Author's website: http://writingonthewall.slashcity.net/~angelise7/index.html



This story is a sequel to:

Detective Brian Rafe signed his name then handed the file to Captain Amanda Cohen of the Toronto Homicide Department. "That's one less criminal on the street."

"Thanks to you and your fellow detectives, Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg." Captain Cohen placed the papers on her desk without a single glance." The three of you did a fine job in bringing Stames down."

Detectives Don Schanke and Nick Night stood next to Rafe. Schanke slapped his partner on the back and grinned. "Another one bites the dust."

Nodding, Knight offered his hand. "Please express our gratitude to your colleagues for their help on this. Stames would still be out there killing innocent coeds if it hadn't been for the three of you."

Rafe acknowledged the blond's gratitude. "That man is one sick bastard. The things he did to those girls . . . . " Closing his eyes, he took a moment to lock down the grisly images imprinted on his brain. " Let's just say I'm more than happy to hand him off to you."

Cohen escorted the three men to the door. "Thanks again, Detective. And please, if you need anything during the remainder of your stay in Toronto, Knight and Schanke will be more than happy to assist you.

Dismissed by their captain, Knight pointed in the direction of his desk. "I've got those reports you requested."

Rafe followed the oddly paired duo and, for the millionth time, wondered how Knight put up with his bumbling partner. Grabbing a chair, he flipped it around and sat down. "God, I'm tired," he admitted after raking his hands through his hair.

"Join the club." Schanke dug around in a donut box sitting on the far corner of his desk. "When do you head back to the great city of Cascade?"

Rafe watched the overweight detective sniff a half-eaten clair. "I fly out tomorrow afternoon," he answered.

Knight wrinkled his nose in distaste when his partner wolfed down the crme-filled pastry. "Do you have any plans for this evening, Brian?"

Rafe shared a sympathetic smile with Knight. He also had a partner who enjoyed more than his share of donuts. "I thought I would check out your nightlife. Any suggestions?"

"The Raven." Schanke licked at the corner of his mouth but missed a major portion of the sticky mess clinging to it. "That's Nick's favorite hangout. Pretty happening place."

It seemed Knight was about to protest but was interrupted by the shrill ring of his partner's phone. He waited until Schanke answered before commenting, "If you feel like some company, I can show you around our fair city."

For one very brief moment, Rafe considered the detective's suggestion. There was more to Knight than met the eye. If he had more time, maybe, just maybe---

"No can do, partner." Slamming down the phone, Schanke shoved back his chair. "There's a dead body on Fourth and Grant requesting our presence." He grabbed another pastry before shouldering into his trench coat. "Up and at `em, Paleface. Time we went to work."

Knight reached for his jacket. "I wouldn't waste my time on The Raven." He squeezed Rafe on the shoulder. "If you like jazz, there's this cozy club on---" He was cut off by a slap on the chest from his partner.

"Time's a wasting." Schanke shook hands with Rafe. "Come back again, and I'll show you how us Canadians party."

Rolling his eyes, Knight smiled affectionately at his sidekick before offering his hand to Rafe. "It was nice working with you," he said. "Give our regards to Ellison and Sandburg."

Rafe couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the two men head for the exit. Unbeknownst to both, Schanke, in his effort to hurry his partner along, had smeared white donut sugar all over the dark fabric of his partner's jacket. Recognizable handprints were visible across Knight's back and shoulders. No doubt the fastidiously dressed detective would be most unhappy once he discovered the mess. "Been there, done that," Rafe commiserated. "Hope your dry cleaning service is as good as mine."

Rescuing a much abused telephone book from beneath a pile of cluttered papers on Schanke's desk, he contemplated the nearly deserted bullpen. "First things first. A quick shower and a change of clothes to remove the stink of Stames, then . . . ." Rafe attempted to dust away what appeared to be a permanent film of powdered sugar on the phone book. It was a lost cause. "Schanke, it's a wonder Knight keeps you around at all." He flipped through the yellow pages. "What was the name of that club? The Raven?"

+++++++

Obscured from view, Rafe stood in the shadows of the building across the street from The Raven. His assignment was over, and finally he could release the enforced control he'd placed on his emotions.

Stepping further back, he sought a moment of solace. The cloak of darkness hid the hurt, the heartbreak. It also provided a safe haven for the tears he'd denied for so long.

Rafe whispered the name of the thief who had stolen his soul.

"Simon."

Slamming his head against the brick wall behind him, he welcomed the sudden burst of pain. Pathetic, that's what he was. Pathetic and weak, resorting to self-inflicted pain and gratuitous sex to distract him from the unrelenting ache in his chest. "Damn you, Simon Banks." Blinking back the tears, he gave himself over to the memories crowding his bruised heart.

