Detroit, Michigan
Shapes shifted behind Gabriel’s eyes, a kaleidoscope of lurid patterns and images. There were sounds, too—wet and harsh, sticking to the insides of his ears like leeches. Still, he was afraid to wake up. Though the dreamlike state he currently occupied frightened him beyond reason, he sensed that a far more terrifying reality awaited. The thought of facing whatever card fate had dealt him was shit-in-your-pants scary. He clung to the remnants of unconsciousness as his mind struggled to process the most recent events.
The limo, I was in the limo. And Joe . . . he tried to warn me.
Against his will, he remembered their last exchange.
“Boss, are you sure you want me to let you out here? The alley’s kinda dangerous at night.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks. I’d rather take my chances in the alley than get mobbed by a bunch of fans at the front door.”
Joe raised his eyebrows and ran a hand over his bald head. “At least let me come with you, boss. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ molested.”
Gabriel chuckled. “You’re such a pervert, Joe.”
“I thought that’s why you hired me.”
“I never said it was a bad thing. But really—I don’t need you to accompany me. I’ll more likely achieve my goal if I meet with Raiden one-on-one. It’ll be less intimidating for him that way.”
Joe burst into laughter. “You’re a piece of work—you know that, boss? I swear you get cockier by the day.”
“Yes, I believe my manhood has indeed expanded exponentially of late.” Gabriel smoothed his jacket pointedly over the front of his pants.
Joe let out a strangled groan and shook his head.
“I have a valid point in flying solo tonight,” Gabriel continued. “I know for a fact that Raiden doesn’t feel comfortable in the presence of total strangers.”
“And how do you know that?”
“He revealed it in a recent interview.” Gabriel grabbed the door handle.
His bodyguard scoffed and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to believe what you hear on TV?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to question me?”
“I’ll tell Leroy to stay ‘til you’ve gone inside.” The bodyguard’s tone of voice was neutral but tinged with unease. “Safer that way.”
Gabriel ignored the jingle of anxiety in his gut and exited the vehicle.
“No, don’t bother. The limo’s attracting enough attention just idling here. I think I can make it to the table in one piece.”
Joe opened his mouth as if to reply, but quickly shut it when he saw the determined spark in Gabriel’s eyes.
Satisfied with Joe’s compliance, Gabriel adjusted his tie. “I’ll call your cell when I’m ready to go. Then I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate my success.”
“You seem pretty confident he’s gonna say yes,” Joe marveled.
Smirking, Gabriel jokingly tapped the middle of the sturdy black man’s forehead. “Joe, think about it—has anyone ever been able to refuse me?”
With a parting wink, he shut the door and promptly erased Joe’s worried expression from his mind. The limo screeched down the street, burning rubber on the way to Woodward Avenue. Snorting in amusement, he strolled confidently towards the back entrance of Gohatto. About twenty feet from the door, he realized that he was being followed.
Gabriel moaned. His subconscious reminded him what part of the memory came next. He tried one last time to block it out. For a few moments, he seemed to have succeeded. Everything stopped. The noises, the images, the sensations . . . his brain underwent a total black-out.
This is what it’s like to die. He felt not a single defining emotion except relief. Embracing the darkness, he surrendered to its stillness and waited for his body to release him.
Please, just let me go. I don’t want to stay. I just want to close my eyes and—
Shh, it’s okay. Just close your eyes.
The darkness gave way to light. Ghastly, searing light. Light that blinded Gabriel with its garish fluorescence. Light that penetrated his inner vision so deeply, all he could see was the afterimage of red.
Just close your eyes.
The crimson hue was all around him now, filling him to the brim, stifling him with its insistence, mocking him with its promise of life after death. Sights and sounds rushed by on a high-powered stream of consciousness.
Raiden.
The last piece of the puzzle fit neatly into place. He remembered everything.
* * *
“Just close your eyes.”
That voice—he knew that voice only too well. Sharpened canines dripped trails of blood onto dry patches of skin. His skin. So tight, his lungs were so tight, and the car’s insides were so hot, so hot and close. The smell of death was oozing from his pores, and he could not stop it. Then Gabriel was begging for his life, begging with his last breath as the miasma of decay rushed inside his nostrils like a line of cocaine. He sagged helplessly, a victim of its toxicity. Briefly, the blackness enshrouded him.
A sound—muddy and ragged—brought him stumbling back to the surface of consciousness. Since his eyes refused to budge from their shuttered position, his other senses worked in overdrive to compensate for his lack of sight. Following close on the heels of the ripping noise was a smell—something like hot metal. That scent—thick, greasy, noxious—got stronger.
