Reflections in Blood

5. In Heat

Hugo chuckled to himself despite the gravity of the situation that had brought them here. Ian had used what he could only have described as a wizard-Jedi mindtrick to get past the front desk with no questions. It was really rather amusing to see the vacuous look on the receptionist’s face.

The two of them practically raced to the elevator; levitation here involved too much illusion to hide it, though it was faster. And the vampire and the wizard rung for the lift, Hugo thought. It sounds like the set-up for a bad joke.

There wasn't any time for humor when they found the door they were seeking; Alan Rickman was already standing there. "How did he get here ahead of us?!"

"Who really knows how a vampire Lord does anything?" Ian shrugged. Hugo was really one of the fringe dwellers on the vampiric community, and had never been a part of a Lord's Court. All the same, the Master vampires tended to keep secrets even their Courts and wizards couldn't divine. "Hello, Alan," the wizard's voice was friendly enough, but his gaze was icy. "Still after Viggo, so I gather?"

"My encounter with the lovely Miranda was gratifying for both of us, but I find I haven't

fed my baser appetite for blood quite enough. Having caught Mr. Mortensen's thoughts before he left, I followed close behind. Still," Alan leaned almost bonelessly against the doorjamb, "I fear I'm too late."

"Sean's hurt him?! Or killed him?"

"No, poor fledgling, not as of yet, anyway. The dog . . ." then Alan caught Hugo's enraged glare, light flickering behind blue-grey eyes. He chuckled to himself, then corrected his language, "The werewolf is asleep, but I fear he's claimed your artist for his own, even if neither of them know it. A great pity, that. I think it would be sublime, delicious, to feel his blood washing over one’s fangs. The more interesting the person, I’ve always thought, the finer and sweeter the blood, and your Viggo is certainly that. Have you tasted it, Hugo? Could you bring yourself to hypnotize him, to make him want you for the bare second it would take to slide your fangs into that lovely neck? Would you want him to feel the pain of it, only to wipe it from him later, or would you anesthetize him completely, use your mind to coax him to tilt his head back for you?"

Hugo’s eyes were burning now, from anger and arousal both, the grey in them silvered, catching every stray bit of light in the hall. "I can’t believe you would think I could use any of them like that!" he snarled. The fact that his fangs had dropped signified that Alan’s words had done their work.

"A sip here and there is only a trifle, and quite worth it when the body is willing. Besides, it can lead to other . . . better things."

Hugo wanted to rip the smug look off the vampire Lord’s face, literally. Ian intervened before he could. Tiny motes of fire danced off Ian’s fingertips. Both of the vampires stepped back; fire was particularly dangerous to their kind, and Ian knew how to wield and control it. "Stop this. Hugo, you’re losing your temper over something that isn’t worth it. Alan, stop deliberately antagonizing Hugo, it doesn’t suit you."

"Purely testing Hugo, Ian, as I have been all night. I am in need . . ." he paused and his breath rushed out in a very pained sigh, "of more than one new Lieutenant in my Court. I wished to know your views on certain things, and anger was the easiest response to read." He smiled almost benignly at Hugo and the younger vampire stepped back another pace. "Ian is aware that I do very little real killing, though that may change, very, very soon. He is also aware that I do not hate the shape-changers, though I cannot speak so kindly of many at my Court. I needed to know where your morals lay, Mr. Weaving, and I have to say, I'm quite impressed. Such loyalty as you have to your friends is an asset to be coveted."

Hugo stood, dumbstruck, partially that he'd fallen for such manipulation, partially that Alan would use it. Ian spoke again before he had a chance to really react. "I've heard two or three of your spies had died recently, Alan, but not your confidantes or protectors? What happened?"

"They were killed with Hannah . . . by the Gil-Galad's branch in London. There, it's said. You have your answer as to where my stake is in this, Ian." Suddenly Alan looked very frail, and very human. "I never told you because I never thought it would get this far. I thought I could take my revenge on them, that they would disperse when they realized who they were dealing with. They've managed to evade me at every turn, dammit," he squeezed his hands together, wringing hard. "They must have Vigil, or ex-Vigil among them, because they knew our every weakness, and mine in particular. I never told you because I thought my resources were great enough to handle it. I thought I was stronger, but I'm not."

