Lust Bites (2 page)

And she looked back at the fox, remembering another tale of two stranded explorers who'd survived for weeks by drinking each other's blood. A man and a boy, she seemed to think, stuck on the coast. Yes, they'd drunk blood from a shoe, that was it.

Halogen light danced over the dead fox. Its throat sparkled like spilt rubies, the stained snow glittering like crushed pink glass. And Esther thought of those two men gazing at a frozen ocean, the blood thick and warm in their mouths.

She screwed her eyes shut, wishing she didn't think these things. Iciness stippled her cheeks as snowflakes hit. She wished she could clear her mind and escape all the stories. Out here, they always seemed too real.

To the untrained eye,
Hope's End
was nothing but a blip on the landscape, a hump of snow in a waste of ice. A Cold War relic modelled on igloo curves, it had fallen into the hands of the vampire community when one or two significant maps had been redrawn, and one or two significant people had been killed, easy things to achieve when there are vampires in high places. Mortals might be surprised by the number of monsters at the Pentagon.

No, you wouldn't know the camp was there. Its entrance was a crevice in a bank of snow zig-zagging down to the building itself, a huge high-tech dome with comfortable living quarters, two redundant research labs, a gym, a sun room and vast amounts of storage space. Its inner walls were formed of billowing curves that had something to do with tensile architecture and insulated breeze block. Billy didn't know how it worked. All he knew was that it did; and that was thanks to the billions of dollars invested in military science.

All this sophistication at the vampires' service, and Suzanne had nearly blown it. Billy was furious. He strode down the corridor, combat boots thumping, in one hand a dead white fox, in the other a dead white hare. His muscles flexed beneath his white T-shirt and dustings of snow melted in his wake.

Why the hell did she have to turn up? For months, he and Simeon had lived alone, everything fine. Suzanne appears and it's chaos. Fucking chaos.

In the main room of the dome, a sparsely furnished arena where candles cast shadows onto curved white walls, Suzanne lay naked on a polar bear rug. Her honey-pale limbs and honey-blonde curls gleamed in the fake firelight. The polar bear was open-jawed, head fixed in a mute roar. By Suzanne's side was Renfield, their pet cat, a fluffy vampire pedigree, purring contentedly as Suzanne plucked single strands from its silvery blue fur.

Billy slung the two carcasses across the room. Streaks of blood smeared on the faux stone floor as the bodies skidded towards the rug. The cat scarpered with a yowl and the animals lay there, glassy-eyed, old blood clogging their white fur like damson jelly.

Suzanne recoiled. 'Ugh,' she cried, rolling away with her hand to her mouth. 'Oh, that's rank!'

Billy's face was impassive, his voice quietly menacing. 'It's your kill,' he said.

'Oh, take it away,' complained Suzanne. 'I'm sorry, OK? Now, take it away.'

She turned to face the fire, presenting Billy with her pert little ass, hand still clamped to her mouth. He wasn't moved in the slightest, not today.

'You need to clean up after yourself, Suzanne,' he warned.

'I forgot,' said Suzanne.

'People are trekking out there. All it takes is one stupid –'

'I know, I know,' said Suzanne. 'It won't happen again.'

'I know it won't,' said Billy. 'Because, if it does, I will chain you up in the play room. I will deny you sex and blood. And you will be so tormented you'll start wishing you were mortal.'

Billy ran his hand over his head, palm skimming his beige-blond mohawk. Broad-chested and lightly tanned, he cut a punkish military figure in khakis, tight T-shirt and scuffed army boots. Some vampires found him scary. Suzanne, damn her, wasn't one of them.

She rolled onto her back, knees flopping wide. 'Do you want to fuck?' she cooed, splaying herself with her fingers. Shadows danced on her skin, and beneath her trimmed golden pubes, her scarlet slit glinted.

'No.' Billy meant it. She was too obvious. He was already bored of her.

'Oh, c'mon, Billy Boy. There's nothing to do around here. Just a little fuck.' Suzanne squashed her breasts together and waggled a pointy, lascivious tongue at him.

Billy ignored her and went to retrieve the carcasses just as Simeon wandered into the room, three large phials in his hand. A pallid lanky figure with bony features and long black hair, he had that air of Transyl-vanian nobility Billy really went for.

