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Phrases marked with (t) will have a translation at the end of that section. Submission
Blair's POV
The shoes are the first thing to go. I kick them off, and the socks follow quickly. I dig my toes deep into the grass, feeling it tickle the bare soles of my feet. I work until I reach beneath, finding the cool soil. Here, hundreds of feet above the ground, I feel connected to mother earth. It's good.
But more important than Mother Earth is what floats overhead: Mistress Moon. She bathes me in her silver light, a chill wash that still somehow stirs higher the heat in my blood. Suddenly I need to feel the moon on my skin. I strip away the flannel shirt, impatiently sending buttons flying when they refuse to slip decently from their holes. I am moving before the shirt hits the ground. Running.
Oh, God, this feels good. This feels right. I pick up speed, racing over the smooth ground, into the darkness. We are far above the street lamps, and there are no outside lights on this building. The only illumination comes from the moon and stars, silver and gold.
I see a low fence ahead, no more than waist high. It is the building's edge, and beyond it is nothing but the empty, whistling canyon that lies between it and the structure across the street. It would not be difficult for someone to tumble over that fence. Particularly if they were moving quickly, in the dark.
I'm moving at full speed now. To an unaware observer I would appear to be hell bent on suicide, determined to fling myself into space at a dead run. But as I approach it, I begin to alter my angle, and approach it in a shallow arc, never dropping my speed. I pass so close to it that the denim at the hip of my jeans whispers on the concrete. Then I'm moving away from it, back to the center of the roof garden.
The fire is singing in my veins now, no longer tormenting. Now it exalts. Unable, unwilling to contain myself, I leap. I throw myself to the ground and roll, rubbing myself in the cool, damp grass like a dog on the first cool day of autumn. I hear a laugh from back by the building. The sound kicks the heat inside up another notch, and I'm suddenly growing hard, my jeans too tight, strangling me.
On my back, on the ground, I jerk them open, wrestle them down and off, along with my underwear. Again I rub myself in the grass, relishing the maddening tickle on my ass and cock. I hear a growl from the same direction that the laugh came from, and freeze, my face in the grass, the hair at the nape of my neck prickling.
I get up and move back toward the sound, but before I reach the place, I come to the 'pond'. It is a round cement basin perhaps fifteen feet in diameter. The surface of the water is glassy black in the moonlight, and there is only the faintest movement of water to hint at the flow that continually empties and freshens it.
The moon's reflection floats in the center of the pool, a wavering twin.
With no more thought than I have given to stripping, I step to the green tiled edge, and lower myself into the water. It comes only to mid-thigh, but deepens as I wade out until it is at the bottom of my rib cage. I lie back in the water, arms spread, and lift my feet. My face goes under the water for a second, but before the panic can make me tense the fountain I see the moon again, and relax. I float. I close my eyes, and wait.
Soon I hear soft footsteps on the grass, nearing.
Frederick's POV
He's been needing this, my cub. He surrenders to the moon with scarcely a hesitation. Oh, the wine may have helped a little, but even without the wine, without my urging, he wouldn't have been able to stay inside much longer. The beast would have driven him out. It's not quite ready to emerge, but it's closer to the surface than ever.
I watch it take him, watch as he sheds the rags of civilization to glory in his own naked hide, his natural state. First the shoes, then shirt go. His long hair streams loose down his bare back. Those lush curls fly behind him as he runs, like the mane of a proud young stallion. I follow at a distance, letting him have these first moments of private communion with the night.
The rest of the clothing is soon discarded. I know how he feels. There have been times when I was too slow in stripping, when the change came upon me suddenly. I remember the constriction of the garments, and how I rent them to shreds in a fury of impatience.
The sight of him frolicking, for there is no other term more appropriate, makes me laugh out loud. God, he's so beautiful. So young and alive. I have been half aroused since this afternoon. Now I begin to pulse toward full erection as he rubs himself sensually on the grass. I can't hold back the low, lustful growl that rumbles up from my chest.
He goes still, then looks back in my direction. He can't see me, I know. Later, when the beast is stronger, his night vision will allow him to pierce the shadows, but not now. He gets up and comes toward me.
That first afternoon I had seen him in Germany, outside the forest, he had moved with grace and ease. Now he almost flows, haunches flexing smoothly. He comes to the pool, and pauses for a moment at it's edge, then enters it. He lies back and gives himself up to the water, letting it cradle him on it's surface.
I move to the edge of the pool and look down at him. He floats placidly, arms outstretched, auburn hair floating in a halo about his face. Then he opens his eyes and looks at me, and the illusion of serenity vanishes. His eyes are dark, the blue almost black in the dimness, and they're hot. When our eyes meet, the air seems to crackle with energy.
I start to strip.
Blair's POV
When I open my eyes, he's at the rim of the pool, staring down at me. I stare back, and something passes between us. He begins to remove his clothes. I watch hungrily as he reveals himself to me.
He's different from Jim. Not as heavily muscled, but still hard and sleek. Jim has very little body hair. Frederick's well formed chest is lightly furred, like mine. The shirt is gone, he shoves down the pants and underwear to join it on the tiles.
When he stands up, I can see that he is lusting. His cock is already hard as he steps into the cool water and wades toward me. The water laps gently with his movements, breaking over my chest.
Frederick reaches me. He is taller than I, and the water only comes to about hip level on him. He reaches down and slides an arm under my shoulders, supporting me. His free hand settles on my chest, and begins to toy with my nipple ring, tugging it gently.
I try to arch up to his touch, and see why he gave me the supporting arm. My butt sinks, and I quickly straighten my spine again so I won't go under. But before I rise again, by ass is brushed by something silky smooth, and much warmer than the water.
He spends some time playing with my body, exploring everything within easy reach, from brow to thigh. Every inch is stroked and explored in a thorough, leisurely manner. Every inch except the few that need it most. He won't touch my cock, no matter how I whine. And I do whine. I whine like a slut in heat, and am pathetically grateful when he reaches between my legs and cradles my balls in his hand, squeezing lightly.
At last he takes my arms, drawing them upward, and I clasp them around his neck. I do not let my feet settle to the bottom, but instead wrap my legs around his hips. This brings the lengths of our torsos together, and our cocks brush. I moan, and the sound is muffled as he covers my open lips with his own.
He grips the back of my head, holding me in place. It's just as well he does, because the force of his kisses would otherwise drive my head back, away from him, even though I don't want to evade him. He plunders my mouth with teeth and tongue, biting and sucking roughly, bruising. I glory in it.
He starts to move, carrying me toward the edge of the pool. Each step makes me bob a little, rubbing against him. I undulate my hips, increasing the friction of our erections sliding together. He grabs my waist to still me, making a warning growl, and I get the message. Not yet. I stop humping him and allow myself to be carried.
At the edge of the pool, he pulls me away from his body, and I get to my feet. Once again the water is down around my thighs. Frederick turns me and shoves me against the rim, it hitting me at hip level. I bend over and lay my upper body on the cool, slick tiles, spreading and bracing my legs.
Frederick moves up behind me. He takes hold of my hips and uses his thumbs to pry my ass cheeks apart. There is no lubricant except the dubious easing of the water that is trickling into my crack from my back. There is no preliminaries, no preparation. He just shoves into me in one hard, deep thrust that smacks his balls against mine.
I don't scream, but I bite my lip bloody with the effort. But the pain seems to mingle with the fire that has been racing through my blood these last weeks. I should be going soft, what with the pain and the cool temperature of the water. But I'm harder than ever, throbbing.
Frederick doesn't hesitate, but begins to fuck me with strong, slow strokes. He pulls almost all the way out with each backstroke, and slams hard on the forward thrust. I'm jolted with each lunge. The pain is still there, but the pleasure has overwhelmed it.