Heartened by his department's acceptance of Jim and Blair's gay relationship, Rafe cautiously outed himself. The first person he shared his news with was his partner, Henri Brown. Henri had completely surprised Rafe by calmly informing him that he'd already guessed his partner's secret. In fact on the day Rafe confessed his sexual orientation, Henri was more interested in where they were going for lunch. "You're gay. I'm hungry. Big deal," the bald detective noted with a grin. "Let's eat."

With Henri's support, Rafe then made the decision to broach the subject with his boss, Captain Simon Banks. Unfortunately that confession would not be as easily offered as the one he'd shared with his partner. There was one major roadblock, his serious attraction to the man.

Rafe allowed himself a small smile.

The actual revelation went smoothly. Simon was extremely sympathetic and extended to him the same support he had to Jim and Blair. Weak with relief and unable to speak, Rafe was heading for the door when a touch on his arm stopped him. Turning, he immediately noted the light of interest in Simon's eyes. What the hell?

Discussing one of their open cases, his boss prevented him from leaving, and the longer they talked, the more confused Rafe became. Something was different, and it took several minutes before he realized it was Simon's voice. It was deeper, huskier, more like the voice of a lover. Add to that a handshake that included a subtle caress to his inner wrist, and he was nearly paralyzed with shock. His heartbeat skyrocketed off the charts, leaving him gasping for breath as he stumbled back to his desk.

The simple touch greatly encouraged him, and slowly he began to demonstrate his feelings for his normally stern boss. He started by sneaking into Simon's office and leaving a simple gift, whether it be the man's favorite pastry or a new pack of exotic coffee beans. He'd then literally hold his breath, waiting to see if his present was welcomed or rejected. Gentle smiles of appreciation infused him with so much confidence that he soon found himself braving the lion's den to ask Simon man out on a date. His invitation was accepted without hesitation.

The visit to the museum and the casual dinner that followed went well. Both of them, once they got over the initial awkwardness that came with a first date, spent the entire time sharing their thoughts on anything that wasn't work related. They discussed their families, movies, sports, even fashion, much to Rafe's delight. The evening ended with a tender goodnight kiss, and Rafe floated home wearing with the sappiest smile on record on his face.

Their second date, one week later, consisted of a Jags' basketball game and visit to Simon's favorite pub. Impatient and horny, Rafe wasted no time in confessing his feelings. Three beers and one whiskey in, he laid it all on the line. Simon never said a word. Instead, he reached across the table and took him by the hand, allowing the playful tangling of their fingers to communicate his answer.

Rafe was ecstatic. More than ecstatic, he was on cloud nine. So enthused by Simon's reaction, he wasn't the slightest bit upset when his date declined his invitation to step inside his home and share in a midnight cup of coffee. Of course, the thorough kiss and exploration of his body might have had something to do with his lack of disappointment.

But then it all went to hell.

He showed up.

Not realizing Rafe's feelings for Simon, Jim and Blair introduced their captain to one of Blair's colleagues, a quirky History professor. It wasn't long before Simon was completely smitten with the redheaded scholar, and the apologetic smiles he directed toward Rafe dashed all hopes of a future relationship.

Soon the situation became not only awkward but also painful. His emotional control was tested every time he observed the adoring looks Simon bestowed on his new lover. It wasn't long before it became apparent he needed to distance himself from the two men, thus the reason he accepted the assignment to Canada. It was either that or request a transfer out of Major Crimes.

Rafe recalled Nick Knight's blond good looks and muttered, "Maybe a transfer's not such a bad idea."

Straightening away from the building, he contemplated the club Detective Schanke recommended. Yes, tomorrow was the proverbial new day, but today, tonight was still upon him. He was still lonely; he was still hurting. Maybe this club and its patrons would afford him the opportunity to lose himself - to lose himself in the press of bodies, in the touch of strangers, in the mindless lust that would temporarily extinguish the pain he felt every time he thought of his empty future.

"Right. Tell yourself another one."

Ignoring the lie he'd handed his heart, Rafe walked across the street.

+++++++

Light from the full moon parted the obstructive curtain of darkness and briefly tempered the gaze of burning intensity peering down upon the mass of bodies crowding The Raven's entrance.

Javier Vachon balanced on the edge of the roof, surveying the rain-slick roads and garbage-strewn alleyways below him. It had been months since his last visit to this part of town, and he wasn't quite sure why he was visiting his old nemesis, Lucien Lacroix. The owner of The Raven and his blood-thirsty groupies no longer held any appeal for him, but some nights his soul demanded he reacquaint himself with the truth of his existence. He was a vampire and these were his kindred. They may not understand his desires, but they understood his needs and sometimes that was enough.

"One day . . . ."