"You blame yourself."

"Why shouldn't I, Ian? I sparked the anger of these idiot mortals who think to raise a second "Middle Earth" by sending spies after them. I was far too curious about them, and was stupid to underestimate their cruelty, or their foolishness. When one he she spies I sent was found dead, I thought they’d been lucky, though, in hindsight, there really isn’t a way to kill a vampire with simple luck. I was selfish, selfishly resting through the day instead of using Sanguine to stay up," he spoke of a magickal elixir that many vampires used to endure sunlight. "That was only so I would be able to take my constitutional that night, to renew my power. She was my power, really, she's the one one who could put up with all my flaws . . . my ridiculous behavior, my bullshit." He smiled faintly, since the other two looked somewhat taken aback at his language. "I should have realized that no magick could compare to something like that, but I became greedy, and my worst instincts took over. When I woke later that night, looking forward to the moonlight and the cool air, I went looking for Hannah, because she liked to share it with me. They’d beheaded her, thinking she was like the rest of us, along with Angelique, and Christopher and Brendan. I know because they’d left their mark behind. I lost the best friend and lover I’ve had in nearly two-hundred years due to my pride. Please, Ian, don’t underestimate the Gil-Galad; they have just enough knowledge to be dangerous, and they have more than enough determination. Forgive me, I ask the both of you."

"There’s nothing to forgive, Alan," gingerly, the wizard embraced his old friend. "It least, not for me. It wasn’t me you slighted."

"Mr. Weaving, if you would accept my apology?"

"God,"o muo muttered tonelessly, then offered Alan a sip from his flask. Blood wasn't a cure-all, but the warmth that even chilleood ood could bring would be soothing. Wordlessly, Alan crossed to Hugo, shadows coalescing behind him in order to conceal his actions to anyone who might pass by. Whether it was something done by Alan or Ian, Hugo couldn't tell; the presence of both of them put his senses off more than a little.

"One more liberty, if I may," the soft tones suddenly released cool breath against Hugo's neck. "I prefer this, wouldn't you?" It had been years since Hugo had encountered one of his own kind, let alone given his blood to one. His breathing quickened.

"Not in front of Ian . . ." the younger vampire started, but soft, wet lips on his neck cut off his words. This was a lover's kiss, the kind he knew would take away all the pain when fangs finally pierced his skin. The light, moist contact sent Hugo's senses spiraling toward the ceiling. The smooth lengths of two sharp canines slid slowly into his vein and Hugo gasped.

Large hands smoothed over Hugo's shoulders as the vampire Lord took several deep pulls, sending fiery pleasure into the other man's form with each movement of the blood. Hugompermpered, digging his fingernails into Alan's hair, twisting the dark strands which were touched with both blond and grey. Then, with a final, decisive lick across the punctures, Alan left him at the height he'd taken him to. He licked down to Hugo's collar, smiling beatifically, wiping his lips with his fingers and sucking the blood on his fingertips. The amber beneath Alan's half-closed eyelids glittered with light as he backed away.

"Hugo, you're a great loss to me," Alan said quietly. "I hope you'll reconsider." He swept away before either could reply.

Hugo coughed loudly, trying to regain his composure. "Damn him. Wait, I hear something."

While the vampires and the wizard were exchanging words and worse, Viggo was finding it difficult to stay awake. Sean was sleeping, his breath deep and peaceful. An errant thought led Viggo to notice Sean's beauty once more, and to hope that the tranquillity would last.

What Viggo could not know was that Sean's seeming peace was born of sheer exhaustion, and the sheer weight of weariness was the only thing that was keeping him from thrashing about within his dream. He was running, the wind cool on his naked back, through a thick stand of trees. The fresh scent of growing things surrounded him, and he let it flow over every inch of his skin, graed aed at its presence. Sean's mind was unable to focus on much of the beauty of the forest, though the veins in the leaves stood out in sharp relief in his eyes, and he could practically see the energy of life coursing through the trees and over the ground, the cool air wrapped him like garments. The feast that was offered his senses by the setting was secondary; he had a target.