As he ruts, he runs his hands over me. I feel his nails score my chest, my sides, my back. Each sting brings a fresh spark of pleasure. God, it's so good.
I feel his hands encircle my swollen cock, and he begins to stroke me roughly in time to his thrusts. He leans over me, laying his chest against my back, and begins to use short, hard, almost vicious jabs. The slight change in angle brings his cock head over my prostate with each stab. My knees go weak, and I'd fall without the support of the pool's edge. I whimper with pleasure, hands sliding helplessly over the tile.
His breath has been in my ear, hot and moist. Now I feel him scrape my wet hair to the side. Suddenly he bites me, sinking his teeth into the nape of my neck, holding me. I cry out, my body going limp in total submission as my orgasm wracks me. I spray my sperm against the side of the pool. Pearly white, it drips into the black water.
He isn't done yet. He rides me for another four or five minutes, using me. I feel his teeth on my throat, and shoulder. He finishes with a final lunge that I fear will split me. I feel the scalding pulse of his orgasm, hot wetness filling my ass. He stays inside me, breathing hard, for another minute or two. Then he pulls out, turns me, and embraces me. I feel tired and weak, and I cling to him.
He strokes back my hair, and I wish he hadn't done that, because it makes me think of Jim. Jim loves my hair. He spends long minutes running his hands through it, winding it around his fingers. He's uses it to guide me when I take him in my mouth. Once recently, when I'd nearly driven him mad with a combination of sexual and smart ass provocation, he threatened to tie me to the bedstead with it. Maybe if he had, I wouldn't be here.
God, what am I doing? What have I done? I love Jim, really love him. And I've betrayed him so easily. This can't happen again. I'll go. I'll keep this locked away inside me, and never tell anyone. Not even the therapists. And I'll go to them. Yes, I will. I'll get help, for Jim's sake.
I've become very still. I don't know how he knows it, but he senses my doubts. He knows my guilt, knows that I am pulling away in my mind and spirit. He takes hold of my chin and lifts it, making me look into his eyes. With the light reflecting off the water mirrored in them, they almost seem to glow silver. I waver, trying to hold on to my resolve.
Then he tips my head farther back, till I am gazing up into the vast deeps of the night sky, and I see the moon.
Damn it to hell, I should have kept him locked in the cell during the day as well as during the night. I knew he was agitated, but I had no idea... He's been more and more moody, ever since I showed him the letter in which von Glower admitted what he was, and what he had done to Gabriel.
Yes, yes, I know that technically it was Von Zell who bit Gabriel. But that fucking baron was his sire, and I hold him responsible for the state my friend is in. I have to. There's no one else for me to hate.
Hate isn't too strong a word for it. He deserves to be hated. I don't care if it wasn't his choice to be what he is. He chose to pass his curse on, even after it had been demonstrated to him, time and again, how dangerous it was for the one who received it. Because he was lonely. Bullshit. We're all lonely.
I should have realized something was wrong when I let him out of his cell in the morning. I should have, but I was too embarrassed to observe him very closely. The night before I had stood in the echoing stone hall of the Rittersburg dungeon and watched through the tiny barred window of his cell as he stripped and... Somehow the word masturbation doesn't seem quite right. He made love to himself. You couldn't watch and not imagine what he could do to you with those hands.
It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen, and that includes ever Hollywood opus with major sex symbols and soft focus romps, to a few high grade, well produced pornos. Yes, I watch those. Don't tell my parents. It shook me to the core.
I've never thought of Gabriel like that. Oh, I've always known he's attractive. I may complain about him living in his damn leathers, but he looks good in them. I'm not blind, or gay. I knew he was sexy, could see the effect he had on other women. There weren't many who could resist once he turned up the charm and used that honey drip drawl on them. But up to last night he was just a friend. Now... Now he's a man.
I'm not sure when the friendship developed. I started off tolerating him because the job he offered was more or less perfect. I endured his smart ass humor and his half-baked come ons, and gave back smart ass just as good as I got, turning aside the invitations I was sure were more form than genuine. Gradually, I got to enjoy the banter. He isn't dull.
He drives me crazy sometimes, but there's so much good in Gabriel. He's lazy, raunchy, and feckless, but he'd throw himself into traffic to save a friend. Notice I said save. The more mundane aspects of just helping are often avoided. He'll fight zombies for you, but ask him to clean up after himself...
He was different when I released him this morning. Before he'd been listless after a night spent alternating between tossing on his rough cot and pacing the floor. This morning he was still vibrating with that odd inner energy. He went past me without a word, and that's not like him. Gabriel always has something to say.
I had to run to catch up to him on the way to the schloss. Those long legs of his just ate up the ground. I didn't understand how he could move so quickly without breaking into a trot. "Gabe, wait up!"
"Things to do, Gracie. Things to do."
This puzzled me. What things? He wasn't fit for Schattzenjager work till we figured out a cure for his condition. If he was talking about writing, the typewriter wasn't going anywhere. And he'd produced nothing but smeared wads of paper since his injury.
"Never you mind."
I didn't like this at all. I grabbed his arm to halt his rapid progress, and jerked my hand back, startled. It had been like grabbing a stone, heated by the sun. His muscles were tensed into knots. He didn't even seem to notice the contact, but kept on, his long strides eating up the distance. I ran after him again.
Gerde came out of the study as we entered, giving him a nervous, concerned half smile. "Gabriel, how are you this morning?"
She means well, but she'd have been better off just nodding. Gabriel sweeps past her, growling, "Like shit. Thanks so much for askin'." Her hands flutter helplessly, and I think I see a glint of tears in her eyes as I hurry past after him. Toughen up, Gerde. Sick people are often rude, and there is something very, very wrong with Gabe.
He goes to his room and locks the door. Damn it! I can hear him inside, moving around. Drawers open and shut. I'm getting a very bad feeling about this. I knock on the door. No answer. "Gabe." Silence, except for the sound of his closet opening. "Gabriel Knight!" I pound on the door. "Open up, I need to talk to you."
"Go away, Grace. Research somethin', go to town, bitch at Gerde. I don't care, but leave me alone."
I decide that personal boundaries and wishes have to be sidelined when you're dealing with someone who's unbalanced, and getting progressively worse. I've found a number of secret passages since I've been staying at Schloss von Ritter. And one of them leads from the hall linen cupboard into Gabriel's closet.
The passage is just as dark and musty as it was when I found it. I step out into Gabriel's closet to find evidence to feed my fear. There are several garments on the floor, as if dropped when they were hastily pulled from their hangers. The door is open, and I step out into the bedroom.
Gabriel is sitting on the bed. He has changed clothes, his shirt still unbuttoned, and is pulling on a pair of boots. He pauses and looks up as I enter. He doesn't look surprised. Gabriel returns his attention to dressing, stamping his foot down firmly into the boot. "Pretty fuckin' bold, Gracie. I locked that door for a reason."
Now I see his duffle bag, sitting on the floor by the bed. It is bulging. Several shirts, which he must not have been able to fit inside are strewn across the bed. The drawers of his dresser stand open. "Where are you going?"
He laughs shortly. "At least your weren't stupid enough to ask 'What are you doin'? I've always admired how observant you are, Gracie."
"Gabe, tell me."
He shrugs. "Cascade, Washington."
"Were you just going to leave, without a word?"
He ran his hands impatiently through his hair. He usually kept his hair carefully arranged with elaborate casualness. Now it was disarrayed and tangled from his constant nervous rummaging. "I gotta call the airport from the phone in the study downstairs. I didn't figure I'd be able to do that without you or Gerde listenin' in."
I'm stung by the rude tone. "Gabriel, what are you thinking of?"
