Need (24 page)

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Authors: Todd Gregory

BOOK: Need
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And I watched as my brothers gagged Sebastian so he couldn't speak, couldn't work his magic, and somehow I knew that witches had to be able to speak the words out loud, else their magic had no power.
They tied him spread-eagled to the bed in the same fashion as I had been, only they tied him facedown so that his big muscular ass was turned up to the air, and I saw Clint step out of his pants and mount him and start fucking him.
And I watched as they all took their turn mounting him, humiliating him as they raped him, as he screamed through the gag in his mouth, and tears of humiliation and anger and rage streamed from his eyes, and despite what he had wanted to do to me, what he had planned to do to me, I could not help but feel pity for him, for I would not wish such a fate on any other person.
And when they had satisfied their lusts, their desire to exhibit their vampiric power over the witch who'd dared to capture a baby vampire to drink from and kill, they slit his throat, and blood gushed everywhere, and I saw their eyes glitter with hunger for it.
And then Jean-Paul returned, carrying a boy in his arms, a beautiful young boy whose body was similar to mine, whose coloring and bone structure of his face could pass as mine from a distance, and I knew the boy was dead, his neck broken because there was no way anyone's head could lie at that angle and still be alive, and I knew then what I'd always known but refused to acknowledge—that they'd murdered some boy to take my place.
And Jean-Paul and my brothers took the candles and started fires, setting the house aflame as they worked their way back to the front door, and by the time they closed the door behind them, the back of the house was a roaring inferno, and the roof caught fire, and there was the scream of fire sirens through the misty night as they locked the door of our house behind them.
And I saw myself standing in front of St. Louis Cathedral in the twilight, watching a young man walk across the square while talking on his cell phone, and I saw myself start to follow him, and then—
I came, my entire body jerking, and I was out of the vision and back into the bedroom of the big mansion, and I was looking down in horror at Nico as he drank my ejaculate.
“It was you,” I whispered, and I knew it was true. “You set everything in motion so I would wind up here.”
He stood, wiping his mouth. “And be with me always. Together, my darling Cord, we are going to rule the world.”
C
HAPTER
14
H
e stepped closer to me and slipped his arms around me, his smile so warm and inviting it was hard to conceive that one so angelic-looking could conceive of something so evil as what he had set in motion.
And as our bare chests came together again, once again I felt another surge of power. I felt like a battery being recharged, power rushing through my veins and into my muscles. I wasn't on fire anymore—this was more like when I accidentally touched the electric fence that kept the cows in back on my grandfather's farm, yet somehow not as unpleasant.
This felt good.
I felt like I was about to levitate, and once again tried to grasp the carpet with my toes. I focused on my breathing until the power surge passed. I didn't want him to know—somehow I knew that he shouldn't know, because I felt like I was draining away his power and if that was true, he would surely kill me to get the power back. My mind was racing, and I knew that I had to get away. No matter how tempting it might seem to stay here in this big mansion, being serviced and servicing the twins every night—every night being an endless erotic dream of sensual pleasure—I couldn't stay here. Of course the twins wanted my stay here to be pleasurable. They didn't want me to ever leave; they wanted me to stay here forever and be their slave, use my power somehow to do their bidding.
Lorenzo didn't know his brother's plan was even more evil than he could possibly imagine, that his brother was planning on using me to kill him.
Killing Lorenzo . . . the very thought made my blood rise, made my dick get even harder than it already was. As much pleasure as he'd given me, as much as I wanted him to give me more, I also knew that I hated him, that he was cruel and evil, and that wasn't my father or the Church of Christ condemning sexuality. Lorenzo enjoyed hurting people, was what my psychology teacher back at Ole Miss would have called a
sociopath.
Lorenzo had to die, and I might have to play along with Nico to make sure that happened.
And then I would worry about getting away from Nico.
My head was spinning, and my feelings were all jumbled up inside me. Sure I was a vampire, but the Christianity was still deeply ingrained in my psyche—
thou shalt not kill.
But those rules only applied to humans, and I was no longer human. Hell, I was no longer just a vampire. I was something more.
“Just be patient.” Nico pressed up against me again. My cock was still hard and sensitive as it pressed against his smooth stomach. He was smiling up at me, and I could see the love in his eyes. I had feelings for him, but they certainly weren't feelings of
love.
Loving him wasn't possible. I was grateful to him—without him I'd still be restrained in that other building, just something to be used and abused by Lorenzo. He had given me his blood, given me more power than I'd ever dreamed was possible.