Gabriel realized the source of the odor was the body next to him. Blinded by panic, he clamped his mouth shut, nearly severing the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A scream bubbled inside his throat, but it burst harmlessly before it had the chance to escape. Something steaming and rank landed on his cheek. He felt the weight of a limb, possibly an arm, against his jaw. He tried to move, only to discover that he could not even coax his hand to form a fist.
In a last desperate attempt, he fought to force the arm away with his mind, but still it came closer. He choked on tears as he pissed his leather pants. Scalding, slippery skin branded his lips upon contact, and he parted them in surprise. A trail of metallic saliva coursed down his chin, molding the fiery flesh to his mouth. Then, he was drowning in blood.
A powerful hand held his heavy head firmly in place as the proffered fluid rushed down his throat. Gagging, he attempted to vomit, but his muscles took on a life of their own and coerced him to swallow. Though one side of his brain shrieked in protest, the other side convinced him that if he drank more, he would somehow manage to stay alive. Acting on pure survival instinct, he relaxed his throat to receive the steady stream of blood trickling down its incline. The creature above him muttered words of encouragement as Gabriel blindly suckled the scarlet liquid.
“That’s it. Don’t stop. Let it fill you up. “
At last managing to open his eyes, Gabriel broke into chills when he recognized the face across from him. In the heat of the dark car, Raiden met his shocked stare. Gabriel tried to tear his mouth away from the wrist from which he willingly drank. Before he could manage, however, an electric vibration assaulted his mouth and throat. It invoked a desperate, unforeseen desire within him. His teeth instinctively slammed further into the soft flesh. Eagerly, he gulped down the fresh blood that pooled in his mouth. Raiden threw back his head with an agonized cry as the suction on his wrist increased.
Everything in Gabriel’s line of vision seemed to simultaneously move closer and farther away. He noticed Raiden was prying his wounded wrist out of reach. The taste of blood dulled as Gabriel’s lips left the wound. He frowned, shocked to realize that the taste was something he had begun to crave.
All thoughts of reason vanished. He grabbed hold of Raiden’s arm with sudden strength, baring his teeth and biting, tearing the wound deeper. The blood awakened his senses in revelatory ways. Sinking his teeth deeper and deeper into Raiden’s wrist, Gabriel spontaneously ejaculated.
“Gabriel, STOP! You’re taking too much—fuck!”
Raiden wrenched his wrist free and retreated to the opposite side of the car. Growling, Gabriel reached for his shirt to pull him closer, but a renewed awareness stilled his motions. Warm liquid oozed down his front. The worry he had forgotten to feel returned full-throttle. Trembling, he stuck a finger to the side of his neck. For a moment, he was confused. Where he should have felt smooth flesh, there were instead two tattered indentations. He experimentally poked one of the holes. With a gasp, he withdrew his finger and held it up to his face. He sniffed it, fear in his heart.
“Don’t worry. It will heal soon enough.”
Raiden’s words held no comfort for him. Feeling his sanity faltering, Gabriel brought the dreaded finger to his mouth and administered a tiny lick. Blood. His blood, steadily dripping, staining his shirt, coating the top of his tongue. A sound diverted his attention. Slowly, so slowly that he could hear the tendons in his neck creaking like rusty hinges, Gabriel turned toward the noise.
Raiden was utterly absorbed in the task at hand. He did not seem to notice the purring sounds originating from the depths of his throat. He was busy licking the wound in his wrist as a cat laps up milk, the other hand grasping the fabric of his shirt as if he wanted to tear it off.
Gabriel could not look away. Even as his gorge gurgled and struggled to rise, even as his head seemed to shrink like a deflated balloon—even as his neck seemed to melt away from the rest of his body, he could not force his eyes to break free of their frozen gaze. The most excruciating ache he had ever known split his vision in two, but he still could not move. He was paralyzed by pain; he did not feel the extra wetness in his cum-stained pants as his bladder silently emptied for the second time.
Raiden opened his mouth wider, perhaps to allow his tongue more access to the wound. Gabriel saw them again: those razor-sharp, dripping fangs stilled the breath in his lungs.
Raiden’s gleaming eyes met Gabriel’s.
“Crimson,” he whispered.
Gabriel was not aware he was screaming until the sound had already left him.
* * *
Escaping from the nightmare in the only way he could, the newborn vampire opened his eyes.
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