He stood up abruptly and began to pace. "What am I thinkin' of? Let me tell ya, Grace. I'm thinkin' that I haven't had twenty minutes of sleep since that shit, Von Zell, ripped me. Unless you count bein' fuckin' unconscious. I'm thinkin' that I feel like I got a hydroelectric plant powerin' up inside me, and nowhere for all that fuckin' energy to go without doing somebody a damage. I'm thinkin' that the blood in my veins is runnin' fire instead of liquid, and sometimes I just want to rip my skin off. I'm thinkin' that the moon is talkin' to me, tellin' me things no human should know. I'm thinkin' that nothin' you or Gerde or the Smiths are doin' is makin' one motherfuckin' bit of difference." He stood still, staring at me. His eyes were shadowed. The once clear green was murky with pain. "I'm thinkin' Frederick von Glower can reach out an' put his hands on me no matter where he is, or I am, an' I can't stop him." His voice dropped to a whisper, and the look in his eyes was positively haunted. "An' I'm thinkin' that maybe... maybe I don't want to stop him."
"Don't say that, Gabe." I was horror-struck. He couldn't mean it. I remembered the look on his face when I'd burst into that room the night he was injured. The scene was still vivid in my mind, always would be. Gabriel had been stretched half naked on the bed, with von Glower above him, shirt open, straddling Gabriel's lean hips. I remembered the confident sensuality of von Glower's touch on Gabe's bare skin, the complete conviction in his voice when he'd said, "Your friend? My lover." But there had been such terrified pleading in Gabriel's voice when he'd said my name... "You can't mean that."
He snorted. "Why not? Because I'm not gay? Hell, Gracie, this is goin' way beyond just male and female." He went to the night stand and got his wallet, checking the contents before tucking it in his pocket, along with his passport. "Just go away, Gracie. I have to do this."
"No!" I went to him and grabbed his arm again. "You can't, Gabe. It's too dangerous. I think that being closer to him will just make it worse."
"I don't think it can get any worse."
"I won't let you."
His laugh this time is bitter, and I know that the remark was stupid. Of course I can't stop him, not short of bashing him in the head, or drugging him. And I don't think I could do either of those if I try. No matter how debilitating this thing is, he's still a strong, vigorous man. And he is not trusting. I could never slip him medicine to knock him out long enough to get him restrained. Going to the authorities is not an option. As far as they know, no crime has been committed, so they would not bar him from leaving the country.
"You gonna stop me, Gracie?" His tone is taunting. "What you gonna do, knock me down an' sit on me?"
He steps toward me, grinning. But it isn't his old grin, the easy going, cheerful grin. This is more a baring of teeth. There's something feral and menacing about it. His voice is low. "Ya know, Gracie...you had plenty of times you coulda snuck into my bedroom. Why the hell did you have to wait till now?"
From the first day we met, Gabriel has teased me. A day didn't go by without some corny come on or innuendo. They amused as much as exasperated me. But this is different. His tone is serious, and I suddenly feel cold inside.
"I knew you were outside in the hall last night, Grace. Did you like the show?" I flinch, and I know there's no use to deny it, because I can feel the color flooding my cheeks. "I figure you must've enjoyed it, since you stayed to see the final shot." Again the grin, and it's mean this time.
He's staring into my eyes, and I don't seem to be able to look away. He moves close to me, and takes my hand, placing it inside his open shirt, flat against his bare chest, and moving it. "So, you're curious, right? You wonder what it would be like with me. I've wondered what it would be like with you." He slides my hand down, past his ribs to the flat plain of his belly.
"Gabe..." I swallow. "Stop it. This isn't you."
"Sure it is, Gracie. Sure it is. An' even if it isn't, it's the guy who made you get wet watchin' him jerk off last night. I could smell it." He presses my palm against his fly. I feel a bulge pressing out to meet my touch.
I feel an alarming jolt of desire at the hot urgency of the flesh beneath the fabric. But I'm still looking into his eyes, and they are hot and empty. There is nothing of Gabriel there. There is only animal hunger.
I try to jerk away, but he has my wrist. He uses it to swing me around, and his palm lands on my chest, shoving me hard. I fall across the bed, and he follows me down immediately. He drops all his weight on me, and I almost lose my breath.
His mouth is on my neck, and he bites. He doesn't draw blood, but the pain is still agonizing, and I shriek. Immediately he releases the bite, and begins to kiss and lick the fast bruising skin. He shoves a knee between my thighs, parting them despite my frantic efforts, pushing his way between my spread legs. With my free hand I scratch at him, laying a bloody welt on his cheek. He growls, catching my hand. To my horror, he pauses to suck the blood that has been trapped under my nails before pinning both my hands over my head.
"Gabriel, stop it! God, please, no!" He doesn't seem to hear me. His face is blank, save for the lustful snarl that curls his lips. He begins to move against me, rubbing his cloth covered erection hard against my groin. And, despite the pain from the bite, despite the discomfort and struggle to draw breath under his crushing weight, despite my terror, I feel the beginning of answering arousal. And this frightens me even more. I start to cry as he humps against me. "I don't want this, Gabriel. Please."
He lets go of one of my wrists, reaching for my blouse. He tangles his fingers in the fabric and rips at it. My hand flails desperately, and I reach the top of the night stand. I grope blindly, desperate for something, anything, I might use to defend myself. My hand closes on something cold and metallic, about the size of my palm. I grip it, and try to strike at him.
His reflexes are too fast for me. Again he catches my wrist, and I weep harder at the futility of my gesture. The look in his eyes says that my struggles are only exciting him more, and angering him. I close my eyes, expecting him to hit me.
But he is suddenly motionless. His undulating hips fall still, and he draws in a deep, pained breath. After a moment, I dare open my eyes.
His eyes are fixed on what I hold in my hand. I look. It is the Schatzenjager talisman, the mystical symbol of his family's dedication to fighting the dark powers. Gabriel stares at the ornate pendent intently, and the snarl slowly fades from his face. The rage and lust clouding his eyes seems to seep away, leaving bewilderment. He looks down at me, and I think he sees me for the first time today.
"Oh, God." He throws himself away from me so violently that he almost falls. "Oh God, oh Jesus, oh God!" He backs up, trips on the duffle bag, and almost falls again, catching himself against the wall. "Gracie, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I... I didn't mean... I wouldn't..." His expression spasms with self disgust and sorrow.
I sit up shakily. "It's all right, Gabriel. I understand. I'm all right."
"Gracie, I almost raped you!" he cries.
"But you didn't. You stopped yourself. You're still in control, Gabe." I get up and reach out to him. "We can fight this. Just let me help you."
He shakes his head violently. "I can't. Don't you see that I'm a danger to you while I'm like this? An' don't suggest I stay locked up. I couldn't do that, Gracie, not even for you. Might as well put me in a grave as a locked room. No, I'm goin' to Cascade."
"To von Glower?"
His gaze shifts, unable to meet mine. "Maybe not. That's where Blair Sandburg lives, the other one who was bitten that night. I can see him, talk to him. Maybe he has a handle on this. Maybe I can help him." Another laugh that edges toward hysteria before he pulls it back. "Ain't that a crock? Me, helpin' anybody. Only thing I seem to be good at lately is fuckin' up."
"Gabriel..."
"Don't, Gracie. I gotta go. Just...
just pray for me, okay? Can you do that?"
I sigh. "Yes."
He goes down to the study to make reservations, and I think to myself, Yes, I'll pray for you, Gabe. But the old saying goes that God helps him who helps himself. Maybe I don't have the family tradition of fighting evil, but I'm damn sure not going to let you go to that monster without a fight.
Mile High Club
The stewardesses are watchin' me closely. Used to be I'd have figured it was because of my stunning good looks an' magnetic personality. Not lately, though. Y' see, ever since some bozos started redirectin' flights to Havana back in the sixties, the airlines have trained their personnel to spot anythin' unusual about their passengers. If you're actin' antsy or broody, an' they can't put it down to usual flying jitters, they watch you. An' I'm both jittery, and broody, by turns. They're worrin' I'm gonna pull out a Uzi, even though I went through that damn metal detector at the airport.