When Simeon spotted the carcasses, he drawled, 'Oh, must we make the place untidy?'

He flicked his head, making his black hair swing, a theatrical gesture that today irked Billy. The two men had been together centuries (though it was a bit on-off) and, having no reflections, were more familiar with each other's face than their own. 'I don't know where you end and I begin,' Simeon used to say in the nineteenth century when they were tragically in love, as was the fashion.

In some ways, those blurred boundaries would always hold true. Billy often felt he could only see himself through Simeon's eyes. 'You have the most perfect straight nose,' Simeon would say. Or, 'Your eyes are palest green with black rings around them. Weirdly bright, so intense. And yet, wow, almost translucent.' Recently, he'd declared that Billy's eyes were as wild and luminous as a husky dog's. They were always trying to describe each other's eyes. 'Violets,' Billy would say to Simeon, tonguing his eyelids closed. 'And amethysts. So fucking dangerous.'

Billy grabbed the carcasses by their hind legs. 'Your cousin's a disgrace,' he said.

'He's bullying me,' simpered Suzanne. 'Make him stop.'

The fox's tongue lolled as Billy slung it over his shoulder, carrying it with the dead hare to the snow pit outside. On his return, he found Renfield licking streaks of blood from the floor and Suzanne and Simeon each with a phial of Blud. The pool balls had been racked up on the table.

'Blud?' Simeon threw a phial to Billy. He caught it deftly. Along its length, etched white lettering stood out against the red liquid contents.
BLUD™: FOR VAMPIRES WITH A HEART.

Billy had a heart. He hadn't tasted human blood for 26 years (except once), animal blood for ten. He'd gone cold turkey the moment Esther had been reborn because he wanted to devour her. He wanted her warm blood pulsing down his throat, her heartbeat filling him with life as she expired, just as it had done the first time in a courtyard in Constantinople. She'd tasted so good then, her blood flowing so sweetly, her neck as soft as a peach.

Almost 300 years later, and her death was still the most beautiful experience he'd known. Unless he quit human feeding, she'd either be dead again in no time or he'd make her a vampire. Either way, she'd be lost to him, and neither was an act of love.

He snapped off the top of his Blud and downed it in one. He tried to repress a shudder as the liquid slipped down his throat then he dashed the phial into the fire. The flames blazed green for a brief roaring moment.

'Hmm, well,' said Simeon, offended. 'Cheers everybody.' He and Suzanne raised their phials, Suzanne taking three sugar cubes from a pewter bowl on the hearth, adding them to her Blud before drinking it through a straw.

Simeon and Suzanne drank Blud to supplement their real feeding. Pickings were slim on the ice. Sometimes Simeon went to the coast and returned with tales of polar bears and all the blubber he had to bite through. But Billy knew he fed on the Inuit. He could see the flush in his cheeks and it made him so hot. When Simeon had tasted mortals, Billy wanted to fuck his brains out.

'Yuck,' said Simeon.

'Bleurgh,' said Suzanne. 'I vote we kill those trekkers. Tonight.'

Emerald flames surged twice.

'Can't you for once drink it without complaint?' said Billy.

'Oh, for God's sake, chill,' snapped Simeon, crossing to the CDs. 'I'm sick of this, absolutely sick of it. Some little whore from your past turns up and you –'

Billy was onto him instantly, moving with preternatural speed, a blur trailing behind him. Simeon's jet black bob sliced the air, his expression stunned as Billy slammed him against a wall, forcing him into an armlock.

'Jesus!'

Simeon's right cheek was squashed to the wall and Billy whispered in his other ear, his words slow and threatening. 'Don't you ever say anything like that again. Ever.' The two vampires stayed still, breathing heavily. Nostrils flared in Simeon's big aristocratic nose and candlelight cast a silvery patch on his black hair.

'Her name's Esther,' murmured Billy. 'Say it. Say Esther.'

Simeon remained silent until he was prompted by an extra twist of his arm. 'Esther, Esther,' he said.

Billy gave him a hard shove then stalked off.

'Esther,' repeated Simeon, wriggling his shoulders and stepping away. 'Remind me why you guys never hit it off. Oh, that's right. You accidentally killed her. How could I forget?'

Billy had him up against the wall in a flash, arm twisting high again. Simeon yelped in pain.

'You've never loved,' accused Billy.