A sound from below caught his attention and Vachon immediately zeroed in on the solitary human male hiding in the shadows of the building across from him. He spent countless moments searching the stranger's expressive face and was somewhat stunned to feel the hunger of lost passion pull at him. It was not the recognizable hunger to feed but something more insatiable, something that gripped his dead heart and shook him out of his normal complacency.

He watched with curiosity while the man battled with his own inner demons. The fight was plainly visible to him, his heightened vision noting each emotion that danced across the human's face.

"Shit!" Vachon scrambled backwards to safety. He had unconsciously stepped forward when he saw a single tear escape down the man's lightly-stubbled cheek. The unfamiliar craving to catch that salty drop on his tongue had blinded him to his surroundings and nearly led him to reveal his hiding place.

"Fuck me." Vachon pulled himself away from the edge for a second time. The stranger had stepped out of the darkness and was moving in the direction of The Raven.

Licking his lips, Vachon prepared to leap to the street below. "Yes, Hazel Eyes," he whispered. "Let's chase those demons away."

+++++++

Rafe stopped dead in his tracks and looked around. He swore he could hear a man's voice taunting him as he walked across the street. Not only that but he also felt something, something like the warmth of a fire crawling across his skin, warming parts of his body neglected for far too long.

"Get a grip," he admonished his overactive imagination.

Joining those who stood in line, Rafe waited impatiently for his turn to enter the club. The line moved slowly and by the time he reached the roped-off entrance, he was pretty certain he was being watched. Cautiously, he searched the shadows but came up empty.

"I know you're out there," he addressed his unseen stalker. "Might as well show yourself. Hell, considering how things are going, please show yourself. Who knows? You might get lucky."

A hand planted firmly in the middle of his chest halted all forward motion. Rafe looked up into the haughty face of a black giant and felt a slight tingle of fear tease along his spine.

"Your kind is not welcomed here."

The words, carried on a hot grumble of air, blasted across his face. It triggered an instant reaction. "My kind?" Rafe felt his mood swing from abandoned depression to murderous anger. "What the fuck do you mean, my kind?" He'd be dammed if this jerk was going to deny him his night of distraction. Taking a step forward, he prepared to force his way in. "Listen, Junior, move it or---"

A voice that carried the ages of time on its breath silenced the verbal clash. "Allow him to enter."

Bowing his head to the authority of the compelling voice, the giant backed away. "Welcome to The Raven," he proffered with a wave of his hand.

Ignoring the petulant welcome, Rafe stepped through the entrance. He immediately sensed a presence hidden in the shadows directly in front of him. The presence moved closer, and a chill took possession of Rafe causing him to shudder despite his leather jacket.

"You might want to teach your pit bull better manners. He's a real asshole."

"Don't worry. Martin will be disciplined. What about you? Do you need to be disciplined?"

"Huh?"

Looking down, Rafe was astonished at the sight of an alabaster-pale hand gripping his arm. The contrast of white on black was mesmerizing.

"Disciplined?" He questioned the man who had granted him permission to enter. The thought warranted consideration but not until he'd been thoroughly fucked a number of times. "It's been less than 60 seconds since we met. Have I done something wrong already?"

The stranger lifted his hand and stroked one finger across Rafe's lips. "So warm, so beautiful," he crooned.

Rafe opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. They were silenced by the man's roaming digit. It again brushed across his lips before sliding slowly down his chin and throat. It came to rest against the side of his neck, measuring the pulse that was, at that moment, pounding out of control.

"How fast---" He swallowed hard when he finally caught sight of the man tormenting him.

The strange stood only a hair's breadth away. Completely attired in black, he towered over Rafe. His ivory hair stole the meager shards of light shining down from the ceiling, and his ageless features nearly glowed in the darkness.

Searching the noble visage, Rafe found himself confused by the knowing smile that fell upon the man's full lips. "What? Why are you smiling?"

His chin was tilted upward, and his attention shifted to a pair of fathomless blue eyes and the flames of fire dancing in their depths. The message was unmistakable, and Rafe instinctively responded to its call. His body suffused with heat as lust raced through his veins and pooled heavily in his groin. "Who are you?"

"Allow me to introduce myself." The man lowered his head to whisper his name, and the silken tone of his voice was like velvet sliding across bare skin. "I am Lucien Lacroix, the owner of this establishment."

Those full lips brushed the curve of his cheek and Rafe stumbled forward when his suddenly unsteady legs gave way. Fortunately he was caught by Lacroix. Unfortunately, his tell-tale body revealed its desire, and Rafe blushed with embarrassment, not because he'd been caught sporting a boner a blind man could see but because Lacroix was making no effort to release him.

"Ah, it's been a long time since one so eager has fallen into my arms," the man commented with a widening smile.