I want to tell them not to worry. "Don't sweat it. ladies. Still a coupla days to the full moon, ain't there? Just don't wave raw meat too close to me and we should all be okay."
That's where they got the term lunatic, you know? They used to believe that the moon influenced the unstable, making them worse as it grew toward fullness. Pretty fuckin' accurate in my case, I'm afraid. Lots of people scoff at that these days. But talk to a policeman, or emergency room tech, or mental institution worker, they'll tell you. It does get crazy during the full moon.
I wish I could have a drink. That might help, but it's too early. I got a funny look along with a polite explanation when I asked the flight attendant about it. Now they think I'm a lush. Another reason to watch me.
Christ, ever since that night in the forest, it seems like someone's been watchin' me. Grace, Gerde, the Smiths...Pryin' eyes on me all the time. It's enough to make me want to rip somethin'...
I'm at the back of the plane. I didn't want anyone behind me. It would make me nervous, an' I'm afraid of what I might do now, if I get startled. The restroom is at the end of the aisle, just to my left. It smells faintly of chemicals and human waste, and I wonder if anyone else can smell it, or only I. I seem to be noticing things these days that escape others. The scent doesn't disgust me, as I expect it would have a month ago. Now it's just interesting.
Two figures are making their way down the aisle toward my seat. One is a handsome young man. His good looks are marred only by the murky, unfocussed look in his brown eyes. He is blind. The second figure is a large golden retriever, in harness, leading him with placid assurance.
As they near, though, the dog hesitates. Then it turns and stands across the aisle, blocking the man's path. He bumps against it and stops. Reaching down, he pats the dog's rough head. "What is it, Grover?" He slides his foot forward cautiously, feeling for an obstruction.
"There's nothin' there." His head turns toward the sound of my voice, and he smiles.
"Thank you. He should only do that if there's something hazardous ahead, but this is only his second time to fly. He may be nervous." He shakes the harness gently. "Grover, forward." The dog whines, and leans heavily against his legs, almost making him stumble. The dog is staring at me.
I stare back, and feel the hair on the back of my neck rising. I don't look away, I don't blink. The dog's whine rises in pitch. He begins to tremble. The blind man can feel the animal's tremors. "Grover, what's wrong, boy?" He pets the animal, feeling over it's tensed body in search of anything that might explain the animal's agitation.
I slowly bare my teeth. A soft, low growl rumbles in my chest. "Grover!" He thinks that the dog is making the sound. The dog's ears droop. It lays down, and rolls on it's side to show me it's belly. I reach down and scratch its belly, gripping its throat tightly for a moment, letting it know that I accept its show of submission.
The man says, "I'm sorry about this. He's never acted this way before. Well, except once, when we were at the zoo, and one of the wolves came too close to the fence."
"No problem."
He holds out a hand toward me, eyes directed just above my head. "I'm Lawrence Casden."
I shake hands. His grip is smooth and firm. "Gabriel Knight."
"You're an American, Mr. Knight?"
"Gabriel, yeah. I'm from N' Orleans originally."
His face lights with a smile. "Ah, the Big Easy! I try to make it for Mardi Gras every year."
"It's quite a show." I wince. "Sorry."
He laughs. "Don't be. I'm sure sight would enhance the experience, but New Orleans is a feast for all the senses. Grover, forward." Grover gets up, and leads his master on to the restroom, ducking his head humbly as he passes my seat. Well, it seems that I was the alpha male. Here, at least. I seriously doubt that will be the case when I meet von Glower again.
Casden is in the restroom for a moment, then there's the rushing sound of the toilet, and water running. The dog waits patiently outside till the door opens again. He gropes for the harness, missing it twice. I reach out and take his wrist. He stiffens slightly, but when I put his hand on the harness, he relaxes. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Would you like to sit and visit a bit" I been achin' to talk to another American." I don't want you to go just yet. You're interestin'.
I move to the window seat, and he sits in the one beside me. We start to talk. I let the conversation wash over me, making appropriate responses automatically. All the while I'm drinking him in. He's not more than twenty, I think. He's a young, vigorous, healthy male animal. Perfect, except for the eyes. Blind... A combination of strength and vulnerability. Something deep inside me is growling hungrily. Prey.
He's talkin' about clubs. "How many do you suppose there are in New Orleans? Must be hundreds, I suppose." A small laugh. "It's my ambition to visit them all, eventually."
"Ever been to Dominion?" I haven't been myself, but I know of it. It's pretty famous throughout the south, if you're gay.
He goes still for a moment, the smile stiffening a little. At last he says carefully. "Yes, I've been there. I prefer Extremities, though. The dancers are friendlier." Yes, they are. That 'friendliness' has gotten the place raided in the past.
We're both silent for a minute. I lean close to him and murmur, "You smell good." He draws in a deep breath. I scent the first faint, musky whiff of arousal.
"Gabriel..." His voice is hesitant. "Could I touch your face? It's how I 'see'."
In answer I pick up his hands and place them against my face. He begins to touch me, slowly and gently. His long, smooth fingers skim over my forehead, stroke my brows, dab at my closed eyelids, tickling the eyelashes. They glide down my cheeks and follow the line of my jaw and chin, rasping over the bristles I didn't have the patience to remove before I left. Finally he reaches my mouth. He traces the lips delicately, feeling the slow, smirking smile I can't contain. I let my tongue dart out and lick him. He gasps softly. Before he can draw his hand away, I grab it and take his index finger into my mouth, sucking on it.
He groans quietly. "Don't tease me."
We are alone in our section. I see nothing but the backs of the other passengers' heads to the front. I release his finger, slide my hand back into his thick, dark hair, and pull him toward me. His lips are firm, and warm, and they part quickly when I touch them with my tongue. He tastes even better than he smells.
His hands are roving over my arms, my chest, my back. He pulls away and rubs his face against my shoulder. Grabbing the collar of my leather jacket, he sniffs deeply. His smile is dreamy as he whispers, "Rough trade?"
"The roughest." Taking his hand, I pull him to his feet, open the restroom door, and shove him inside, then follow. I shut the door, twisting the knob that locks it and shows the 'Occupied' sign, then turn to him.
He stands against the wall, palms pressed flat behind him, chin lifted, clouded brown eyes still seeming to search. His head turns slightly, and I know he is listening to my breathing in this still, small room. He is waiting, waiting for the predator to spring. Eager prey.
"What are you going to do to me?" The words are plaintive, but there is a husky thread of desire in his voice. This is part of it for him. He needs to be taken, needs to surrender. The beast inside me lunges nearer the surface, slavering.
My own voice is harsh. "This." I grab his head and kiss him savagely. When his mouth opens meekly, I plunge inside, tongue lashing. I suck and lick and bite till his lips are passion bruised, and he is whimpering, fingers scratching at the metal wall behind him.
I release his mouth, and he is panting. I put my lips against his ear and hiss, "You're gonna do what I want, aren't you, pretty?" I grab his crotch, squeezing the firm bulge till he winces. "Aren't you?"
"Yes. Whatever you want."
Sweet, sweet submission. I open his fly and roughly dig out his prick. It's already swollen with lust, dripping with pre-come. Damn, he got excited fast. I knead his flesh almost violently. He moans, pushing himself farther into my grip. Then I let go and force him to his knees. "Blow me." I say harshly.
He fumbles at my waist, hands sliding down. Of course he has to do it by touch. The thought of him not being able to see, only to feel, excites me even more. When he unzips me, my cock springs out to meet his grasp. I have gone commando, unable to bear the strangling confines of my jockeys.