Simeon gasped in outrage. 'Hah!' he said. 'Hah! And I'm here because ... because what? Fancied a change? Got bored of humans so thought I'd up-sticks and go feed on ... on Arctic fucking lemmings? And synthetic fucking blood?'

Billy twisted his arm even higher. 'Never loved!' continued Simeon. 'Well, what am I doing in this dump? Is it because ... because I think you're kind of OK? Kinda cute? Or because I ... Ouch! God knows why ... You get off on coming here. But, you know what? I find it a pretty big deal. I hate it, hate it. I'm only doing it for you because I care. And I am actually suffering quite majorly.'

'You enjoy suffering,' hissed Billy.

'Jesus Christ, man, you are such a cunt.'

Billy slammed Simeon's body to the wall once more. His erection was thickening and he pressed it against Simeon's butt.

'It's not even the same woman,' accused Simeon. 'It was centuries ago. Ever heard the phrase time to move on?'

'It's the same soul,' breathed Billy.

'And that gets you hard, does it?'

Billy grasped a handful of Simeon's hair, pulling his head back so his throat arched. His Adam's apple made a voluptuous jut in that long stubble-flecked neck, a sight that flooded Billy with memories. 'Oh, if you were mortal.'

'And what?' challenged Simeon in a stretched, reedy voice. 'You'd do what you did to her? Love me to death? Or what you did to me? Make me a vampire, possess me and make me yours?'

Billy tugged Simeon's head back still further, his grip tightening on his hair.

'You don't give a person room to breathe,' wheezed Simeon. 'That's not love, that's suffocation.'

Billy jerked Simeon away from the wall, clasping arm and hair to frogmarch him across the room. He forced him over the pool table, pressing his head onto the turquoise baize. The white ball span away and bounced off the side cushion.

'You're jealous,' murmured Billy. He tugged Simeon's flies open, pushing down his clothes to bare his pale slender ass, wisps of dark hair fringing his crack. Simeon's erection bounced free and Billy leant over him, wrapping his fingers around that big sturdy shaft. He wanked him gently. 'Jealous,' mocked Billy, his lips behind Simeon's ear.

Simeon lay still, breathing hard and saying nothing as Billy's fist shunted along his cock, and Billy's crotch dug into his buttocks. After a while, in a tender mannered voice, Simeon whispered, 'Yes. I'm jealous. What of it?'

A surge of respect and lust nearly knocked Billy for six. Hurriedly, he unzipped and let his pants drop to his knees. 'Get your top off,' he said in a quiet command and Simeon obliged. He groaned as Billy rubbed saliva into the puckered bud of his asshole, and worked his fingers in to open him up. Billy pumped his fingers, gazing at the shifting sinew of Simeon's back, at the wings of his shoulder blades and the way candleflame and shadow rippled over his ivory skin.

It was a perfect back. Billy withdrew and clasped his own cock, blood-hard in his fist. He loved Simeon like this: submissive after a row, horny, sluttish and spread. He spat onto his fingers, moistening himself before pushing at Simeon's ring with his fat, flushed glans.

'You fucker,' said Billy tenderly. Slowly he eased forwards, meeting the circlet of muscle, forcing himself past its resistance as Simeon exulted and cursed, fingernails clawing the turquoise cloth. Both vampires groaned deeply as Billy slid his meat into the snug silky depths of his lover's ass.

Billy held his breath, his hand against the small of Simeon's back, relishing the hot squeeze around his swollen cock.

'Oh, man,' groaned Simeon. 'You complete me.'

Billy started to fuck him with slow easy lengths. The men breathed with heavy concentration until Billy drew a sharp thumbnail across his lover's back, making Simeon groan. Blood rose to the surface and spread onto Simeon's alabaster skin. God, it was a beautiful sight. Billy slammed harder and faster.

'Oh, man,' said Simeon, jerking himself wildly.

'Jealous,' panted Billy.

'I fucking love you,' gasped Simeon and then he shot his load.

'Ah, fuck,' muttered Billy, going at him like a jackhammer.

The sprawled cat rubbed its belly on the hearth rug, frotting itself to climax. Suzanne, legs wide, masturbated with both hands. 'I love it when you two get off with each other,' she said. 'Makes me want to feed.'

