A Warrior’s Pride Chapter 1 Fallen Warrior

Ari sat on the raised platform listening to the beautiful singing of one of the younger of the clan’s warriors. The boy’s sweet voice wrapped the listeners in the past glories of their clan as everyone hung on his words. By this time tomorrow Ari knew that the boy along with him and most of his clan would be wiped out by the invading Horse Lords and their leader Nighteagle. Yet the spell of the ancient triumph swept his people along, making them for the moment invincible in their hearts, if not their bodies. Ari closed his ice blue eyes, trying to lose himself as well, but despite the rousing words it couldn’t banish the thoughts of his clan’s death.

It had only been a brief eighty years since their clan had settled in the Valley of Mist.

Raised with a sword in their fists from the day they were born, each member of the dwindling clan of the Iolair were born to fight, yet their constant warlike ways had brought them to the brink of extinction despite their formidable skills. It was Ari’s great-grand uncle that had settled the clan in the fertile valley and brought peace, hoping to rebuild their numbers to one day battle again. That dream wasn’t to be, at least not now.

The Horse Lords had finally united under the banner of one man. A powerful warrior of barbaric ruthlessness and cunning that had swept the world under the hoof of their horses. Intent on battle and plunder, they swept through the lands robbing, raping, and burning their enemies, leaving a wake of destruction behind. Thousands rode under the banner of Nighteagle, who it was said found exquisite pleasure only in the heat of battle.

 

Ari had evacuated the protesting women with children under ten, and a small number of young warriors in the forest beyond the valley where Nighteagle would not enter. It was the one place the tribe of Horse Lords feared, the depth of forest so different and foreign than the open freedom of the vast expanse of plains of their homeland. The women had demanded their right to fight with the clan and die a warrior’s death, but Ari was adamant that the Iolair survive. He wouldn’t be the leader that had to oversee the death of his ancient clan, for him the recognition of being the youngest leader of his people was enough for him.

The song came to an end as Ari opened his eyes and applauded with the rest of his people. The musicians struck up a rousing beat as many began to dance. The smiling laughter a strange counterpart to the somber thought that swirled in his mind. His people were happy, the day of battle had returned despite the insurmountable odds against them; they would die as warriors. Peace didn’t suit the Iolair, and Ari knew that this battle was something they wanted. His clan always looked forward to the coming of foolish people that had tried to raid their clan.

Every woman, man, child, and oldster wanted to fight and die in glory, it been hard to convince the few that had to flee to the forest. They had protested vigorously that how could they even claim to be Iolair when they had survived in such a way, cowardly fleeing from battle and glorious death? It had been a hard won victory that, for Ari, was rather hollow and empty, for there was some truth in their words.

The Iolair never ran from battle; it was the one reason that Nighteagle had set his sights on his people, who were not as rich as those around them. For the prestige of destroying the legend of the invincible Iolair, Nighteagle would drive his thousands into the Valley of the Mist to battle the slim five hundred people left of his clan.

“Ari, would you dance?” asked Strum, his sword instructor and former lover.

Ari stared at Strum with a frown, looking at the honey blond haired man with a powerful square face and flashing emerald eyes. He could see the man was trying to make peace between them, despite the fact Ari had flat out refused his company the past month. For an instant Ari considered it, for he had not found anyone to fill his bed, and yet he knew that he would rather be alone than feel the sting of disappointment of their pairing.

Ari knew that no matter how hard his old teacher and lover tried, there was no way he could fulfill his true desire. Strum had tried and for years it had been enough, but now he had outgrown Strum and he could deny it no longer. He watched Strum lift a long strand of his pale white hair in his calloused hand, as he leaned over to whisper in Ari’s ear.

“I have a new set of ropes for you. You have been very disobedient to resist me for so long, I intend to teach you the price for such audacity before we die,” Strum purred in his ear.