He holds me, and his tongue flicks out. He misses the first time, but then finds the range. He laps at my cock head, licking up the clear fluid, dipping his tongue into the tiny slit. I grunt my pleasure, and I see him smile. Again I grab his hair, and plunge deep into his mouth. Now he is the one who grunts as I force him down on my shaft. He shifts, making a little protesting whine, which I ignore. I don't stop till his chin rests on my balls and his nose is buried in my pubic hair. Then I hold him there till he begins to struggle.
When I can tell he's fighting for breath, I loosen my hold and let him pull back a little. I allow him to choose his own movements. He bobs up and down my length, slurping softly. I look down and see that he is pumping his own rigid dick as he sucks me. His free hand grabs my ass, kneading the cheeks through my blue jeans.
I'm getting closer now. I fuck into the hot cavern of his mouth, bumping the back of his throat. Again I make him deep throat me, and I cum in a burning gush. He chokes, trying to pull away, but I hold him fast, growling, "Swallow, bitch! Drink it down." He gulps convulsively, and the squeezing motion draws another jet of sperm from me.
My softening cock slips from his mouth as I haul him to his feet, throwing him back against the counter. I bend and take him deep into my mouth. My teeth rake across the top of his cock, and he cums with a shout. I turn my head and spit into the sink. I'm alpha here, and I do not swallow. But I lick him clean with rough tenderness before planting a spermy kiss on his gasping mouth.
The dog is whining outside the door. We silently zip up, and I open the door, peering outside. A stewardess near the front looks back, but I block Lawrence with my own body. After a moment she turns away, and we slip out. Again I direct his hand to Grover's harness, and sit down.
He hesitates a moment, then says softly, "Thank you."
I get out my wallet and extract a business card. Pressing it into his hand, I say, "That's my shop in N' Orleans. I may be back there soon. Stop by and see me sometime if you're down there." He smiles, tucking the card in his pocket, and makes his way up the aisle.
I stare out the window. The physical satiation has dulled the burning buzz that is running through me, at least temporarily. But it will be back in full force soon.
It wasn't enough. It wouldn't have been enough if I had raped his ass. But then, it isn't rape if the victim is willing, is it" As it was, I was still holding back. I have to get to Cascade, and talk to Sandburg. See if he's experiencing what I am. See if we can help each other. Because as that harmless, gentle young man knelt at my feet, sucking me, I was imagining my teeth in his throat, and how sweet the blood would taste...
The Zone
Jim's POV
It's late when I get home, past one. And Blair isn't there. I try not to worry. I keep telling myself he's a grown man. There are only human monsters in this city, and he can deal with them. I want to protect him, but I run the risk of smothering him if I go as far as I want to. It pisses him off, and I can't really blame him. By clinging too close, I could push him away.
So I wait. I change into my boxers and a T-shirt and slump on the sofa, legs spread and sprawled. I sit in the dark, flipping through the channels on the tv, never pausing for more than three or four seconds. My thumb freezes on the advance button. The picture is changing so fast that it is almost a stroboscopic blur. The remote drops from my hand, and I zone.
Stupid shit. I should have known better.
Blair's POV
I considered spending the night with von Glower, but he gently insisted that I return to the apartment. "You mustn't alarm your friend, my boy. He could make things... difficult. But perhaps a bit of persuading will make him see the rightness of this." He stroked my cheek. "I'd hate to deny him to you. He is a magnificent creature. Already closer to us than many."
Before I leave, I take a shower. A very thorough shower. I scrub myself with strong deodorant soap, and wash my hair twice. I need to get von Glower's scent off me, because I'm not ready to deal with Jim about this.
It's past two when I get back to the apartment. I had been tempted to just run home, racing the moon, but I didn't. It wouldn't be safe. Perhaps later...
I know something is off when I open the door. The lights are off, the tv is on, and I can see Jim draped half off the sofa. The reason I know something is wrong is because there's some hair spray lacquered blonde chick on the screen selling cubic zirconia. Jim would watch someone read the phone book and eat popcorn the whole time rather than watch a shopping channel.
I go over to him and bend down for a look. His eyes are open, staring blankly at the screen, and his breathing is slow and shallow. Zoned. The remote is lying on the floor nearby, and I pick it up and put it on the table. Damn it, he knows better than to do that, especially when I'm not here to bring him back. How long has he been gone this time?
I sigh and grip his shoulder, preparing to talk him out of it, bring him back. Then I stop. I stop, and take a good, long look at him. With my free hand I take the remote and hit mute before laying it aside again. The room is quiet, lit only by the frosty flickering of the tube. The flashing light plays over Jim's face, such a beautiful, blank face.
I let my gaze drop the length of his torso. Freidrik is right. He is magnificent. The perfect alpha male animal, in his prime. Suddenly my mouth is watering. Because he is so strong, so beautiful...and so utterly helpless at this moment.
I take the hem of his shirt, and push it up a little, then stroke the flat belly that I have exposed. Usually the taut muscles will ripple at my touch. Now the only response is the gentle heave of his breath. I push up farther, to his chest. I grope, and my fingers seek out his nipples. I play with them, and they begin to harden. So his involuntary responses are still functioning, the scientist lurking in the back of my brain observes. The beast doesn't care about that, though. The beast just knows that Jim feels good, and smells good. As Von Zell had said in the forest, fuckable.
I stroke and pinch till the little nubs are pebble hard, thrusting against my palms. I can feel his heart beat under my hand, the slow, steady rhythm picking up speed. His expression hasn't changed, hasn't altered one iota. His pupils are dilated, and his normally pale eyes are dark. I'm getting hard in my pants.
I've done it countless times with Jim, joined with him in carnal union. It's been everything from slow, sweet love making to primitive rutting. But it's always been Jim inside me. We never discussed it, it just happened that way. Somehow I always end up on the bottom. And I've enjoyed it. But now...
Dear God, he's just lying there. So pliant, so vulnerable. You can't do this, Sandburg. Jim trusts you. You're his Guide, you're supposed to take care of him. Well, he's supposed to take care of me, too. And he seems to feel that a caring relationship includes my taking it up the ass.
I shake my head at my own thoughts. That's crazy. I've always welcomed Jim, always been a more than willing participant. Now I'm thinking about using him when he's incapable of saying aye or nay. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And even as I think this, my hand creeps down to his boxers, and cups over the mound of his genitals. I squeeze lightly, and feel the response. The proper nerves are being stimulated, and extra blood is being pumped into the tissues. He starts to get hard.
That's all it takes to decide things, a slight thickening. Because now I can tell myself that this is what he wants. That he'll enjoy it as much as I will, and I'm going to enjoy it a lot.
I'll just have to be careful, not do anything that could bring him out of the zone at an inopportune moment. Because I'm going to fuck him, and it would be difficult to impossible with him awake, aware, and ready to fight.
So I'm gentle. I dip my head, and run my tongue over his chest. He tastes like soap and salt. I lap at his nipples, relishing the crinkled texture of the skin. He makes a soft sigh, and I look up sharply. But his expression is still smooth and void. So I move down, working my way down his ribs, his flat belly. I spend a moment darting my tongue into the shallow dip of his belly button.
His flavor intoxicates me. I pull back from him long enough to strip, discarding my clothes impatiently. Then again I crouch naked between his sprawled legs. I grip my own stiffening cock, and stroke it as I bury my face against his fly. I mouth him through the fabric, licking and nibbling, and he grows harder still. Finally I can't stand it anymore. I have to get to him.
If I try and drag the shorts off him, it may snap him out of the zone. I can't have that. I could go to the kitchen for a knife and slice them away, but I don't want to leave him for a second. I use my teeth instead. They're blunt, and human, but with my determined hands, they serve. I can't break the thick elastic at the waist band, but I manage to totally rip them open. The cloth is now nothing but strips and flaps, dangling from the waistband. I shove them aside to reach my goal.