"Eager? You have no idea." Muttering beneath his breath, Rafe found himself pulled onto the club's dance floor and expertly tucked against the side of his host.

"Dance with me . . . ? I'm sorry, I don't believe I know your name."

Rafe gripped the broad shoulders that filled his sight. "Rafe. Brian Rafe."

"Brian."

His name was savored slowly, huskily, intimately. Rafe broke out in a sweat that had nothing to do with dancing. "Damn, it's hot in here."

"Hmmm . . . is it?"

Lacroix cupped his ass, encouraging Rafe to rest his full weight against him. "What are you do---?" He sucked in a much needed breath when a muscular thigh insinuated itself between his legs and pressed against his groin. "Jesus, that feels good." His vocalized approval mutated into a tortured groan, the reason being the long, elegant fingers sliding over his manhood. The skillful caress disconnected his brain from reality. "More," he begged.

Lips that bordered on frozen touched his throat. They spent an eternity tasting the visual evidence of his agitated heartbeat. "Yes, yes. Taste me. Fuck me." Rafe forced Lacroix closer by clutching the short blond strands of his hair. "I need to forget. Help me forget."

Lacroix easily pulled free and when Rafe growled a warning, he was silenced with a brutal kiss. "Tonight, Brian Rafe" the mysterious stranger promised. "Tonight, you shall have what you desire."

Rafe closed his eyes and surrendered his fate to Lucien Lacroix.

+++++++

Ignoring the vehement curses and obscene catcalls, Vachon pushed his way through the gathering crowd. It was Wednesday night, for fuck's sake. Where had all these people come from? He looked back at the drooling morons jockeying for position in the line and noted most were human. What was Lacroix up to? Nowadays very few humans were allowed through the doors, and those that did make it inside were invited for one reason and one reason only, their blood.

His presence was acknowledged the second he drew near the entrance, and, without a word, the door to The Raven was opened, allowing him to slip inside. He quickly surveyed the gathering of vampires and discovered he knew only a few. These children of the night were newborns, followers, no doubt, of Lacroix's insanity.

Dismissing the fanged seductress clawing at his arm, Vachon moved further inside. A bad feeling was settling in his gut, and the sooner he found Hazel Eyes, the better. Lacroix didn't cultivate relationships with humans. They were nourishment, nothing more.

Countless offers for sex, some subtle, some downright brazen, were whispered in his ear as he strode toward the bar. Vachon kept moving. He no longer craved the casual `tumble in the casket' with those of his kind. Nick Knight had infected him with his quest for mortality, and suddenly hanging out with his friends, Screed and Urs didn't do it for him anymore. Hell, even the beautiful Tracy with all her blonde sensuality hadn't stirred the dead embers of his passion to life like the human he'd nicknamed, Hazel Eyes. There was something about the man.

"Something like . . . ." Vachon stroked a hand over his hardness and a feral smile chased across his face. Tonight he wanted to surround himself with the warmth of the dark-haired stranger. He wanted to touch the soul of the man's humanity and relive memories of his own long lost mortality.

His fingers encountered a damp spot on his black jeans, and it caused him to chuckle. "Okay, and yes, I also wouldn't mind getting up close and personal with the man's gorgeous ass. I do have needs, you know."

Leaning back against the bar, Vachon swept his gaze over the dance floor. It didn't take him long to find Lacroix. The vampire's snow-white hair shimmered under the lights like a guiding beacon. Along with his pale features, the spiked hair drew almost everyone's attention, his included. He chuckled again. Looking at Lacroix reminded him of looking at a snake. You knew you shouldn't but . . . .

"Holding court, as usual, I see."

Vachon dismissed Lacroix and resumed his search for the young human. He soon grew impatient and was on the verge of drowning his sorrows in the glass of blood the bartender offered him when his gaze unerringly returned to Lacroix.

"What the fuck?"

He got within a foot of the vampire before he was halted in his tracks.

+++++++

"Open your eyes, Pretty One."

Rafe struggled to obey but was prevented by the ominous haze clouding his thoughts. He shook his head but before he could make sense of his situation a mouth closed over his and swallowed the meager reply his addled brain had put together.

Okay, kiss now. Think later.

Hands wandered intimately over his body, tugging and pulling at his clothes. He made an unsuccessful grab for his leather jacket but was distracted by the expert fingers attacking the buttons of his silk shirt. The notion of how much it would cost to replace his designer clothing barely made a dent on his consciousness. All thoughts were focused on the hands mapping the contours of his naked chest.

Forcing his eyes open, Rafe watched in confusion as not one, not two but four hands took possession of his upper torso, pinching and twisting his nipples, tracing his abs, dipping inside his navel. His entire body was dangerously close to overloading on touch alone, and it did just that when seconds later razor-sharp teeth took possession of his left tit.

