Now Comes the Night (31 page)

Damian sighed. Reluctantly, he cast his mind back to that long, lonely summer he’d spent avoiding Paul, and the warm night at the end of it when he finally decided he’d had enough. Damian had not made a conscious decision to limit himself to just one partner since they’d reunited, but it had happened all the same…

“August, I think?” Damian shrugged. “Or was it September? I’m sorry, if I’d known the subject would come up, I’m sure I would have attempted to keep better track of the date. Whenever it was that we reconnected.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. That’s like… Crap, that’s almost a whole year or something.”

“No,” Damian corrected. “You misunderstand. I’m not talking about this past September, but the year before—just after the summer we were apart.”

“But… But…” A bemused smile illuminated Paul’s face. “All this time? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“What was there to tell? It hardly matters, does it?”

“Hell yeah, it matters. It matters to me. After all that talk? All that crap you kept spouting about not wanting to be tied down?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Come now,
chico
, don’t exaggerate. If you’ve been having discussions about such things, you must have been doing it with someone other than me.
I
would have remembered had you expressed an interest in being tied up. I’m sure I’d have been quite happy to indulge you in any such diversion.”

“Damn it, you know what I’m talking about, D. Stop trying to distract me. All I’m saying is, if you weren’t seeing anyone else—all this time—it would have been nice to know.”

Damian sighed. “And now you do know. So now you’re happy,
sí
?”

“Yeah.” Paul nodded his head several times, still smiling. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Well,
bueno
,” Damian said as he reached for Paul and drew him close. He pressed his face to Paul’s neck, ran his tongue along the surface of his throat, tasting salt and sweat as he searched for the right vein, biting down quickly when he found it.

Paul shuddered and went limp in his arms. “God, I love… I love when you do that,” he groaned weakly. “I can’t even figure out exactly what you’re doing. And I can never understand it. I always think you’re gonna leave a mark, this time for sure, but you never do.”

Damian mumbled something noncommittal in reply. He could hardly explain what he was doing, after all. But he didn’t want to discourage Paul from talking either. He enjoyed listening to the sound of his voice, even at times like now, when he couldn’t really focus on the words themselves. The hot rush of blood in his mouth was too overwhelming to make sense of things. It was almost enough to make him hard again. He tightened his hold on Paul and surrendered to the bliss.

“I kinda wish you would though, you know?” Paul’s voice continued, growing ever more sleepy, ever more faint. “Just a tiny mark. At least once in a while. Or, hell, even
once
. Couldn’t you maybe do that? Leave me something to show you’d actually been here? You’re always gone when I wake up. I hate that. And there’s never any sign you’d even been here. Nothing at all. It’s like a dream, sometimes. A really good dream but, all the same, I want it to be real.”

Damian sighed in contentment. He withdrew his fangs from Paul’s neck and carefully closed the small wounds. “It
is
real. It’s all
very
real, I assure you. Now, go to sleep, Paul.”

Paul shook his head. “No. Don’ wanna sleep now. I’mma sleep later, when you’re gone.”

“But aren’t you tired?” Damian was tired. It was the end of a long, eventful night and he had a lot to think about—not all of it pleasant. Most of it not pleasant, come to think of it. Maybe thinking would be a mistake.

“Unh-unh,” Paul insisted. “Not tired. Just a lil sleepy. Just goin’ take a nap. Wake me b’fore you go, ’kay?”

Damian hesitated. “About that…what if I don’t?”

Paul moaned fretfully. “No. C’mon, D, I mean it. Wake me. Wanna see you go. Wanna say good-night.”

“No. I mean…what if I don’t go?”

“What?” Paul’s eyes slitted open a crack. “You mean spend the night? Stay ’til morning? Are you serious?”

Damian nodded toward the window. “I’m afraid it’s no longer really an issue, Pablito. It’s morning already.”

“You know what I mean,” Paul protested. “Stop dicking around with details. You’ll sleep here? Wake up with me? Not sneak out beforehand?”