He's positioned perfectly. His hips are forward, butt resting just at the edge of the couch. Presented, as if for this act alone. I reach down and slip a finger into the shadowy crease of his ass, probing for the entrance to his body. I find the little pucker, and push, testing. I am astonished when my finger sinks in easily. There is scarcely any resistance. Then I realize. In his zone, he is totally relaxed. There is no tension in his body. He is completely open to me.
The idea removes whatever little sanity remains. But still I do not simply ravage him. I want to prepare him, even if I can't take the time to go in search of lubrication. I lift his legs a little, and burrow down below his balls. My tongue seeks out the little hole, and I lick lavishly. He's clean, even here. I glide my tongue inside, using as much spit as I can, wetting him. When I think I've moistened the way enough, I hook his legs over my shoulders, and rise up.
I line myself up, positioning the head of my dick right at the little ring, then reach down and grasp his hands in mine. They are loose and warm, fingers slightly fanned. I stare into that blank, placid face, and enter him in one long, smooth stroke.
This is probably the most pain free first penetration ever. I'm buried in him to the root when I stop. He's taken all of it without even a whimper, or a flicker of discomfort, and I'm not built small. This is the first time I've ever been inside another man, and I know right away that it's damn well not going to be the last. It's too fucking good. Jim is too fucking good.
I just stay there for a moment, feeling the tight heat of his body. It's incredible. At last I start to pump, short, shallow strokes. He's so peaceful. Mustn't wake him. But I can't keep that up long. The beast wants to rut, not make love. I begin to move more quickly, using longer strokes. I pull farther back, till I've almost withdrawn, then shove back in hard...
And suddenly Jim's eyes widen, pupils contracting as he focuses. There is a look of astonishment on his face. His hands tighten on mine. And at the exact moment his body suddenly clamps around me, almost painfully, he howls...
Jim's POV
At first I think I'm dreaming. I think somehow I've segued from zone to sleep. I've dreamed about this before. Dreamed of Blair on me, filling me, topping me. It hasn't happened in real life. I think he wants to, and I've been considering it. I love him enough to want to give him what he wants, and I'm curious as to what it would be like. He seems to enjoy it so much.
I am snapped out of my zone by a sudden burst of intense pleasure. I've only felt this particular type of sensation in a very unsexual environment: while having my prostate examined. The doctor once gave it a good bump, and I got hard as a rock. Very embarrassing, but he passed it off as natural, and not uncommon.
But the pleasure is followed by a horrendous burning in my bowels, and the feeling of being split apart. I jerk and yell with the pain, and am suddenly aware of my position.
What the fuck? I'm on my back, my knees up almost to either side of my face, and someone has a hard grip on my hands. Then I realize that the reason my legs are bent like that is because that someone has them up over their shoulders as they lean over me, between my thighs. I guess I was trying to deny it, but it isn't until I realize they are moving that I know that I'm being raped.
One minute I was watching tv, waiting for Blair to come home, the next some guy is shoving his cock up my ass, and I'm just taking it. It's gotten this far, and I haven't even protested. Well, he'll sure as hell hear from me now.
I buck, trying to throw him off. But that just seems to throw me up to meet his lunge. I cry out again in fresh pain, and he grunts with pleasure.
My mind is racing wildly, thoughts careening with little logic. I feel the smoothness of skin against my thighs and crotch, he must have taken the time to strip before starting his attack. God, where's Blair? Did he come home while I was zoned, and is he now lying somewhere in the apartment, injured? Or worse? Is he still out, but likely to walk in on this at any moment?
I somehow get hold of my panic enough to act instead of react. I dial up my vision so I'll be able to give a good description of the bastard...
Blair...
Dear God, that can't be. But it is. His long, silky hair almost covers his face, but it is as much a mark of identification as anything else.
"Blair...stop. What are you..."
"Hush, Jim." His voice is rough. "Just relax. I don't want to hurt you."
"I don't want this, Blair."
He laughs harshly. One hand is released, and he grabs my cock. I suddenly realize that I'm achingly hard, and slick with pre-cum. He strokes me firmly, and I unconsciously arch into his hand, driving myself farther onto his shaft. He hits my prostate again, and I whimper with pleasure. The pain is starting to recede.
Blair thrusts steadily, and his prick strokes my prostate every couple of insertions. The constant jolts of pure physical stimulation are scrambling my brain. I swing at him, but he's quick, and catches my hand again. He holds it for a moment, then tosses it back at me almost contemptuously, and I don't swing again. He resumes masturbating me, and says, "Quit fighting me, Jim. You know you love this. Just let me fuck you, and I'll make you come, too."
My mind is numbed now. How often have I heard these words before, while taking a statement from some hapless rape victim? It seems to be the rapists' mantra.
No, I don't love it. It isn't the act itself I hate. I admit to myself that the physical pleasure is far outweighing the pain. It's the way it's being done. I'm being used. I wasn't asked, I wasn't seduced. I'm being taken. And it's humiliating, and frightening. Even when it's Blair, whom I love. Perhaps especially because it's Blair.
The combination of his hand on my prick and his own prick in my ass bring me to a shattering climax. I whimper and strain as my spunk shoots over his hand and splashes on my belly. This drives him into a frenzy of short, stabbing strokes. I had clenched around him again when I came, and this hurts, a lot. I grit my teeth and endure it, not wanting to scream again.
I feel him cum. Suddenly he pulses inside me, and my back passage is filled with scalding, thick fluid. He is making an animal growl. I haven't heard anything like that since my time in Peru. It's chilling.
He lowers my legs, which are quivering weakly, and lies on top of me. The hair on his chest tickles my sweat slick skin. I just lie beneath him panting, stunned. He strokes my cheek and purrs, "You were so good, baby." He kisses me lightly on the mouth. His voice is gentle, but mocking. "Welcome to my world."
Pain
Jim's POV
The physical pain will pass. The emotional... I don't know. I hope so. It's hard to say. I love Blair, but will that be enough? This was the deepest, most complete betrayal I could ever imagine.
I was helpless. It's tantamount to raping someone who's in a coma. When I'm in a zone, I'm totally defenseless, and Blair knows this. He's my Guide, he's supposed to protect me. It...it's almost like a guardian molesting a child who trusts them. Am I ever going to be able to trust Blair again, as Guide, friend, or lover?
And he acts like he doesn't understand why I'm so upset. Either doesn't understand, or doesn't care. I'm hoping that it's lack of understanding.
I'm angry. Hell, I'm beyond angry. I'm not sure they have words to describe what I'm feeling right now. Although enraged grief comes close. When he climbed off me, he settled down on the couch by my side, reached for the remote, and clicked over to a sports program. "Here ya go, Big Guy. I know you missed this Bulls game when it was first broadcast." So casual. Like he hadn't just gotten through filling my ass with his spunk.
I stared at him in disbelief. The flickering light of the tube played over his face. It was the first time in weeks that I'd seen him look calm. Oh, there'd been times when he'd looked blank, but those were scary. Now he looked almost serene.
I feel some of my anger begin to drain away in bewilderment. What is happening here? He's totally different than he was a moment ago.
It's the sickness. It has to be. More and more I'm convinced that it isn't just emotional. There has to be some sort of organic problem. Maybe a chemical imbalance? He had such a shock to his system in Germany. Maybe the flood of adrenaline never really let up. If his adrenal gland is stuck in over drive, couldn't that account for the restlessness, the aggression, even the personality change?
Another, more chilling possibility strikes me. What about brain tumors? They have been known to cause sudden and dangerous personality changes. Like that guy Whitman, in Texas. By all accounts he lived an ordinary life. Then he started having mood swings, violent outbursts. One day, out of the blue, he kills his wife and his mother, climbs up an observation tower at a university, and proceeds to kill thirteen people before the police can take him apart. An autopsy, which he requested in a note he left, found a brain tumor.