"Oh God, too much. Stop, please. Let me---" His chin was brutally gripped, and suddenly Rafe found himself staring at his host for the night. The stranger's unearthly smile made his skin crawl with trepidation. It also made his dick hard as steel, and for the life of him, he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or bad.

"I hope you don't mind," Lacroix whispered, "but I'd love for you to meet a few of my friends."

Rafe moaned when the man's tongue slid slowly across his bottom lip. An orgy? Why the hell not?

"They are most eager to share in the taste of your sweetness." The laughter that followed was low and sinister and totally forgotten the second Lacroix's tongue insinuated itself inside his mouth.

"Yes," Rafe agreed with breathless abandon. "Sharing is good, better than good."

Danger signs were flashing on and off inside his skull but he was blind to them. This was what he'd come searching for, someone to make him forget.

Fingers stroked up and down the sides of his neck as if measuring the length of his carotid vein. They were soon replaced by teeth, and Rafe moaned when a knife-like sharpness repeatedly scraped his skin.

"Somebody's hungry," he mumbled to the pair of crimson colored lips coaxing him to share his limited supply of oxygen.

"Hungry for you, mon petit," the owner of the lips murmured.

With his legs threatening to drop his ass on the floor, Rafe turned and pressed his body closer to Lacroix. "I don't know about you, but how `bout we take this somewhere private." He wrapped his arms around the man's waist and went searching for his ass. Solid muscle soon filled his hands, and he couldn't resist the urge to squeeze.

"I don't mind showing off the family jewels to your friends. Having said that, I do mind being arrested for indecent exposure. What do you say, Lacroix?" Rafe inquired. "Got a room in the back we can move this party to?"

"Silence."

Like a bird caught in a trap, Rafe stared at Lacroix. The man's was baring his teeth in the most bizarre, terrifying way and damn if the front incisors didn't look like fangs. Not only that but the lengthening teeth were headed straight for his throat. "Tell me this is a joke. You're not going to bi---"

Rafe hissed in pain when, instead of his neck, his lower lip ended up as the intended victim. The brief discomfort was instantly erased by a devouring kiss.

"I never play with my food, dear Brian," Lacroix intoned. "Ruins the taste, n'est pas?"

Rafe dumbly nodded his head. "Whatever. Just make sure you don't ignore the tasty morsels down below. They're feeling a bit neglected, if you get my drift."

His message was received loud and clear. One-half of the hands and mouths that were torturing his chest moved south of the border.

"Your wish is my command," Lacroix answered with another one of his puzzling laughs.

Again the man's mouth was poised over his neck. Rafe closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. All this chit-chat and nibbling was not solving his problem. He needed fucking, the sooner the better.

"Get on with it, Blondie," he demanded. "My ass is not getting any younger."

+++++++

"LACROIX!" Vachon yelled.

His eyes alive with danger, Lacroix snapped up his head and searched for the imbecile foolish enough to interrupt his meal. "Who dares?"

Vachon yanked away the blue-haired vixen attached to Hazel Eyes' left nipple. Her abrupt removal left a thin trail of blood on the human's pale flesh, the sight of which incensed those vampires waiting on the sidelines. "This one is mine," he declared.

Lacroix merely raised an eyebrow before loosening the man's slacks and baring his engorged organ for all to see. The sadistic bastard didn't stop there. He further teased Vachon by leisurely stroking the column of solid flesh until drops of precum were coaxed from its tip. Once he was assured he had everyone's complete attention, he then lifted his stained fingers to his mouth and, with great showmanship, sucked them clean.

"I do not see your mark, Javier Vachon," Lacroix haughtily stated. "As far as I know, ownership of the one who calls himself Brian Rafe is up for grabs." He lowered his hands to the human's erection. "And as you can plainly see, I'm making the first grab."

Deciding he had nothing to lose except his immortal soul which wasn't worth that much to begin with, Vachon snatched Rafe away from Lacroix. He pressed his fangs to the human's neck and gently drew blood. Smearing the crimson fluid with kisses that ranged up and down the neck so willingly offered to him, he taunted Lacroix. "He wears my mark now. Do you challenge my claim?"

Lacroix's menacing smile froze Vachon in place and for a moment he reconsidered his plans for the night. Was this human worth the trouble? Vachon gazed into the man's eyes and glimpsed a measure of his emotional torment. What would Nick do? He had his answer the minute he asked the question. Nick would help in any way possible.

"Okay, Brian Rafe. Your guardian angel has arrived."

The sound of someone moaning in pain distracted him from his thoughts. Vachon looked down and saw Lacroix had the human by his balls. The vampire twisted his hand to the right and Rafe thrashed wildly. "My children have not had their supper this night," Lacroix said. "Neither have I. Do you deny me this delectable feast?"

