Need (4 page)

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Authors: Todd Gregory

BOOK: Need
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How does he know to do that ?
The thought flashed through the pleasure before disappearing into the ecstasy.
There's a lot about me you don't know, Cord.
He was . . . he was
inside
my head.
But the voice . . . it didn't sound like Jared's.
And the thought that had danced in and out of my head came rushing back.
Whenever you feed from a human, you see into their mind. But when I'd fed from Jared, his mind had been closed to mine.
That was what was wrong.
And perhaps that was why the wounds wouldn't heal.
Something was
wrong
with Jared.
How does he know how to pleasure another man? He's a straight boy.
You weren't so concerned about that when I was fucking your ass, Cord. You didn't give a shit that I was straight as long as your tight hole was riding my big cock. Isn't that right? So now you care? I bet if my big thick cock was pounding your tight little ass, you wouldn't care anymore, right? Why question it? Why not just enjoy the ride, little vampire?
I forced my eyes open and looked down at him again.
His eyes were now closed, the sucking becoming even more urgent as I noticed his own erection, a clear drop of liquid glistening at the slit. He was moaning, a deep guttural sound from deep within himself.
I could hear Jean-Paul's voice:
The conversion doesn't change the basic core of who you are as a person; becoming a vampire will not make a good person evil, nor an evil person good. Vampiric blood brings with it great power—power that many humans could not handle. Have you heard that power corrupts and that absolute power corrupts absolutely? Many have allowed the new power to corrupt their soul, turn them into something evil—but the seed was there all along. Likewise, I was a lover of men when I was human, with no interest in women. Over the centuries, I have taken women as lovers—but that was more from boredom, a need for something different. And yes, there are male vampires who were repulsed by the thought of loving another male when they were human who, out of ennui or curiosity, have taken male lovers. But the blood itself will not make someone change something so basic as their sexual orientation.
I bit my lower lip and pushed Jared away from my wrist.
His eyes opened as he fell backward against the couch.
They were blue again.
Had I imagined the whole thing?
It was possible. The ecstasy—
I felt dizzy. He had taken too much of my blood; the pleasure had distracted me. I was too drained. I felt weak . . . my mind . . .
He smiled up at me, my blood smeared all over his lips, his chin, his teeth reddened with it. He tilted his head to one side as he wiped the blood from his chin with his right hand before licking it off. There was something almost predatory in the smile, in his eyes as he kept looking at me. “I want more,” he purred, getting to his feet. His erection slapped against his stomach. He put his left hand on it. “I want more of your blood, Cord.” He took a step toward me. “I want to fuck you some more. I want—”
I shook my head and took another step backward. The red holes in his neck looked even angrier than before. “You need to rest, Jared,” I managed to say, relieved that somehow my voice didn't quiver or break. I folded my arms. The wounds in my wrist were closing. I licked the smeared blood from my forearm; when I looked again, my wounds had completely healed.
So why won't the holes in Jared's neck heal? Even now that he has ingested my blood? What the hell is wrong?
“I want—”
“No,” I cut him off firmly. “You drank my blood, Jared. You don't know what that means, what that's going to do to you. Trust me, you need to rest.”
“I didn't ask for it.” He smirked at me as he sat down on the divan, leaning back against the arm. The muscles in his torso flexed as he shifted, and I noticed that his tan skin was getting lighter. The blue veins that had crisscrossed his muscles were even more prominent than they had been. He was changing before my eyes.
And I didn't know how to handle any of it.
I'd made a terrible mistake.
A horrible mistake—and it was too late to fix it.
Other than killing him, there was nothing else I could think of to do.
What had I done?
“Why don't you lie down in here?” I somehow managed to keep my voice level as I walked across the room to the big double pockets doors. I pulled them open, revealing the small guest bedroom. I turned and smiled at him. “This bed is much more comfortable than that couch.”
“I am rather tired,” he said, masking a yawn with his hand. He stood up and stretched, the muscles in his stomach rippling as he raised his arms over his head and arched his back slightly. “I think I will sleep for a bit.” He went through the doorway, sitting on the edge of the double bed. “Are you sure you don't want to lie down with me?” He patted the mattress next to him, his right eye closing in a wink. In the moonlight coming through the window, his body looked like carved marble. He pouted as he slowly reclined until his naked form was stretched out completely. “Please?” He placed his hands behind his head, his latissimus muscles flaring out and turning his armpits into deep, hairy craters.
“I'm not tired,” I replied, trying to keep my eyes on his. I didn't trust myself to look at his body—the temptation might be too much for me. “You go ahead and get some rest. I'll join you in a little while, I promise.” I stepped closer to him and kissed his cheek. His skin felt cold against my lips.
He closed his eyes, and within moments his breathing became even. His mouth fell open, and he snored. Inside his mouth, I could see that his canine teeth were longer, more pointed.
The conversion was already starting.
I stepped over the threshold back into the living room and slid the doors closed behind me. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the door. Scooter, the striped orange cat I'd adopted since my arrival in New Orleans, wound around my legs and howled at me.
What have I done?
I couldn't remember my own conversion and had never witnessed another one. I had no idea what to expect, or if something was required of me.
Calm down.
Needing some fresh air, I walked through the big double parlor and kitchen to the French doors leading to the back gallery. I stepped out into the cool air of early evening, drinking in the smell of the night jasmine and bougainvillea, which covered the fence separating the property next door from the back courtyard. I took some deep breaths and sat down at the small wrought-iron table on the mossy paving stones, then looked up at the sky. It was covered with fast-moving clouds, stained pink as they reflected the garish neon lights of the French Quarter back down at me.