But he was the one who had set everything up. He was the reason I was a vampire. If not for him, I would have graduated from Ole Miss, would have come out to my parents—all the things that once seemed so horrible and unbearable and impossible to me when I was still human.
And while it was possible becoming a vampire had indeed been the best possible thing for me, I couldn't forgive him for what happened to Jared.
If I had not become a vampire, Jared would still have his own life—and he would not be in that house on Orleans Street, transitioning into a creature he'd never even dreamed existed outside of books and movies.
And as I looked deep into Nico's beautiful green eyes, I could see it all happening. His eyes were like windows into his memory, and I wanted to see it, experience it like I'd been there that night.
Nico had been there, all right.
Jared was getting out of his car. He had parked on Esplanade Avenue, between Royal and Chartres. He was happy, in a good mood. He'd just left his office in the Central Business District and had had a great day at work. He loved his job, and everything was going great. He was living in the carriage house behind his parents' big home in Uptown to save money—he wanted to buy a house sooner rather than later. The only shadow in his life was the fact that he still missed Cord, even felt some guilt about his death. Maybe he shouldn't have let him go off by himself, but they had both been young and didn't think anything bad could ever happen to them. But he'd already discussed it with Tori. They were going to name their first son Cord Logan Holcomb. He marveled again that he was so lucky. He'd met Tori Crawford the very night Cord died, on the parade route at St. Charles. She was beautiful, slender with blond hair and perfect, flawless skin. She was a student at Tulane, originally from up north. She was a couple of years older—she'd graduated from the University of Wisconsin and was working on her master's in public health at Tulane while she worked for a local AIDS nonprofit. She was smart and she was driven and she called him on his shit. After a few hours in her company, he was crazy about her, and when the news about Cord had broken, she'd been great. He didn't think he could have made it through that time without her. He started coming home to New Orleans every weekend, and finally when he graduated and got a job, he asked her to marry him.
He was whistling as he unplugged his iPhone from the car charger and slipped it into his pocket. As soon as he did, it vibrated. He locked the car with a click of the fob attached to his key ring, and clipped his keys to a belt loop. He pulled the phone back out and grinned as he read the text message. He leaned against his car—a gray Lexus SUV—and using his thumbs typed out a response.
“Just parked. Be there in a few. Love you.”
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and walked up to the corner at Chartres Street. There was a spring in his step, and he really felt like he could just burst into song at any moment. He was the luckiest son of a bitch who ever lived. He was meeting Tori and his parents at Café Amelie on Royal Street—it was Tori's favorite restaurant in the Quarter—and they were not only having dinner there but also making wedding plans. Tori wanted to get married in the beautiful garden at Café Amelie, and he couldn't blame her. It was beautiful out there, and why not get married in the heart of the French Quarter? His mom had wanted them to use the backyard of the house in Uptown, but Tori's heart was set on getting married in the Quarter—and she didn't want to get married in one of the hotels.
He turned right when he reached the corner and started walking toward Jackson Square. The sun was setting and a cool breeze was blowing off the river. He probably could have gotten a parking place closer—or paid to park in a lot, for that matter—but it was a beautiful night and he didn't mind the walk. He kept whistling as he walked, his walk still jaunty. He'd changed out of his suit into a pullover cardigan and a pair of jeans before he left the office. He looked up at the sky. The clouds looked like pink cotton candy.
When he reached the corner at Ursulines, he paused for a moment, looking up the street, as though trying to decide whether it was better to change direction or keep going. With a shrug, he turned the corner and headed toward Royal Street. Café Amelie was on Royal Street, after all, and he might as well head up now.
He'd taken only two steps when a black cat howled behind him.
He stopped walking and looked back. The cat meowed again, and lay down on the sidewalk. He smiled and walked back. The cat was purring.
“Aren't you a pretty kitty?” he said, kneeling down and scratching the cat's ears. The cat kept purring and rolled over onto his back. His phone vibrated again in his pocket, and he stood again so he could retrieve it. He looked at the message on his screen—Plz hurry starving!—and smiled down at it. The cat was now winding his way in and around his legs, still purring. But before he could kneel down again, the cat darted across Ursulines Street. “Hey!” he called after it, and crossed the street. The cat kept going up Chartres and Jared followed, forgetting about walking over to Royal Street completely.
About halfway down the block, the cat sat and started licking his paws. When Jared approached, the cat darted through a gate into a long hallway leading to a courtyard. Jared looked through the black wrought iron for a moment before shrugging and continuing on his way. As soon as he was out of sight, the cat began to morph into Nico, who smiled. He materialized outside of the gate and followed Jared as he walked up Chartres.
