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Grayson swallowed. He could feel his throat and mouth. That was good. But was what he was hearing good? A Vampire being fixated on him couldn’t be good.

“Maybe it has something to do with his powers. Maybe his blood called to you,” Demos suggested.

Oh, right, make it my fault that Ryder nearly loses control and--and bites me! Grayson thought.

“If that was the case, it should have called to you as well and it did not, right? Or did you just hide it better than me?” Ryder asked, and there was a hint of possessiveness in his tone as if Demos better not have craved Grayson’s blood.

Grayson felt odd when he realized that. Everyone who had found out what he was wanted him gone. His powers scared them. He couldn’t be normal. He was dangerous. His powers hurt people. But then the female Vampire hadn’t been scared, but found him fascinating. She should have been scared though, considering what he did to her.

“No, I did not. Doe-eyed and broken are your thing, not mine,” Demos snorted.

Doe-eyed and broken? Is he saying that about me?!

“He just seems… haunted. When I put him in the closet I think I made a big mistake. He was ready to claw his way out of there,” Ryder said.

Grayson swallowed again and pushed down the claustrophobia that even thinking of dark, tight places brought. This strange blue place was vast. He felt a different kind of angst here. But so long as he could hear their voices, he was okay. He’d just pushed himself way too hard. He’d never used his powers this much. His fire needed fueling. But right now he needed to rest.

“And you still put him in there?” The disbelief in Demos’ voice was hard to miss.

“It was the safest place!” Ryder hissed, clearly annoyed. “I couldn’t just leave him sitting on a pew! I could bring him with me! He needed to be somewhere he wouldn’t be able to get into trouble from–”

“And yet, thank the Immortals, he did because he saved your Vampire ass and likely mine too,” Demos interrupted him, completely unrepentant.

“You’ve changed your tune on him. Where’s all the suspicion and narrowed-eyes from before?” Ryder pointed out.

It was true that Demos seemed to be more in his corner than before, which Grayson was glad about. But, then again, it was because they had him unconscious in the back seat and Grayson had saved Ryder’s life as he said. So that’s all it took to take Demos to change his mind.

“He was lying, Ryder. I sensed that and was playing bad cop since you were ready to pat him on the head--or more like kiss his temple--and tell him everything was going to be all right,” Demos teased.

Grayson thought he felt heat flare in his cheeks. Kissing him? Demos thought that Ryder wanted to kiss him? This was ridiculous to feel embarrassed about.

Kiss me or feed from me. Which is it? Or is it both?

“He looks like he’s had a hard life,” Ryder said, not denying the kissing bit, which had Grayson feeling all sorts of strange.

“Yeah, imagine having powers like that. I bet it's played havoc with his life,” Demos agreed.

“He lied to us probably because anyone he’s told about them has either disbelieved him--

“Which we, of all people, would not have done!”

“Right, but the other sort of people would have wanted to examine him,” Ryder pointed out.

Grayson’s heart started to thump faster. He heard someone turn around in their seat. He thought it might be Ryder, having heard the difference in his heart rate, and was checking on him. Grayson tried to calm himself down, but being unable to move was making that difficult.

“Is he coming to?” Demos asked, more squeaking and shifting as he moved, too.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Ryder muttered. “Not quite yet.”

He felt fingers move along his forehead, smoothing out tension lines that he hadn’t known were there, and Grayson found himself relaxing under those touches. He told himself not to. He told himself to fight the comfort that Ryder’s touch brought. Had he not just heard them talking about how Ryder was having difficulty not wanting to bite him?

“It’s okay, Grayson. Let yourself sleep. You’re safe,” Ryder soothed.

And Grayson, despite himself, drifted down into the blackness. But it wasn’t scary. It was comforting. And he slept.

The next time he came to, he was no longer in the blue space, but was actually awake. He knew this by the fact that his head felt like someone was drilling a hole into it and then pouring in acid before sloshing his brain around. He lifted a hand to his head, relieved to be able to move, and touched his temple. But even that caused him to wince.

He lay there, trying to figure out where he was without opening his eyes and looking around. He wasn’t in the car anymore. He didn’t hear the hiss of tires over asphalt of the thumps. Also, wherever he was no longer had streetlamps that would flash over his closed eyelids. The room was dimly lit, if there was any light at all. For this he was eternally grateful.