"I repeat . . . this one is mine." Vachon forcibly removed Lacroix's hand. "Look elsewhere for your dinner, Old Man."

Lacroix growled a warning before slipping into the darkness followed by his snarling entourage.

Vachon ignored the blazing resentment evident in Rafe's expressive eyes. It was past time to leave and the last thing he needed was this foolish, stubborn human questioning his right of possession. Turning so that they faced each other, he locked gazes with the man and continued staring until he felt the human surrender to his unspoken command.

"That's it. Give in," he encouraged as he guided them out the club's rear exit. Tightening his grip, he checked their surroundings for curious onlookers. Finding none, he took the skies. "Relax, Hazel Eyes. Leave the flying to me."

+++++++

Words of promised seduction whispered in his ear roused Rafe from his slumber. He opened his eyes and instantly felt his breath snatched away by the rush of cold air across his face. His sleep-laden vision struggled to focus and, for a brief second, he swore he was racing through the night sky. The stars appeared so incredibly close he almost reached out to grab a handful.

"Impossible."

The next time he opened his eyes he was distracted by the wintry pair of lips settling gently over his. The sky, the stars, the frigid night air, all was forgotten. All except the kiss that scorched his very soul.

Words again echoed in his ear, and this time Rafe understood the simple question.

"I want you, Hazel Eyes. Where can we go?"

Rafe tangled his hand in the long brown locks drifting with the wind. "I'm staying at The Plaza. Room 276."

As soon as his answer drifted into silence his mouth was coaxed open and explored. The mere touch of the stranger's tongue stirred the flame of desire but before he could react to it, his gaze was captured and his hunger shut down by an irresistible suggestion to sleep.

"Close your eyes again, and dream of the loving you shall soon enjoy."

Yawing with exhaustion, Rafe watched as a single star streaked across the sky. He knew something was wrong but couldn't, for the life of him, decide what it was. His mind told him he was flying. The voice told him otherwise. Burying his face in the softness of a wool sweater, he quit fighting the impossible and instead, uttered his one unfulfilled wish for the night.

"Make me forget."

+++++++

The dream of flying through a star-filled night finally released his unconscious mind, and Rafe woke to find himself stripped of his clothes and lying in the bed of his hotel room. He rose up on one elbow and stared at the man standing across the room. The pale nakedness of the stranger's body was framed by the large scenic window that looked out over downtown Toronto.

Thirsty beyond belief, Rafe swallowed before speaking. He grimaced when his words rattled hoarsely in the silence. "Who are you?"

"My name is Javier Vachon."

The man turned and the first thing Rafe noticed was the way his eyes glowed in the darkness. His breath caught. "Your eyes. What are you?"

The stranger moved quickly, his graceful movements almost a blur. In the second it took for Rafe to inhale, the man had vacated his spot by the window and was now straddling his partially covered body.

"The night will soon be gone. Rest assured, Hazel Eyes, I will not harm you. I only offer that which you seek, a night that will chase away the sadness lingering in your beautiful eyes."

Rafe watched in silence as the man's tongue forged a wet path between his nipples.

"I want you, my dark-haired angel," Vachon admitted. "Your blood calls to me like no other."

The covers were slowly pulled from his body, allowing cool air to assault his nakedness. Moaning, Rafe gripped the bottom sheet and tore it loose from the mattress. "My blood? Why---?"

Coherent thoughts were abandoned the second his manhood was swallowed by an insatiable mouth. Razor sharp teeth slid along its length, leaving Rafe twitching helplessly. The image of being orally castrated was erased by the fingers exploring the area behind his scrotum. So close. Another inch and heaven would be within his grasp.

"Do you want this, Hazel Eyes?"

Are you kidding? Rafe thought. Want this? Of course, I want this. I've wanted this from the moment I crossed the threshold of that fucking club.

One finger pressed inside his body, and Rafe sobbed with relief when his ass gladly welcomed the intruder. "Took your own sweet time, didn't you?" Desperate for more, he tugged hard on the stranger's long unruly strands of hair. "Would you quit with all this tender shit and---"

His demand was interrupted by another finger sliding into his passageway. "Now that's more like it." He braced his feet on the bed and lifted his hips, silently encouraging the pale stranger to finger-fuck him.

A cool kiss brushed across his sweaty brow. "Tell me you want this, Hazel Eyes. I will go no further without your consent."

The unbidden image of Simon kissing his new lover reared its ugly self, and Rafe lost it. Sinking his teeth in the side of Vachon's neck, he angrily growled. "Fuck me, you shit. Fuck me until I can't remember the man who broke my heart."