It's a possibility. Or am I grasping at straws? Dammit, I want it to be physical. I don't want to believe that Blair could be so callus. I find it hard to believe that he could be capable of such an act, and I never suspected it. We've lived together for four years. I should have seen some sign, but I've never known him to be anything but gentle, kind, and caring.
I'm not going to report it. I can scarcely believe that, but that's how it is. My 'cop voice' is railing at me, ranting about all the times I felt frustrated when I'd sit across from a battered, weeping woman (and yes, a few men, too) who was refusing to press charges because, "He really loves me. He didn't mean to. It just got out of hand." And I'd wonder how a seemingly intelligent person could deceive themselves so thoroughly.
Not me, I'd think. Never me. And now I'm reminded of something my father had said to me before. I understand it now. Never say 'I'd never do that', Jim. You don't know what you'll do till you're in that situation. Things look a lot different when you're inside, looking out. I think I finally understand what he meant.
No, I won't report it. For one thing, we aren't supposed to be having this relationship. Oh, they wouldn't...couldn't fire us. But life could become hellish. I know the attitudes of some of the officers. Our records would go straight out the window, as far as they were concerned, if it were learned that we were sleeping together. And there's a real possibility that someday we could call for back up, and it would be... delayed. I don't like to think about that, but I can't ignore it.
And even if that didn't factor into the situation... No matter how we try, rape is an embarrassing crime. Particularly if you are a man, worse if the perpetrator is your chosen partner (that brings it under domestic violence), and particularly humiliating when you are the physically stronger of the two. I doubt if many people would believe that Blair could overcome me with sheer brute force, and I can't explain about the zones. I can imagine what a defense attorney would make of that.
I'm drawn out of my mental rambling by the feel of his hand on my thigh. He's engrossed in the game, but he has his hand on my leg, stroking idly. Like he's petting a cat. I shove his hand away. He looks over at me. One dark brow lifts. "So, it's gonna be like that, is it?"
"Blair," I have to stop. I feel like I'm choking. He doesn't say anything, just watches me, waiting for me to speak. I finally get to where I can continue. "What did you expect? A thank you?" God, that sounds lame. Like a petulant child.
He shrugs. "Just a little sex, Jim. Sorry if I was too rough. Didn't mean to be. But you got off."
As if a few seconds of pleasure were compensation for violating my body and trust. "Blair... you raped me." Another shrug, and his expression is sullen once again. "I don't understand what's gotten into you."
Now his smile has a nasty edge. "You have, Jim. Many, many times. I just figured it was my turn."
"But... Why didn't you just ask me?"
He studies me. "Would you have let me?"
"Yes."
He looks back at the screen. "Then what's the problem? You would have, I did. Let it go."
"It's not the same, and you know it."
"You want me to go, Jim?"
"It's too late for you to be running around..."
He looks at me again, and there is a hardness in his eyes I haven't seen before. "No. Do you want me to go? Permanently." I freeze. Leave? Leave me? He continues. "Because I can. I have someplace to go now."
He means von Glower. And yes, the baron would take him in. Would welcome him with open arms and a hungry smile, I have no doubt of that.
Is that what I want? This has been a horrible incident, a betrayal that has me feeling bruised and bloody of spirit. But do I want to lose Blair because of it? When there's a chance that it wasn't really BLAIR? Am I ready to go back to the hollow ache that marked my days before he came into my life?
No.
No matter how little sense it makes, I still love him. I still want him. I can't imagine my life without him. There has to be a way to make this right, and I'll find it.
"No, Blair. I don't want you to leave." His dark blue eyes search my face, and he nods slowly.
"I am sorry, Jim. I like it so much, I figured you would, too." He gives me a crooked smile. "Guess things are a little different for an alpha male." This time when he slides his arm around my shoulder, I don't pull away. I force myself to relax against him, resting my head on his shoulder. He sighs in contentment, and starts stroking my hair.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I need to see about setting up a doctor's appointment. Maybe even a hospital stay for a battery of tests. Blood work, EKG, CAT scan, resonant imaging, X rays...the works. And maybe a psychological battery while he's there.
He won't want to do it. I may have to report the rape, unofficially, to Simon, to have help in getting him committed for observation if he won't co-operate. Now I'm feeling guilty. But it's for his sake, as well as the sake of the relationship.
I love you, Blair. No matter what. I don't want to lose you.
Shaky Alliance
Gabriel's POV
They say that Washington state has some real pretty country. Wild country. That sort of thing never interested me before. I've always been a city boy, never had much use for the rough. But now I'm seein' things differently. I find myself thinkin' 'bout shadowed greenery, an' the smell of damp leaves. The way the moon would look through the lace work of branches overhead...
But I won't be seein' that here in Cascade, I suppose. It's a big city. There may be a park somewhere in its depths, but I don't have time to seek it out. I've got pressin' matters to attend to. Urgent matters. The moon is almost full.
I find a room in a little motel near the airport. The desk clerk eyes me, an' asks for cash. I don't blame him much. I know that I don't look exactly mainstream these days. I can't keep the edginess out of my eyes, my voice. I can't stand still, I'm movin' constantly. He assumes that I'm on somethin' illegal. I almost wish that was it. You can go to a clinic for help with that sort of sickness. There ain't any twelve step program to help with what's got me by the throat.
After I dump my things, I head directly to the Cascade Police Department. At the front desk, a policewoman turns politely from the computer screen she is scanning to greet me. I notice how white her throat is against the dark of her uniform.
"I'm lookin' for Detective Blair Sandburg."
"He's with Major Crimes. But he's on leave right now."
"Can you give me his address? I need to talk to him."
"No, I'm sorry. We can't give out personal information like that. You understand."
Yeah, I understand, but it doesn't mean it don't make me angry. "Look, this is urgent." My tone is harsh, and she frowns. I draw myself back in. Careful, Gabe, ol' son. There's 'bout a ton of cops just out of sight, ready to kick your ass into next week if you get out of line. "Please. Isn't there any way I could get a message to him?"
"You could try giving a message to his partner, I suppose. He could pass it along, maybe arrange for a meeting. It's upstairs, straight ahead, then to your right."
I take the stairs. I can't stand the thought right now of bein' cooped up in the elevator. I race up the flight, takin' it two steps at a time, tryin' to burn off some of the energy that's buzzin' through me.
I recognize him when I enter the room. Jim Ellison, the tall, dark haired man from the clearing in Germany, and, later, the lodge. He is sitting at a desk, and seems to be absorbed in paper work. Seems.
He's holdin' a sheet of paper, starin' at it. But he's too still. He doesn't shift or blink at all. The only motion is the shallow rise and fall of his breath. His pupils are dilated, his gaze unfocussed. It's almost as if he's in some sort of a trance.
He's the only one in the room right now, so there's no one to ask about his condition. But it can't be normal. I go to him and look a little more closely. His pupils are enormous, his irises no more than a light ring around dark pools. He looks like he's been drugged.
He's a handsome man, no doubt about that. But he's not at his best right now. Even with the blankness of his expression, I can see traces of strain in his face. He looks older than he did in Germany, like he's gone through a lot in just a couple of weeks. I think about what I've been goin' through. He's livin' with a man who's most likely experiencin' the same thing. Yes, that would be a trial, especially if they were... close.
I feel like it's important that I snap him out of whatever sort of funk he's gotten himself into. Besides the fact that he can't answer my questions like this...it's disturbing to see such a strong man in such a helpless position. And he is helpless. I sense that. I could kill him right now, and he'd die without a whimper, never knowin' what had happened.
What should I do? I've heard that it's dangerous to wake up someone who's sleep walkin' suddenly. Is this anythin' like that? "Ellison." I speak softly. "Jim?" No response. I touch his shoulder gently. "Jim, can you hear me, buddy? Come back here. I don't know where you've gone, but you need to come back." I shake him lightly.