In the lantern-lit log cabin, Margret grinned at the camera, her flushed face dimpling. The ear flaps and tassels of her blue woollen hat hung by her cheeks, giving her the appearance of a jolly medieval Dutch woman.

'If I could have anything in this moment,' she said, 'I would be having a hot bath with bubbles.'

'A glass of beer,' said Johannes as Esther panned to him. 'And some kisses from my young and beautiful girlfriend who I am very much missing.'

Margret acted scandalised and everyone laughed, Bird squeezing his toy accordion to add to the noise.

'And some superior music,' added Johannes, wagging his finger in the air.

'He wants Wagner,' yelled Adrian.

'Hey, you want Wagner?' asked Bird. 'I could give it a go.'

'Ogh!' laughed Johannes. 'Please spare us this attempt. It is too terrible.'

Esther panned to the head of the table, the camcorder recording the coffee mugs and glasses of brandy schnapps to focus briefly on the playing cards laid out in a patience game in front of Doug.

'Dougie?' she said cheerily. 'If you could have anything right now?'

Doug glanced at the camera, brown eyes pinched, and turned quickly away. 'No,' he croaked, raising his hand to shield his face. 'Please.'

Esther flinched. Oh, what a clumsy thing to do.

Johannes clapped Doug on the back. 'Tomorrow will be better, my good man,' he said. 'But now you must rest your foot and your throat and your mind also.'

Esther panned away, recognising how awful it must be to have a bunch of people trying to coerce you into bonhomie when you were feeling low.

'Seems Doug's a little camera shy,' she said lightly. 'Losing his voice too. Unlike Bird here, our entertainment for the evening.' Bird, a thin balding man with a big hooked nose, winked to camera. 'Bird's ambition is to make it into
Heat
magazine.'

'Ah, heat,' said Margret. 'How I would like some heat.'

Bird hoicked his foot up onto the bench. 'You hum it and I'll play it, shweetheart.'

The cabin looked similar to a sauna with its slatted log walls, bunks and benches but the temperature was only just warming up. Propane lanterns hung from the ceiling, their mantles glowing and casting glints onto saucepans and utensils hanging above the cooking area. Three small windows looked out onto the dark icecap, making the interior feel extra cosy. A couple of stoves burned steadily, the smells of coffee, food and fuel lingering in the air. They'd eaten well, a meal of mushroom and chicken pasta followed by a batch of biscuits knocked up by Bird, all topped off with glasses of brandy schnapps in honour of Margret's 32nd birthday.

'Who's for checking out the skidoos?' asked Bird. 'Take 'em for a little whiz across the ice. Make sure everything's shipshape.'

'Oh, yes,' enthused Margret. 'I would like to celebrate my birthday with a small race perhaps.'

'Cool,' said Adrian. 'Wouldn't mind doing a few long exposures as well. That sky's something else tonight.'

'Ah no,' began Johannes. 'I think I would rather stay –' He caught a warning glance from his wife and cut himself short. 'A wonderful idea. I hope we will not be getting stopped for drunk-driving.'

'Essie?' said Bird. 'Do you want to hang here with Doug?'

Bird had a clever way of making orders sound like suggestions.

'Yeah, fine.'

Doug glanced up from his card game and shot Bird a grouchy look.

The other four donned their cold-weather gear and headed for the snowmobiles, stored for trekkers' use in a rudimentary garage. With their absence, the cabin felt awkwardly quiet. The gas lanterns purred faintly and Doug's cards made a plasticky snap. Esther wrote her expedition blog, stylus-tapping her entry on her palmtop. 'The wind was strong when we broke camp this morning and Adrian's sleeping bag pad was blown away. We laughed as he tried to run after it.'

Doug broke the silence. 'I shouldn't have come,' he said, his voice dry and strained. 'I don't think I can hack it.'

He looked at Esther and his eyes, scanning nervously, seemed to demand something of her. His beard was growing out of shape already, and he had a hint of wildness in his manner. For Doug to be showing signs of instability already was a worry. It was well known the solitude of the ice could send people crazy, and anxiety, irritation and depression weren't uncommon. All that nothingness affected a person.

The Long Eye, they called it, or the thousand-mile stare. Esther had seen photos of explorers gazing right through the camera, right through the viewer. Their eyes were blank, their expressions suggesting they were seeing some incommunicable horror beyond. She'd heard of how their thoughts would warp, drifting from reality to abstraction. But in the pictures, they didn't look as if they had thoughts. They looked hollowed out, the living dead.