"My pleasure."

Three fingers filled his ass and Rafe thrust back and forth, riding them almost savagely. "More, more," he begged. Scoring the length of Vachon's back with his nails, he bit down on the man's earlobe. "Fuck me."

His companion laughed hoarsely. "Are my fingers no more to your liking?"

Rafe flipped Vachon over and straddled his thin frame. Sucking hard on a nipple, he groped between their bodies and blindly searched for the stranger's erection. The solid shaft filled his grip, and he wasted no time in guiding it to his hole. "If I wanted fingers, I could have fucked myself." Rafe covered the hands sliding up his chest and groaned in appreciation when his tits were viciously pinched and twisted. "Well?" he asked. "What's it gonna be?"

Vachon laughed. "I agree. Why use fingers when there's a willing dick primed and ready?" He flexed his hips. "Go for it."

Rafe gritted his teeth and pushed down on the diamond-hard shaft. The pain was unbelievable, yet totally welcomed. This was what he needed. Replace one pain with another.

"Yes, yes," he shouted. Gripping Vachon's head, he encouraged the man's ravenous sucking of his nipples. "Bite me. Bite me `til I bleed."

Slamming down, Rafe howled. Unquenchable heat filled his ass but it wasn't enough. He guided Vachon's mouth closer to his own. "Kiss me. Kiss me like he did before that bastard came along and stole him from me." His plea was ignored.

"Look at me, Hazel Eyes."

Vachon gripped him by the shoulders and dug sharp nails into his flesh. Rafe stared him in confusion. "I'm looking at you. What the hell do you want?" He lifted off the steel rod imbedded in his ass and slammed down on it again. Strong hands took hold of his hips and forced him to stop.

"I am NOT this man who has broken your heart," Vachon declared. "Don't take your anger out on me."

Rafe clawed at the hands holding him immobile. "Let go of me, you asshole."

"No," Vachon calmly answered. "Not until you look at me. Not until you acknowledge I'm not the bastard who left you for someone else."

Rafe refused to answer and his stubbornness was rewarded with pain. Vachon took him with a kiss that left his bottom lip bleeding. The injured flesh wasn't ignored for long. Before he could lick the blood away, Vachon was doing it for him.

"Sweet Mistress of all that is sacred," the man hoarsely whispered, "forgive me for what I'm about to do."

Rafe wasn't in the mood to forgive, and even if he was, the mere thought was negated by the hand squeezing his balls. He roared as his body was bombarded by a million shards of pleasure. "Yes! Now we're getting somewhere." He returned each one of Vachon's kisses with the same desperation in which they were offered.

Nearing the point of no return, Rafe jerked his mouth away and snarled at Vachon when his release was stymied by a firm grip to the base of his erection. "You fucking son of a bitch. Let me cum." Without warning, he found himself flat on his back. Vachon was now in control, and he demonstrated his superiority by tightening his grip. Rafe saw stars.

"Let go!" He stared up at Vachon. The man's eyes glittered strangely and his mouth . . . Oh shit. Not that again.

Vachon lowered his head either to speak or to kiss. It didn't matter; all Rafe could see were fangs. Fangs that looked as lethal as the knife he always wore hidden in his belt.

"I will not be this man," Vachon stated.

"You sure as hell aren't," Rafe shot back. "I don't know what you are but you sure as hell aren't human." Rafe fought in vain to break Vachon's hold but the man was too strong. Finally he collapsed against the mattress in surrender. "Go ahead. Rape me. Kill me. Whatever. My life isn't worth jackshit these days."

For a moment Rafe was certain Vachon would follow through with at least the sexual assault. The long-haired stranger continued to thrust hard, repeatedly groaning each time their bodies slammed into each other.

"Look at me, Brian Rafe."

Startled by not only the gentle request but also by cessation of movement, Rafe squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "No! You're not human."

With one hand, Vachon lifted him off the bed and claimed his mouth with a searing kiss. "No, mi ngel, I'm not. But that doesn't matter. What matters is what I can do for you."

Lowered gently to the bed, Rafe kept his eyes firmly shut. Maybe he could pretend he was hallucinating. Pretend he hadn't seen Vachon's weird eyes and even weirder fangs. Pretend he still didn't want this man, this creature, to fuck him senseless.

"There's nothing I want from you." Rafe remained motionless, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure spreading through his body each time Vachon flexed his hips.

"You lie, Hazel Eyes. Better yet, your body lies."

His leaking erection was gathered in a possessive embrace. The sweet torture of being stroked by one who somehow knew all his erogenous spots broke his resistance, and he moaned in response. "Okay, you win. I'm lying. I don't care what you are, just as long as you fuck me."

