, sending blood straight to his cock.
Fuck, why? What the hell is wrong with me?
He knew he wouldn’t have this problem if he fed off women. He’d heard their cries of pleasure, and they’d not affected him in the least. But with their smaller frames and the risk of them being pregnant, Marcus avoided women for their own safety. At least, that was what he told himself.
But those needy, desperate sounds from men as their cocks thickened and throbbed for release had his dick begging for attention every time. It shouldn’t be like this. He’d thought that when he died as a human and was reborn a vampire that maybe his appetites would change as well.
No, he’d been born a gay man, and he’d been reborn a gay vampire.
Of course, times and the social climate had changed.
Being a homosexual wasn’t the death sentence it had once been in society.
His brother Rafe certainly embraced both genders and over the past few decades had suffered no qualms about advertising his love for any and all creatures.
Marcus’s only problem with Rafe was that he showed no discretion.
But when it came to his own needs and desires, too many old voices rang through his head, shaming him. Life had been hell as a human, and a part of him had hoped that he wouldn’t survive the conversion. That he’d finally be free of his shame.
No. Those same desires followed him into his new form, creating an eternal hell as the voices continued to scold him.
The mugger shivered and swore softly as Marcus ran his tongue over the holes he’d placed in the man’s neck, wiping up the blood and spreading the healing agent in his saliva. The site of the wound would be tender for a bit, but there was no evidence of the attack.
Turning the attacker again, Marcus released his hold, allowing him to slide down the wall to sit on the dirty ground. He blinked slowly a couple of times and then kept his eyes closed, seeming to drift into a light slumber.
Marcus stared at him as he touched his mouth, checking to make sure there was no smear of blood around his lips. With everything set to rights again, Marcus walked out of the alley and continued down the street with his hands in his pockets.
There was a renewed energy to his step, and the angry hunger in the pit of his stomach was satisfied. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to hunt again for another week. Maybe longer, if things stayed quiet.
Those early nights as a vampire had been annoying, with the need to feed each and every night.
But then, those nights had been a little less lonely.
Those first nights, he and Winter had hunted together as a way of watching out for each other as they learned more about their new selves and their powers.
There had also been a feeling of Aiden being close by, as if he were watching over his new children, giving them space but still wanting to see that they were safe.
But after a few years, they started going their separate ways, hunting alone. At first, Marcus had appreciated the distance. He no longer had to worry about his little brother’s eagle eyes catching his dick hardening as his victim moaned with pleasure. He was sure his shame stayed private.
As the decades passed, he found he missed those old days and that indescribable closeness.
There was even a small thread of jealousy that wove through him when he saw the unshakeable bond between Beltran and Rafe.
The twins were always close, from birth and even through their death.
Two men couldn’t be more different, but that didn’t seem to have any impact on them.
At the corner, Marcus paused and looked around, getting his bearings again. Hunting always made him too damn pensive. It was better when he remained home with his books and his work. Spending too much time thinking about the past was dangerous.
With his mind clear and hunger placated, Marcus turned and continued down an older residential street. There was a mix of two-story homes with wood siding and cracked sidewalks. The trees stretched above the roofs and pushed up against the sidewalk, breaking through in spots.
Cars lined either side of the street as there were few private driveways. The houses were mostly dark, but some dim lights glowed in the windows at that late hour.
Glenpark was clearly not the safest area, particularly since his mugger was not the first one to follow him since he’d started walking through the neighborhood.
But for some reason, the would-be attacker disappeared after a block.
Marcus briefly wondered if maybe they had sensed that Marcus was not the weak and helpless victim he looked to be.
The mugger that ended up being his meal either lacked the sense of self-preservation or was simply too desperate to heed it.
As he reached his destination, Marcus knew he was being followed again.
But this time there was a familiar itching sensation right between his shoulder blades.
It was an annoying, biting sensation that had him fighting the impulse to shift his shoulders, because he knew it would do no good. There was no itch. There was only Rafe.