“If you’re amenable.”

“Hell, yeah, I’m amen…I’mma… Ah, shit.” Paul twisted around until they were face to face. “Yes, all right? I want you to. Stay all day.”

Damian bit his lip. “Actually, I… What if I stayed even longer? For the weekend, perhaps?”

“Really?” Paul’s eyes were wide open now. His face was flushed with excitement. “Aw, fuck, if this ain’t a joke, I
must
be dreaming. Yes. Of course. I don’t know what happened to you last night, D, but whatever it is, it’s about fucking time. Stay as long as you want. You don’t
ever
have to leave, far as I’m concerned.”

“
Gracias
, Pablito.” Damian gave him a brief kiss. “But I think the weekend should be sufficient to begin with. Now, let’s get some sleep, all right?”

“Sleep?” Paul laughed weakly. “Now I
know
you’re joking. Shit, you’ve got me so worked up, I might never sleep again.”

“You’ll sleep.” Damian’s mouth closed on Paul’s neck once again. Another swift bite. Another dose of venom. “And so will I.”

Paul’s voice grew faint. “I still can’t believe it, you know? Finally. After all this time. Damian…”

“Sleep well, Paul,” Damian murmured softly. Sleep would definitely be the best thing for both of them. And all those troublesome thoughts, all those worries about how and where and with whom he’d spend his future, those could wait. Damian would think about them some other time.

Paul and Damian spent most of Saturday in bed. Saturday night they went out dancing. Paul couldn’t seem to stop smiling. He couldn’t seem to stop gazing into Damian’s eyes either. He was in as good a mood as Damian had ever seen him, sexy and sweet and just plain happy. As pleased as Damian was to see it, it also made him sad to realize he could have been making Paul this happy all along.

What had stopped him? It would have been easy enough to make up some story to tell Conrad and the twins in order to explain his absence. Although, on the other hand, who could say what that might have led to? He certainly didn’t want to run the risk of appearing expendable. It would never do for Conrad to start thinking that perhaps he didn’t need Damian around anymore. And if anything were to happen to one of the twins while Damian was not there to prevent it, he’d never forgive himself. But, still, it was such a small thing and it made Paul so happy. Damian wished he’d have dared it sooner.

After the clubs had all closed, they went back to Paul’s apartment, where they made love again, repeatedly, through what was left of the night. It wasn’t until the sun was once again peeking in through the bedroom window that they finally both succumbed to sleep.

Damian woke up early Sunday evening, just before dusk, to the soft brush of fingers sliding back and forth across his shoulder and upper back. For an instant, he forgot where he was and with whom.
Conrad?
A sleepy smile stretched Damian’s lips as he relaxed into the gentle caress. “What do you think you’re doing back there?”

“Nothing.” It was Paul’s voice that answered him, shocking Damian out of his slumber. “It’s just…there was something here once, wasn’t there? Like a tattoo or something? I’m trying to make out what it was.”

The memories came flooding back and Damian jerked away, all his muscles tightening instinctively. “I’ve told you I don’t like being touched there.” But it wasn’t the touching. Just the thought of being so vulnerable, of someone having access to his naked back was enough to send a cold frisson of panic and half-remembered pain rioting through him. Just having to think about that long-ago night, being forced to remember it again,
that
was enough, all on its own, to make him shiver.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Paul withdrew his fingers and instead pressed tender kisses against Damian’s bare skin. “Easy there, lover,” he murmured as he put his arms around him and held him tight. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I thought you said it didn’t bother you anymore? I thought you just didn’t like talking about how it happened?”

Damian sighed. “I don’t want to talk—or think—about
any
of it. Is that clear enough?”

“Won’t you at least tell me what it was? The tattoo, I mean. It was a tattoo, wasn’t it?”

“
Sí
. It was a tattoo. If I tell you about it, will
that
end the discussion?”

Paul chuckled softly, still trailing the lightest of kisses along Damian’s back. “Sure. Probably. For now.”