A scent, like a teasing feather, tickled at his nose. It was delicious, warm, the sweetness of honey, mingled with a glimmering swatch of cedar wood, threaded throwithwith spices and musk. Sean sighed and paused in his flight, leaning forward to breathe that scent in, to taste it on his palate. More. He had to have the source of that scent near him. He continued running, hunched over forward, zigzagging through a clear stream, his fingers skimming its surface as he passed.

The air grew warmer; or perhaps that was only his skin, as he rounded the next grove. There, Sean found what he had so desperately been seeking. Viggo lay on his stomach, his head on his folded arms, in the shade of a tree, as naked as Sean in the cool damp leaves. There was a hint of a smile on his lips. Sean crossed to him, without reservation, without the fear and nervousness that haunted him in reality. Here, Viggo was his, undoubtedly his.

"What took you so long?" the words were sharp, diamond gravel over velvet. The mouth that joined with Sean's took him by surprise as Viggo sat up, but only for a moment. Then, it simply felt right, Viggo’s tongue leaping into his mouth, the taste of Viggo’s lips, the burning scrape of stubble along the side of Sean’s neck.

"You smell so good," Sean could barely form the words. He nuzzled at Viggo's neck inhaling deeply. The other man made no reply, but combed his fingers through Sean's thick blond hair.

Still wordless, he straddled Sean. He was hard already, his heated flesh a blazing contrast to the cool, forest air. Viggo ground himself against Sean a little desperately, but the blond man stopped him. "Lay down, be still," speaking was a bit painful. "I want to taste you."

"Where?"

"Everywhere." Sean smiled, and he felt . . . satisfied, smug, possessive. Viggo was his. This bright soul was submitting to him fully, turning, lying back, face up now, amid the bed of moist leaves. Sean eased his way down the lean body, starting by swirling his tongue over the indentation of one ankle. Lightly, Sean nipped his way up to Viggo's knee, hearing his lover, his mate, hiss beneath his ministrations. The flesh was clean and warm and salty beneath his mouth, unmarred by the dirt of the forest floor.

He pulled Viggo's hips up, wanting to taste those perfect hollows, to smooth his tongue over sleek skin. Sean felt a sharp breath take the taller man as he bypassed the warm cock which jutted at him as if in offering. Sean smiled to himself, pleased that Viggo was already longing for him, even more pleased that he planned to tease him about it. The heady, thick smell of arousal was strongest here, mingled with the sweet wildness of Viggo's scent, that temptation that had brought Sean here in the first place.

Sean nuzzled into the indentation of Viggo's hip, leaving tiny gifts upon the tanned surface, a small kiss, a quick bite that didn't break the skin. Sean knew, for some reason, that he must not draw blood with his mouth. Instead, he focused himself on drawing a mark onto the slope of Viggo's hipbone. Growling, he tongued his way over to the other side, feeling the sticky jewels of liquid on his lover's trapped erection drawing a damp line across his collarbone as he pressed down.

Viggo moaned, and the sound died away into a whimper. Somehow, it didn't make him seem weak, only vulnerable. The hard fingers on the back of Sean's head bespoke of something else entirely. There was great strength there, and a little too much determinatior Ser Sean's liking. A frustrated, dark sound ripped its way out of Sean's throat, and he grabbed Viggo's wrist.

As the confused, pale eyes watched him, Sean turned Viggo's arm so that the veins lay facing up between his fingers. So close; he could hear the blood rushing beneath the thin skin. Sean ran the flat of his tongue over the strongly corded veins, gently testing his trust. Swas was entranced by the pulsing life within his hand, biting lightly, pressing his teeth down hard enough to leave nothing but a painful warning. "Keep your hands away."

The man beneath his body listened to the sharp growl in his voice and obeyed. Viggo leaned back on his elbows and arched up, exposing the golden column of his throat. I submit, the gesture said, and Sean couldn’t continue his cruelty, no matter how mild it had been. Sean crawled up to kiss Viggo’s neck tenderly, then slid his way back down, the small bit of friction between their bodies making Viggo whine softly again.