But this happened to people in extreme conditions, usually Antarctica. This was a trek that had barely begun and they'd arrived, more or less, at the end of a winter-long night. The sun was coming. But it was difficult. No one knew how they'd react. If you were a person with issues, an Arctic winter would always be a problem – how do you make the darkness go away?

'Hey, don't worry,' said Esther. 'Everyone gets like this. You're probably readjusting. Today's been a slog but we'll soon –'

'No,' rasped Doug. 'I'm going to fuck it up. I know it. I'm going to fuck it up for everyone. I'm going to –'

'No, you're not. We won't let you. The only way –'

'You know what drives me mad?' Doug interrupted. 'The noise. The noise of all the crap hanging from my parka. Compass, knife, clips. Torch. Zippers. Flapping. Everything flapping. And rustling. Every step. It's all noise, noise, noise. I can still hear it. All day it's been driving me mad. It's in my head. Clanking and tinkling and rustling.' Doug slapped and brushed at his chest as if trying to dislodge insects. 'It's like some ... some horrible metal orchestra. Torture. A special torture designed to –'

'Doug, take it easy,' said Esther. 'You need to rest your throat. You're doing great, I swear. You just need a good night's –'

'Like last night? In the tent? Me and you?'

Outside, a couple of snowcats started up, engines coughing before they murmured into life. Esther wished Bird hadn't left them alone.

'Last night shouldn't have happened,' she said. 'Can we maybe try and forget –'

'Don't fuck with me, Essie.' Doug dashed his hand across the table, scattering his deck of cards. 'Just ... don't give me that shit. Don't give me regrets. Not now. Not here.' He stood briskly then crossed to stand in front of a small window, hands in his pockets.

Esther allowed a silence to pass before addressing his reflection in the glass. 'Sorry. Listen, I didn't meant to hurt you by –'

'You didn't hurt me,' said Doug. 'But don't start making out it was my fault, pretending you didn't –'

'I'm not doing that,' said Esther. 'All I'm saying is maybe we should, you know, leave it a while. It's not right. It's not us. We're on the ice. It's a weird place. Emotions get screwed up. We weren't really thinking straight last night, were we? We were stupid, so stupid. We've got weeks out here. I know it's a crappy old cliché but, well, can we just be friends? Go back to how things were?'

For a long time Doug didn't reply. A couple more snowmobiles were revved up outside and the engines grew loud before fading into the distance. They were very much alone now, the rest of the team skidding across the ice under a massive sky fluttering with a tinge of greenish phosphorescence.

'Look,' said Esther, 'if something's bugging you, talk to me or to one of the others. Don't bottle it up.' She stood to go and stand next to him then changed her mind. Instead, she cleared some space on the table and sat there looking at his back, her soft-booted feet on the bench.

'And what could you do about it?' asked Doug. His voice thinned out and broke into a brief coughing fit

Esther shrugged. 'Listen, maybe?'

Doug turned to face her, his eyes fierce and troubled. Esther wondered if that was the look he'd been concealing behind snow goggles all day.

'I've nothing to say,' he said hoarsely. 'Nothing.'

'Doug, please,' said Esther. 'Don't take it out on ...' She trailed off, realising she was getting annoyed. She didn't want them to get into an argument.

'Take it out on you?' said Doug. 'Is that what you were going to say? Don't take it out on me? What? Like I did last night?' He stopped to cough, wheezing till the coughs were almost silent. 'I thought you enjoyed it. I thought you liked it when I –'

'Ease up, Doug,' said Esther, her tone dark with warning anger. 'I'm not having this conversation, OK? And you need to shut up for the sake of your health.'

Doug turned to the window again, either gazing at his own reflection or out into the night. Esther couldn't tell. A long time seemed to pass. It was so quiet, nothing but the faintest ripple of gas lanterns to ease the coldness of the silence. Esther thought it was over and she might return to writing her blog. She was on the point of getting down from the table-top when Doug swung round, crossing to her with a couple of brisk paces. He stood by the bench where her feet were planted and forced her knees wide.

Esther recoiled instantly then held very still, quelling her fight or flight instinct. Doug stayed there, hands on her spread knees, examining her face, an unpleasant smile on his chapped lips.