“Very well. It was…nothing. A silly thing. Meaningless, really. Just a type of crest, sort of like a coat of arms. I have no idea why I even had it. It meant nothing at all.”

It was the Quintano family crest. And, once upon a time, it had meant
everything
.

Conrad was usually quite adamant about vampires not marking themselves in any sort of permanent way. Clothing and hair styles, language and behavior, they all varied from age to age. Vampires needed to change as well, in order to blend in. Altering their bodies in ways that might serve to identify them years and years later, long after they should have aged or died, was a dangerous game.

Chance encounters with humans you had not seen in several decades was much more common than you might think, or so he’d always said. Pretending to be someone else, someone who merely bore an uncanny resemblance to your own younger self, was a difficult trick to pull off. But it was a trick that stood a much greater chance of being successful if there were no distinguishing marks to give you away.

Moles and birthmarks were bad enough, scars were even worse, but those were no one’s fault. They were tricks of fate and should not be held against anyone. Tattoos and piercings, on the other hand, were deliberate alterations. They were the worst kind of folly, a voluntary means of shortening your own life.

It might have seemed strange then, for him to have gifted his lover with something so deadly, but as Conrad had pointed out, the means by which he might show the world the very high regard in which he held Damian were extremely limited. He couldn’t marry him, after all. He couldn’t even establish him as his heir, since that was not the way of their kind. If Conrad were to die, it would likely be the result of foul play. In that event, ownership of all that belonged to him—his power, his property, his people—would likely be transferred to whoever had killed him.

With this gesture Conrad was sending a signal to all who knew him. He was taking full responsibility for Damian’s vulnerability, declaring publicly that he would give his life in Damian’s defense and that no insult, however small, would go unanswered. Everyone who recognized Conrad’s mark would know instantly not just that Damian belonged to Conrad, but that their own lives were forfeit if they hurt Damian in any way. Anyone who so much as started an argument with Damian would have Conrad to answer to.

Allowing Damian to wear his crest was more than a warning. It was also a pledge, a promise from Conrad that he would always put Damian’s safety first, even ahead of his own. And, since the well-being of every member of the Quintano tribe depended on Conrad and his continued good health, it meant that each and every one of them were likewise committed. It meant that every member of Conrad’s family now had a vested interest in keeping Damian safe and happy.

Damian had been so proud of it—this symbol of his and Conrad’s bond, the message it conveyed to the world. He hadn’t even minded, very much, when Conrad later allowed others to be similarly marked. He was first in Conrad’s heart. He always would be. The proof of it was right there for everyone to see, inscribed in his skin. Until the night Conrad took it all away from him, shredding Damian’s heart and his sense of self-worth as surely as he did his skin, betraying them both, breaking his vow and leaving Damian devastated. Leaving him homeless, friendless, alone.

That was the worst of it. No matter how excruciating the physical pain had been, it was nothing in comparison. The shame and humiliation Damian had suffered, the loss of everything he thought he knew, easily eclipsed the rest. His body had healed quickly enough. He was Vampire, after all, the wound barely bled for more than a couple of minutes. But the emotional hurt, the loss of faith and trust, the loss of love, that was with him still.

And it was that—all that pain, the fear, the abject despair—with which Conrad had threatened Damian the other night. That was the knife he’d held to Damian’s throat to make him leave home, to make him turn tail and run. After everything Damian had done for him…

“It almost looks intentional,” Paul mused. “You know? The way it’s just in this one area, it looks almost like someone was deliberately trying to obliterate it.”

Damian closed his eyes as the all-too-familiar waves of bitterness crashed over him. “
Sí
. I’m sure that was precisely what he intended.” He was barely aware of having spoken the words aloud until he felt Paul stiffen.

“What did you say?” Paul straightened abruptly. “Oh, fuck, no. You gotta be kidding me, right?” He tugged at Damian’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back so he could look him in the face. “You’re not serious are you? D, did someone do this to you
on purpose
?”