Again, I heard Jean-Paul's voice in my head:
You're such a foolish boy, aren't you? You think you know everything there is to know, don't you? Then go, and go with my blessing. I'm tired of arguing with you! You make me feel every day of my years, so go, leave us—but when you get yourself into trouble, don't come crying for my help. Do you understand me? Because you won't get it—I am through with you. Through.
Jean-Paul simply hadn't understood me, wasn't even interested in trying to, for that matter, and that was the bottom line, why I had to leave him and the others.
He'd been either unwilling or unable to recognize the truth that was staring him in the face, for reasons of his own.
I'd loved him, but he hadn't loved me back.
He cared for me, yes, but he didn't love me.
Once I finally recognized that, I couldn't stay with him any longer.
After that Mardi Gras when he'd converted me, we'd left for Miami—all of us. Cord Logan died in that fire, and it was in Miami I got my new identity—driver's license, birth certificate, passport, Social Security number, credit cards, and a bank account.
Cord Logan was dead and buried.
And it was Cord Forrest's time to live.
I didn't miss the old me in the least—the fraternity boy from Alabama who was afraid of who he was, who he was meant to be. The boy expected to go back to Fayette County with a teaching degree, get married, and live in the rural area, go to services at White's Chapel and raise his children to be devout members of the Church of Christ. My parents had already picked out the place where my house would be built, just down the blacktop county road from theirs, in the midst of what had been a cow pasture when my father was a child and now was simply an empty field going back to nature.
I'd escaped the shackles of my old life by accepting Jean-Paul's offer to become a vampire and was now free to live the life I'd always wanted, the one I had dreamed of while lying awake in my bed at the fraternity house in Oxford while Jared snored in the other bed.
Jean-Paul's vampire blood had kicked open my closet door and brought me out into a world I'd never dreamed existed.
Not having to hide my sexuality any longer was a gift I'd forever be grateful to Jean-Paul for giving me, no matter what happened between the two of us. And there were so many willing men out there—beautiful men with thick muscles and firm asses who were willing to expose their throat to me, just as they worshipped my body and told me I was beautiful.
Jean-Paul and the rest of our vampire fraternity showed me a life that exceeded my wildest dreams. Finally freed from the confining chains of the closet, my eyes wide open with awe and wonder, I shed my old skin and basked in the sun for the first time in my life. I was surrounded by beautiful men, who wanted nothing more than to give me pleasure, to worship my body and be worshiped in return. I was introduced to expensive clothing and designer drugs that intensified pleasure to a point I could have never imagined. I danced every night to thumping music as my mind swirled in clouds of ecstasy and heretofore unimagined joys. There were no limits on the credit cards, and I came out of the expensive stores of South Beach with bags and bags filled with more clothing than I could ever possibly wear, clothes that fit and flattered my body. I discovered a fondness for Dolce & Gabbana underwear, for shirts of silk and satin, for tight-fitting pants that hung low on my hips. I strolled along the beach in the bright sunshine, in swimsuits that were little more than strings and pouches, laughing with delight when the eyes of some intensely beautiful stranger met mine with lust and desire reflected in them. The warm green water of the Gulf Stream washed over me when I danced into the gentle waves kissing the white sand of the shore.
And when I needed rest, I simply cuddled into Jean-Paul's strong, muscular arms and woke up with him pressing his lips to my neck, his hand on my cock, and we made love gently and passionately.
I was in love, floating on a cloud of joy, warm and secure in myself for the first time in my life.
I'm not exactly sure when I began to suspect the truth about Jean-Paul.
There were five others in our little group, living in the beautiful house on Ocean Drive on South Beach in Miami. The house itself was not the place one would think a group of vampires would inhabit; it was white and full of windows to let in the sun. There was a gorgeous pool within the tall stone fence, and a hot tub. I sometimes wondered where the money came from to pay for everything—the house, the parties Jean-Paul threw on a fairly regular basis—but whenever I questioned anyone, I was simply dismissed or the subject was changed. “Don't worry your pretty little head,” was all Jean-Paul would say, kissing the tip of my nose. “That isn't for you to concern yourself with.”
The other vampires in our little group were all sexy creatures, with gorgeous bodies and handsome faces. There was Clint, who looked like he was in his early forties, with a head shaved down to the gleaming scalp and the most amazing blue eyes. Clint was the first one of the group I'd met during that fateful Mardi Gras—I'd run into him on Bourbon Street at the corner of St. Ann, where I'd been standing in the middle of the street trying to decide whether to go into Oz or the Pub. He'd been wearing no shirt or underwear beneath his faded low-rise jeans, and I'd been attracted to his hairy, thickly muscled torso. It was Clint who'd taken me by the hand and led me into Oz and onto the dance floor, where I'd first laid eyes on Jean-Paul.
And I'd pretty much been a part of the little group ever since.
But I'd felt closer to Clint than to any of the others outside of Jean-Paul—that night when I'd gone back to the house on Orleans Street with them, it was Clint and Jean-Paul I'd had sex with in a mind-blowing three-way, one that made me know there was no question about my sexual preference, no way I could even pretend to be sexually attracted to women ever again. Clint sometimes joined Jean-Paul and I in the massive bed in the master bedroom of the sun-drenched manse, and sometimes I caught him looking at me in a pensive way I couldn't quite comprehend. But I knew I could always count on Clint for anything.

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