A few more blocks and a young man in a black T-shirt reading “Who Dat Say Dey Gonna Beat Dem Saints” came into view, strolling along as he talked animatedly on his cell phone. I could see myself, walking right behind him, getting closer and starting to reach out with my hands—
“Cord?” Jared said, stunned, clearly not believing what he was seeing. It couldn't be. Cord was dead; he'd died in a fire. There'd been a service, and he had to be imagining this. It couldn't be happening; people didn't come back from the dead.
And I watched as I grabbed him, pulled him into a doorway, and sank my teeth into his neck.
Had I looked up, I would have seen Nico smiling at me from across the street.
And before he disappeared, he cast a spell.
It had been Nico. It had always been Nico.
He was why I was a vampire, and for whatever reason, he'd wanted me to drink from Jared, placed a spell on him. Nigel had been right; there'd been a witch involved, but it wasn't Sebastian or his spirit.
It was this blond, angelic-looking witch who'd done it all. I didn't know how he made all this possible, only that it had been necessary for me to end up here so I could drink his blood and transform yet again.
I wanted to kill him.
“Sebastian didn't put a curse on me,” I said, my voice barely audible. I was repulsed, horrified, by what I'd seen. He was the one who'd thrown Jared into my path. I focused on my breathing as the rage built inside of me, struggled to hold the power in check. “Why? Why did you do all of this? Why Jared? Why did it have to be Jared?” In my mind I could feel my hands around Nico's neck, and I could hear the oh-so-satisfying crack his neck would make as it broke in my hands.
He stepped back away from me, still smiling, but with the beginning of a little fear showing in his eyes. He looked like every depiction of an angel I'd ever seen in art—the long white-blond hair, the beautiful smile, and the perfectly shaped body. It was amazing. I'd always thought angels were beautiful—terrifying but beautiful. I wondered if it had been witches who'd inspired the mythology of angels, beautiful creatures with terrifying powers.
“Why not Jared?” He kept smiling. He shook his head, the beautiful hair moving gently. “There's so much you don't know, can't even begin to comprehend now. Of course it had to be Jared, Cord. Would you have cared about someone else? If you'd fed from the boy in the Saints T-shirt and his wounds hadn't healed, would you have cared? No, my dear, you would have just killed him and gotten rid of the body. But you would never harm Jared.”
“But why did he have to be involved in the first place? That's what I don't understand.”
“A vampire victim whose wounds won't heal? A baby vampire committing the incredibly grave sin of giving his blood to a human, when his heart isn't strong enough to truly convert him to a vampire?” He laughed. “That was surely going to bring the Nightwatchers on the run, wasn't it?”
“So, this was all about Nigel and Rachel?” I stared at him, not understanding.
“You don't need to understand, my dear.” He walked over to an armoire and opened the doors. He pulled out a pair of black pants and a red satin shirt and draped them over a wingback chair. “All of this is for you,” he said, pulling on his black velvet pants, his delectable ass disappearing into them. He looked back over his shoulder. “I've been preparing this room for you ever since that first night, the night of the Endymion parade.” He slid his arms into his black silk shirt, slowly buttoning the mother-of-pearl buttons. He sat down on the edge of the bed, delicately crossing one leg over the other. “I've been in love with you since you were a teenager, you know.”
“How is that even possible? You didn't know me then.”
“Look into my eyes,” he replied, beckoning me to come closer to him.
I didn't want to. All I could think was how badly I wanted to get as far away from him and his crazy twin as I possibly could—but I had to know.
I crossed the room, still feeling like if I didn't focus I would float untethered up into the air. I knelt in front of him and looked into his eyes.
And I was in a forest of pines, and I knew immediately where I was—Church Camp, in the woods of northeastern Mississippi, a three-hour drive or so from Fayette County. Every summer, Churches of Christ from all over Alabama, Mississippi, and Tennessee—even some from as far away as Georgia and Florida—rented out a campground and for two weeks, sent their teenagers there for Bible study and to wonder at the magnificent world God had created for us. Oh, it wasn't all just Bible study. We learned crafts and played sports and did all kinds of wonderful outdoorsy things, but of course there was no swimming. Mixed swimming was one step away from fornication in the eyes of the church. The girls never even got to wear shorts, no matter how hot and humid it got in the woods; they always had to wear jeans. I wasn't sure if the counselors were just blind or if they turned a blind eye to boys and girls sneaking off into the pitch-black woods after lights-out.

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