'I should save my voice,' he rasped.

Esther returned his gaze, and after a while said, 'You should back off.'

Doug nudged her knees a fraction wider, taunting her with his defiance, the smile turning into a challenging little leer.

Out here, there was a darkness about Doug, a sense of threat that Esther found unsettling and, if she were being honest, horribly attractive. And yet even while she was attracted, she was repulsed by this faultline she saw opening up, by Doug's neediness and unpredictability.

It's this
place,
she told herself. It's not really him.

Scared yet half-aroused by his boldness, Esther was doing her best to think straight. She had two situations to consider: this immediate problem between her and Doug plus the bigger problem of how it would impact on the team. Her priority was the team, always the team. If it weren't for them, she'd be fighting back. And it was probably a good thing she wasn't because keeping Doug calm was likely her best way forwards.

'Let's cool it, shall we?' she suggested. 'Maybe you take your hands off my knees and step back a little.' Esther was wearing thick insulating layers and she felt both protected and hampered by her clothing.

Doug gave her knees another widening nudge, still watching and smiling vaguely. Esther's heart began to bump. He wasn't backing off. She didn't know what to do or how to play it. Fear made her swallow hard. 'Dougie, please. Let's not fall out. Come on. Let's make some tea and sit down.'

It happened so fast. Doug lunged for her, a foot on the bench and then he was clambering on to the table, pushing her back. Esther cried out, wriggling away. Glass smashed, plastic mugs bounced, Esther's palm-top was sent flying.

'Doug! Get off me!'

He was above her, wild-eyed and strong, and she noticed all the different browns in his beard and the stippled hints of red. He pinned her down, big hands on her forearms as he crouched over her, his eyes lit with meanness and lust. His breathing came hard and fast, and so did hers.

Esther's face was hot, and blood was thumping in all parts of her body. She hardly knew what she was feeling most: anger or arousal.

'Come on, Essie,' he whispered harshly. 'Give up the goods. I need to rest my voice. No use talking.'

Esther shook her head. 'This isn't on, Doug. I swear I can get you pulled from this trek. I'll go to Bird. We can radio through to base. They'll get a plane sent out and that's it. You're done. All over.'

Doug's smile broadened. 'Sounds great,' he breathed. 'What time do they land?'

'Doug,' said Esther, as levelly as she could. 'Get the fuck off me.'

He pulled back slightly, taking his hands off her arms and placing them on the table. Esther was free to move but she didn't. She lay beneath his straddling crouch, suspicious of the semi-liberation he'd given her, and not quite wanting this to be over.

They locked eyes and, perhaps because Esther wasn't fighting, there was a shift in Doug's manner. Confusion flitted across his face and the hard brown glitter in his eyes melted.

He frowned. 'Essie,' he whispered. 'What's going on?'

Esther stayed silent, trusting neither his mood nor her own.

'Have I frightened you?' he asked.

Esther lowered her gaze, unable to reply. Yes, she thought, yes you have. But not in the way you think. I'm not frightened of you. I'm frightened of the way you make me feel, of the way I want you to pin me down and fuck me, careless and uncomplicated.

'Essie,' he said, and his voice was tender and frail. He tipped her chin, making her look up at him again. He had such rich eyes and the ragged beard hid his features, making him mysterious and secretive. It was Doug, and yet it wasn't. His lips were cracked and dry, and his eyes were shadowed with tiredness as if he'd spent a night on the tiles. She liked that too, liked the way he looked big and threatening but vulnerable. She wanted to take his raw lower lip between her own, run her tongue along his sores and soothe him with her moisture.

'Ess.' Doug reached to touch her face. His fingers stroked down her cheek and, because it was dangerous and they mustn't, Esther turned her face aside.

The last thing she expected to see was a pair of eyes at the window. But there they were, green eyes peering in at them. Then they moved fast, faster than anything she knew, and they were gone, leaving only an image of a face melting down the square of glass.

Esther screamed, body jerking beneath Doug's.

Doug leapt back, palms open in surrender.

'Sorry! Sorry!' he rasped, off the table now and standing. 'Essie, sorry.'

But Esther kept screaming. They were miles from anywhere, yet something had stood and watched them. The image lingered, a pair of eyes bright with pale-green luminosity.