He blinks slowly. The paper quivers in his hand, then lowers, an inch at a time. He blinks again. His pupils slowly contract to a normal width, and he sighs, shakin' his head. He glances up at me, and there is a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "Sorry. I... uh... I get distracted, sometimes. What can I do for..." He trails off, starin' at me. I see recognition building. "You. Knight?"
"Gabriel." I offer my hand. His is warm, the grip brief and direct.
"I guess your little friend found you, then."
"Gracie? Yeah. She's a pistol, ain't she? Came after me like the marines stormin' Normandy."
"So...you're all right, then?" There is hesitation in the question, and hope. But I can see what sort of answer he's expectin'.
"No, I'm really not. And I think you guessed that already."
He gets up, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. "Let's go somewhere. We can't talk here."
I follow him out of the station. I find myself watchin' the flex of his haunches in his tight jeans as he moves in front of me. He's big, and he's healthy, and he's in his prime. I can't help wonderin' what it would be like...Him and me. Who'd end up on top? Either way...
It's after breakfast, and before lunch, and the little coffee shop we end up in is quiet. We get a booth at the end, and the waitress sets us up with coffee. Ellison's cup rattles against his saucer as he sets it back down after a token sip.
There's so much that needs to be said, needs to be discussed. But he can't seem to find the words to begin, so I do. "How's your partner?"
He looks up sharply, and the pain in his eyes is almost physical. He starts to say somethin', but no words come out. Then he puts his elbows on the table and presses his face into his hands. His voice is muffled. "Something is wrong. Something is so wrong."
I don't say anythin' else. I give him time to collect himself, and he does. After a minute, he sighs, and lowers his hands. He looks more tired and hurt than any man should be. "I knew there was going to be problems after what happened to him. My God, you can't go through something like that without it leaving emotional scars. I... I thought I was prepared."
"Tell me about it."
He shrugs. "It's like he's a different person. He was always energetic, but now he's... he's hyper. It's like he's about to jump out of his skin, all the time. And he was always an easy going, good natured person. Naturally cheerful, you know? Now he's either morose, or irritated. It's constant. And he's started to be... hurtful." A pause. His voice is low. "Not just emotionally, either."
I nod. "Same sort of thing is happenin' to me. I don't like it, but I can admit it. I've been bein' a real bastard to everyone around me for the past couple of weeks. I didn't used to be. Time was, I was real easy to get along with. Not since that night in the woods, though. Anythin' else?"
"Yeah. There's been physical changes, too. He HEALS too fast. The scar from the wound on his shoulder is already starting to fade, like it's years old."
"How was Blair injured, Jim? I didn't have time to see much out there in the forest, and I was out of it at the lodge."
Ellison's face is pale. "He beat Blair, and raped him. The fucker even bit a chunk out of his shoulder."
I sit up straighter. "He bit him?"
"Yeah. They gave him a tetanus shot, just in case."
"I was bitten, too."
"Yeah?" Jim frowns. "Those wolves they were talking about..."
"Jim, you're maybe gonna think I'm crazy, with what I'm about to tell you, but I swear that this is the truth. I went into that wood to hunt Von Zell. I knew he was crazy, a murderer. But I knew what else he was, too. I shot a wolf, Jim. It was Von Zell's body that they found afterwards."
He stares at me, and I wait for him to tell me how crazy I am. Or else to cautiously agree, all the while thinking of how he can call someone to put me somewhere safe. Instead, he nods slowly. "You believe me?"
"If I'd heard such a thing before I went to Peru, I probably wouldn't have. But now... I've seen things. I've experienced them. Hell, I am an odd occurrence. What you're suggesting is the only possible explanation that covers everything. The question is, what do we do now? Is there any cure?"
I look him directly in the face. "I don't know."
Jim's POV
He's lying. His heart rate just spiked. But he made a point of meeting my eyes when he said that. If he does know a way to fight this thing, why would he keep it secret?
"Does any of this have anything to do with Baron von Glower?" Again the heart rate speeds. But his expression remains neutral.
"What would make you think that?"
"Come on, Knight. He's a linking thread. He was Von Zell's friend, and fellow lodge member. He was out with you when you shot Von Zell. He was very, very solicitous about you and Blair, and very insistent about having our stories straight, to tell the authorities. And then he shows up, here..."
His eyes almost glow. "You've seen him?"
"Yes. He came here yesterday. A man doesn't travel halfway around the world out of idle curiosity. He came for a reason. I think he came for Blair."
"That's possible. I know from personal experience that the good baron is a very determined man. He goes after what he wants. An' it doesn't matter a hell of a lot if what he wants, wants him back. If you know what I mean."
"I think I do. But...that isn't necessarily the case here."
Gabriel's POV
He's hurtin'. He's fuckin' wounded Von Glower must have his claws sunk deep in little Blair. It hasn't been easy for me to resist, an' I have the blood of the Ritters and the history an' traditions of the schattenjaeger to bolster me. I had Gracie, an' Gerde, an' the Smiths, who had some idea of what we were up against.
My brother-in-blood has been runnin' in the dark. As scared as I've been, he must've been terrified. To someone in that state, vulnerable, von Glower could appear like a godsend. He'd have answers, he could offer experience and understanding. You run to your own kind.
But he isn't our kind, Blair's and mine. Not yet, not fully. We haven't killed. We're hoverin', but not yet damned. There is still a chance for us.
But I'm not sure it's a chance I can take. I'm not a natural born killer. I've had that role more or less thrust upon me. I'm able to defend myself, I have no problem fighting to protect others. But the solution to this problem would seem to involve cold blooded assassination. I don't know if I can do that. I'm not sure I want to be able to do that.
Right now, I want to ease the hurt of the man sittin' across from me. "It isn't like he's just wooin' your friend away from you, Ellison. Blair really wouldn't have any defense against this man. What he's put inside him... it's like a drug. Your friend is worse off than an addict right now, Jim. And von Glower isn't the pusher, he is the drug."
I put my hand over his. It trembles slightly. He isn't a man who touches easily. But he doesn't pull away. "Just remember that it really isn't him. It's somethin' inside him."
"I know. But I can see glimpses of the old Blair sometimes. Then he'll do something so hateful..." He shudders. What did that boy do to this man? He laughs shakily. "I... last night. I was hoping it was something physical. An imbalance they could give him a pill for. A tumor they could slice out neatly. Isn't that twisted? I wanted him to be sick rather than to think that he could... he could do that to me." And I think I know what happened. I even think I know how it happened. He hit one of those trance states, like the one I found him in this morning, and Blair took advantage.
That would be devastating to a man like Jim Ellison on so many different levels. It would strike at him both as a man, and as a person. I can't imagine that Jim has been a victim very many times in his life, and I don't expect he can deal with it very well. It would be bad enough if a stranger did something like that, but a friend? A partner, someone you trusted with your safety, and your very life? A lover?
"It's the taint, Jim. It makes us savage. I'm fightin' it myself. I almost raped the best friend I have in the world." He draws in his breath sharply, like I've stabbed him. He tries to pull his hand away, but I hold on tight. "If she hadn't brought me back to my senses, I would have. I would have hurt her, an' enjoyed doin' it. An' I've never had the desire to force myself on anyone in my whole life. But it wasn't so much sex right then. It was power. I was frustrated, an' angry, an' that was one thing I could do. I felt like it was something I could control. But I realize now that it was a complete loss of control. That's how it is with your partner. He isn't in control. Anything he does to you, you can be sure that von Glower either ordered it, or inspired it."
"I want to believe that." His voice is a whisper. "What can we do to help Blair? Stop von Glower?"
I begin to tell him about the legends that Gracie found in her research.