A year ago such threats would have made Ari tremble in desire, but now he felt nothing but pity for the man gazing down at him. When he was young, before he had become the chief of the Iolair, Strum had been a powerful, strong man that outweighed Ari by more than a little. He was the best and strongest of all the clan warriors except for the chief. Strum had seemed invincible and commanding, just the type of person that drew Ari. It hadn’t taken long for his teacher to notice the starry-eyed gaze of his pupil, who would often times deliberately disobey him. It was apparent from the beginning that Ari was looking not only for attention but something more carnal in his acts of defiance. The first time Strum had strapped him for deliberately dropping his sword, the man knew what Ari’s true intentions were by his growing erection at Strum’s discipline.

That day had led to one of the most intensely erotic days of Ari’s life, even now the thoughts of that day could make him throb in desire. A young, virginal youth being taken by his strong teacher. The following years had led to a relationship between the two that was frowned on but overlooked because of both of their extreme talents as warriors. Days were spent in the training yard, where Strum pounded him with a sword until Ari’s skills outshone everyone in a clan full of warriors. Nights were spent bound and tied as his instructor tortured his body, bringing passions and desire spiked with pain flowing through him.

The last two years had brought many changes in both of their lives; foremost among them was Ari’s elevation to clan chief of the Iolair. When the old chief had died, Ari had been elected unanimously for his skills with a sword and ferocity in battle that had earned him the name White Demon, to the foreigners who were foolish enough to attack their clan in hopes of seizing their treasure or make a name for themselves.

As was proper, he found a woman to bear him a child, and had taken over the hundreds of details of running their small clan. His mornings were spent sparring warriors who wished to test their skills against the clan chief, his afternoons spent buried in the minutia of clan life, and his evenings divided between Gislia and Strum. He had to admit that Strum had graciously stepped aside to Gislia, but Ari suspected it was only because he knew that there was nothing between them except the agreement to sire and raise a child together. Gislia only paired with him until their son had been conceived, then she as well chose another lover.

Leadership, the birth of his son, and sparring everyday with hotheaded young warriors had made Ari even more aware of his own strengths as a man, and when compared to his lover he found Strum lacking. He was a good man and when needed a considerate lover who knew what Ari wanted and needed, but he wasn’t strong enough. The game between them was just a game, the reality was heartbreakingly simple for Ari. Strum could never truly dominate Ari as he wished because Strum lacked the skills to do it. Ari could easily overpower his old lover now, not just on a physical level but an intellectual as well. Knowing that he submitted not because of the man’s strength of will but because of Ari’s need to have someone, anyone command him left Ari hollow inside.

It had been a shock to Strum when one night Ari had snapped the bounds of rope that Sturm had tied tightly and got up. Strum had come at him meaning to push him to the ground and overpower him, only to find Ari astride his chest looking down at him in sadness. Ari had in an empty voice told Strum that they were over. In the month that had followed Strum had tried repeatedly to get him back into his log home, yet Ari had refused.

Many of the clan had looked at the breakup between the pair as a good opportunity to become Ari’s new lover. Not only was he the clan leader, but he knew that many woman and even men looked at him with open desire. He had the classic features of his clan, with broad shoulders, lean hips, and taut muscles on his chest and arms. Long, well muscled legs met with a round curve of ass which Strum had often commented was his best feature. His long, white blond hair hung down to his thighs, a testament to his prowess as a warrior. Only in defeat did an Iolair cut their hair, and Ari had never once needed to. He had often heard in whispers that his ice blue eyes were the thing that drew his potential suitors the most, with their powerful gaze that made one forget their purpose, except to please him.

Even now Ari could feel the eyes of his clan on him, wondering what his answer to Strum would be. He knew that most of them expected Ari to take Strum to his home, since he had refused all offers from the others of the clan. Even Strum had expected it, despite Ari’s consistent refusal of him. None of them knew that Ari had refused all offers simply because he knew that no one in the clan was able to equal him, let alone surpass him.

“No, Strum,” Ari said quietly, looking up at the man sadly.

“We will die tomorrow, will you not give me this one thing,” Strum pleaded softly.