He laved around Viggo’s navel, the scent pungent and hot, lingering in his nostrils, on his tongue. Sean followed the delineation of the taller man’s stomach with the tip of his tongue, feeling the muscles twitch. {Ahh, yes,} Sean thought, spreading his fingers over Viggo’s ribcage, fingers journeying up his chest. This texture was so like velvet, the silk skin beneath light furring. Taking one hand down, he rubbed a thumb over the perfect hipbone, and caught hold of flesh that was more like satin, stretched taut over fire-tempered iron.

"Fuck!" Viggo gasped softly, arching his body up even more on his elbows, his eyes shuttering. The pleasure the small, breathless obscenity brought to Sean was the best thing he’d tasted so far; it reinforced his control. He stroked the desperate length of Viggo’s cock at leisure, an action that was both torture and reward.

Eyes hooded, Sean swirled his thumb around the head, smoothed it back against the shaft. Viggo’s bottom lip was crushed under sharp top teeth. He smoothly pushed his way into that caress. Sean would allow him the freedom to wriggle for a few minutes; then he would need his lover still. Hanedaned down to savor the bud of one nipple, which only made the writhing worse.

Carefully, the strokes on his cock themselves stilled Viggo for Sean, the pleasure of it making movement impossible as he arched up, head thrown back. Sean recognized this, knew instinctively that this kind of passion was within the other man; that stifling need to worship the pleasure for its own sake. Sean was barely aware of the caresses he was giving Viggo, intently focusing on the vision beneath him, skin warmed by the streaming sunlight, hair dripping with exertion. The broken cries broughtn oun out of the snare of Viggo’s half-lidded eyes, warmth spilling over his palm.

Gathering the treasure of the warm, thick fluid quickly, Sean smiled, and Viggo grinned back, feral and dirty, and impossible to resist. Without words, almost without expression, he positioned himself so Sean could open him with his fingers, could slicken him with his own essence. The blond man worked his hand inside Viggo relentlessly, adding or pulling back his fingers at odd intervals. Viggo pulled his head to Sean’s neck, releasing a stream of quiet sounds, whispers of expletives, fragments of words, punishing little breaths that made little sound at all. Then came the sharp bites at his throat, the wet tendrils of Viggo’s hair clinging to his face.

Suddenly outraged, Sean was inside of Viggo, encased in blazing heat, and the older man was moaning loudly. Viggo was chanting his name into his throat, begging, the words bleeding out onto his skin. The pleas were not for him to stop, even though Sean was certain he was hurting Viggo; he had to be.

Viggo’s soft cries spoke of need, and equally soft lips sucked Sean’s neck. Sean speeded his pace, snarled Viggo’s name. The lithe body cleaved to Sean’s more closely, and Sean dragged his fingernails across the willing back. Their rhythm quickened even further, taking up the frantic tones of a mating for survival. "Sean, Sean," the words were little more than breaths on his fingers as Viggo licked his own blood from them.

The calls were constant as the forest shattered away into light. Sean threw the blankets from his trapped body and looked around frantically. Viggo was still there, approaching what Sean remembered to be the bed. Sean’s head was pounding, blood whistling through his ears.

"Sean? Are you all right? You were screaming in your sleep. I dozed off, and . . ."

Sean panted, sweat stinging his eyes, painful need filled with shame gripping him.uot;uot;Stay away from me, Viggo. I don’t want you hurt."

"Sean . . ."

"I said, don't touch me!" Sean swung around, glaring at Viggo. There were parallel tears in the silk of his pajamas, and the older man could easily see that Sean's fingernails had put them there.

Viggo tripped over his legs, falling back into the h. h. The eyes looking at him weren't human; they were a fiery golden color, more like fire for the light that radiated from them. His ribcage constricted; he couldn't breathe. "Sean, I don't think you're going crazy . . ."

"What?" The lupine eyes fixed Viggo, as surely as pins through a display-case butterfly. Viggo continued to try to find his breath. There was anger in that frustrated snarl, but also pain and confusion.

"I think you're possessed."

At that moment, every lock on the room's door flew open by itself. Ian stood in the doorway, followed by Hugo and wreathed by the harsh light of the hallway. "Viggo, back away. He isn't possessed."