Shane hated this.
He hated, specifically, that he kept thinking about that fiction his vampire had painted: Shane wilted across his bed, chains at his wrists and two fresh bite marks in his neck. Despite the fear and confliction that had already been coursing through him, when he’d heard it, his heart had done something—something indescribable and terrible. It left him hot and his neck strangely tender, so tender that Maul’s voice had felt like bruises beneath the skin and his own vampire’s like a gentle caress. Even through their talks of Vitalis-Barron and the merits of his article, Shane could not quite dislodge the feeling.
It roiled in him as his vampire whispered in his ear and pressed at his arms and hips, smoothly nudging him against the frame of the door. He was pinned, he knew, but he didn’t feel it, because his vampire’s grip continued to be soft, the tugs and grasps more like questions than demands. Still, when his vampire tucked back his hair, and his hot breath brushed over Shane’s bare neck, it wasn’t tenderness or chains his body remembered, but the unwanted clamping of fangs deep into his skin, the suffocating grasp of a hand on his mouth, the complete disregard for his terror and his pain.
Shane flinched, the way he’d been instinctively flinching at every remembered horror all evening. Each time so far, his vampire had pushed gently past his guard, soothed him with a touch so light it could never have come from anyone else. Shane waited for it—anticipated it so much that when his vampire’s fingertips slid along his neck, his nerves lit, not in fear but in relief.
“Did Maul hurt you here as well?” He sounded miserable, as miserable as thinly-contained rage could be.
“Yes.” It wasn’t the literal truth, but the one Shane felt when he thought of Maul, watching from the darkness, only interrupting for his own profit.
“Damn him.” It was grumbled so low that Shane didn’t know if he was meant to hear it at all, but when his protector—monster—spoke again, his voice was as silky and sensual as ever. “Squeeze my fingers if it’s too much, Cygnus.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t the right response, a gratitude signifier as though what his vampire was offering was anything beyond the bare minimum, but of course felt too casual and to say nothing seemed like it would give the wrong impression—the impression that this wasn’t meaningful to Shane. He slid his hand through his vampire’s, trying in vain to loosen the muscles in his shoulder. This wouldn’t be like the bites Maul had set on him, but like the little pinch of venom from the October gala, amplified. He hoped.
“I never want to hurt you,” his vampire whispered.
And Shane believed him.
As fangs pricked his neck, Shane expected the same fear, the returning memories of that night as Maul’s goons had held him in place, but he felt himself melt instead, like his whole body was exhaling the panic that had been building in him since he’d first met the blood dealer. The venom burst that followed felt lush and full, enough to make him swoon against the doorway. He was pretty sure that he would have agreed to anything in that moment, would have sold himself to his vampire in blood and body and heart and life just to have this again.
His vampire held him, an arm around his waist and mouth tenderly working at his neck. It was not the harsh bite, bite, bite of Maul’s goons from the previous night, but a soothing pressure, ending with a lick that seemed to make all the venom already in Shane’s system light up.
Shane drew the tips of his fingers back and forth over his vampire’s hand with a sigh. “Thank you,” he repeated, and this time it felt right.
“Precious little swan,” his vampire replied. “You are mine, now. Don’t forget that.” With a final drag of his tongue that left Shane hot and weak and trembling, he pulled away.
Shane fought the impulse to reach for him. To turn for him, to find those lips that had pressed so softly to his what felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago. When he finally did, there was no one.
“You’re mine now.”
It should have scared him.
And yet…
And yet.
“I’m here, I’m alive, everything’s fine.”
“God dammit, Shane!” From the sound of Nat’s voice in his car’s speaker, she sounded like she was across a room from her mic. With some banging, her voice returned to normal. “Fuck you. I’ve been here for half an hour trying not to have a panic attack wondering whether my only real friend is getting eaten out or just plain eaten by a vampire.” Her only real friend.
He had a friend. They were friends. “I’m eternally sorry. Thank you for watching out for me.”
“Geez. Well. Whatever.” She made a disgusted noise. “What happened? Is that creep finally gone? Did you actually fuck him?”
“I did not, as I was never planning to fuck him.” Shane pulled away from the curb. “He’s gone, at least for now. We just talked for a while and then he bit me.” He could not admit that at one point the bastard who’d almost had him killed came back, and even then Shane hadn’t called for help. He’d been safe, he reasoned. And bringing in outside help might have managed to take Maul down without ruining Shane’s entire investigation, but it also might have taken Shane’s vampire down instead.
“He fucking bit you? My god, are you okay?”
“Relax, it was nice. He was…” Sweet wasn’t quite right, and compassionate implied far more than he’d given. Shane finally settled on the word that kept coming back to him, that comforted him even when everything else should have made him flee in terror. “He was gentle.”
He had been so very gentle, ever since they’d met, soft hands and flirtatious comments layered over a witty intellect and that genuine desire to know what Shane was thinking. No matter how sharp his fangs were or how willing he was to use them as a threat against the woman he cornered at the gala last fall, he had always been so very gentle with Shane.
“Huh. Well, he sounds like a melodramatic ass,” Nat said. “I still think we should stake him. Just in case.” It sounded like a joke.
“You’re not allowed to stake him so long as he’s being sweet to me. He’s also looking out for me. You’re on the same side.”
“I still don’t trust him.”
“Overprotective much?” Shane grumbled, but he felt lighter, happier. He had someone in his life to worry over him—he had Nat. Nat and his vampire. He wasn’t alone after all. “Thank you, by the way. It means a lot to me.”
“Oh, get off the phone before you start crying,” Nat snapped, but she added, quieter, “You’re welcome. Anytime. I mean it.” before hanging up.
Shane Cowley had a friend.
He beamed to himself. It wasn’t quite the full social life he’d had in college, but it meant a lot more now, somehow. And it didn’t have to end with Nat. There were other relationships out there for him—platonic ones, without fangs. Ones, perhaps, like his acquaintance with Andres Serrano.
The last twenty-four hours had wiped Andres completely from Shane’s mind, but the memory he did have of them was a fond one, a little quirk coming into his lips at the recollection. Shane had his vampire—or his vampire had him, anyway—and the mere thought of wanting someone else felt oddly like a betrayal.
But he’d only asked Andres for friendship.
And if Shane finally had one friend again, perhaps he could have two.