Rafe fought the urge to cringe in fear when he felt the prick of sharp teeth touch the side of his neck.

"I'm sorry I cannot give you this love you desire," Vachon said in his ear. "However, I can give your body the release it craves, and who knows? There's always tomorrow."

Strands of soft hair caressed his face. Rafe opened his eyes and turned his head. Silently he gazed at the fangs Vachon's lips could no longer hide. "I don't know what you are, Javier Vachon. In fact, I'd rather not know. My life sucks. Let's not add unexplained weirdness to it." Lifting his legs, he circled Vachon's slender waist and forced a deeper joining of their bodies. "I do know one thing. I want you. I want you to fuck me so hard that when I return home all I'll remember from this night is your dick reaming my ass."

Rafe ran his fingers over the jagged points of Vachon's elongated fangs. The word `vampire' teased his bewildered thoughts but he didn't care. There was something about this man, something that demanded he surrender his heart and soul.

Rafe collected another breath stealing, blood stirring kiss. It spoke of a future he suddenly hungered for with every fiber of his being. "Claim me, Javier Vachon," he hoarsely demanded. "Claim me as yours."

+++++++

The human was his. Finally.

Vachon clutched Rafe by the hips and pounded his cock deep inside him. The cold-blooded sound that crawled out of his throat was swallowed and returned to him in a frenzied kiss. Mesmerized by the sweetness of Rafe's mouth, Vachon temporarily ignored the fingers searching his rear end. It wasn't until one brave digit fought its way inside his ass that he remembered the reason why he was thankful he was a member of the male gender.

Scarlet lightning sizzled through his mind each time Rafe's finger nudged his prostate. Add to that the unrelenting heat holding his engorged cock hostage and . . . adios control.

Grasping his lover's erection, Vachon sank his teeth into the fragile flesh of Rafe's neck. Hot blood spilled into his mouth. The taste was heady, rich with human emotion. It could easily become an addiction he would give all to savor for the remainder of his existence.

A primal scream rent the silence as jets of hot cream splattered across his cold skin. Vachon drank deeply and, just when his own body convulsed with the shattering throes of release, he tore his mouth free. Slashing a fingernail across his chest, he jerked Rafe off the bed and guided his lips to the bleeding wound.

Vachon felt the fires of passion consume him, and he freely reveled in the ecstasy of sharing his blood with another. Reverting to his native tongue, he declared to the darkness and to his nearly unconscious lover, "I am Javier Vachon, a soldier of the Spanish realm. I have embraced this world for nearly 500 years as a vampire. Taste my life. Live as my mate for all eternity."

+++++++

Moving along the hotel balcony, a tall shadow obscured the moon's radiance. Once it reached the window for room 276, it sprung the lock and step inside the darkened suite. Sensing the presence of an enemy, Vachon stirred restlessly. Several words of Latin were whispered in his ear and he drifted back to sleep.

The tangled bodies of both men were examined at leisure by their uninvited guest. Assessment complete, the stranger collected a sample of their spilled seed and savored it not once but twice. The harsh sound that greeted the taste of their loving was not one of delight but one of resentment.

It was several seconds before silence reigned again. During that time Rafe was carefully extricated from Vachon's sleepy hold and laid across the edge of the bed. Experienced hands and fingers caressed every inch of his slumbering body. They kept to their task until his softened organ grew hard and long. The moment it began to weep tears that were strangely crimson his future with Vachon was relinquished. Fangs buried themselves in the flesh of his groin, and he woke with a silent scream, his body convulsing in agony as climax after climax ripped through him.

Before he could identify the intruder stealing what was left of his mortality, a chill took hold of his languishing body, and he fell back on the bed. Weakly he reached for his guardian angel but his strength failed him, and he was forced to gaze helplessly at Vachon while instinctively feeding from the bleeding wrist pressed to his mouth. A singular, more potent flare of heat took complete possession of his body, and its fury set his failing heart on fire before silencing it for all eternity.

Blackness threatened to overwhelm him but before it did, the haughty visage of a familiar face claimed his attention. Rafe shuddered. Lucien Lacroix held him in his arms.

"Stop. Vachon has---"

His protest was sucked right out of his mouth.

"Hush, my child," Lacroix murmured. "Vachon's claim is forfeited. You now belong to me. I am your Master."

Rafe took his last breath and died . . . . for the first time.

The end

Author's note: I know I'm going to get called on this but who's to say the blood of an older vampire won't trump that of a younger one? Thus parenthood/ownership of the new convert would naturally belong to the vampire with the most mileage, right? ;-)

Disclaimer: This work is not intended as an infringement upon the rights of those that ownthese charactersand is meant solely for non-profit entertainment purposes only.

End

Welcome to the Night by Angelise: angelise7@hotmail.com
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.