“No, the only person that will enter my bed again is one that can surpass me. That is the only person I can love,” Ari replied as he saw Strum’s eyes widen.

“Then you would always be alone Ari. No one can surpass the White Demon,” Strum answered letting Ari’s hair fall.

Ari watched the man walk away, feeling sadness overwhelm him despite the high sprit of the people around him. Maybe Strum was right, but Ari would never get a chance to find out, for tomorrow he would die under a horde of enemies. The only thing he hoped was that his son would be able, unlike his father, to find the one destined for him.

 

“There, it is finished,” Strum said with satisfaction as he looked over Ari’s naked body.

“Thank you Strum,” Ari said, looking down at the his painted body with intricate blue signs of protection on his white skin.

“Glad to do it, at least I got to touch your naked ass one more time before the end,” Strum leered.

“Strum,” Ari sighed.

“Just joking, still I think you should have let me put a blue hand print on it all things considering.”

“How about I put one on you?” Ari growled.

Strum turned around, presenting Ari with his naked ass with a grin. Ari couldn’t help but smile as the man looked around and stood up.

“Glad to see you smile Ari.”

“Thanks Strum, I just hope that Gislia and the others remain safe. I don’t want to be remembered as the last leader of the Iolair,” Ari said, grabbing his swords.

“There are worse things to be remembered for. Besides, you can’t fool me, I know you’re excited. Your blood’s boiling is it?” Strum answered, picking up his own sword.

“There are only two ways for me to truly feel alive,” Ari answered.

“I couldn’t make you feel alive anymore, could I? Does that mean that you used to think I was better than you?” Strum asked as they walked.

“At everything,” Ari said quietly. “I did love you.”

“Thank you for that at least. Well it’s time.”

“Yes,” Ari said simply, looking down the hill to the four thousand horse lords on the doorstep of Iolair’s home.

Ari watched the first wave of horse men approach his line of naked warriors, feeling his whole body tingle with excited energy. Looking down at his line of men and women he felt the tension exploding from them as they waited impatiently for the enemy to approach. With a grin he looked over at Strum and winked before giving a loud bellow that echoed throughout the valley and running at the charging horses as he felt his men follow, cheering.

Ari lost track of the time as both men and horses fell under his blade. It wasn’t long before the intricate designs Strum had so carefully applied on his naked body were covered in the blood of the enemy. The noise of steel against steel, the screams of the men and horses fighting and dying, almost deafened him as he plunged further and further into the horde of horsemen, losing one of his swords but continuing on, creating a wake of destruction in his path.

Suddenly in front of him he saw a man, dressed in the finest of chain mail and a helmet covering his face, dismount and come charging toward him. Men and horses moved out of the man’s way as his sword meet with Ari’s, jarring him with its power. A circle seemed to open before them as they fought, as though the men around them knew not to interfere with what was taking place. Ari howled as he attacked furiously, only to be countered and pushed back. He could see the man’s breath become labored as his own and their gory blades met again and again.

Ari could feel the heat of the man’s body so close to his own as their blades ground against each other, the grating of steel singing in his ears as he pushed, finally winning the contest of strength as the man fell back, his black eyes wide with shock. He recovered quickly, ripping off his helmet, his long raven black hair falling free as he charged Ari.

Ari felt shock run through him at the man leaping towards him, stunned for a split second at the absolute beauty of the warrior he faced. Black hair whirling around the man as he raised his sword, bearing down at Ari with a furious gleam in his dark eyes that sent a jolt of excitement through Ari. Shaking himself from the trance he raised his blade a half second too late, feeling the force of his opponent’s swing rip the sword out of his hands.

Growling in absolute anger, Ari charged, diving under the slicing blade that had swung around as he grabbed the man’s wrist, snapping it as the sword dropped out of the man’s hand, even as his opponent’s free hand connected fully against his skull, turning the world black.

 

 

Nighteagle looked down at the naked man on the floor of his tent with open desire. The White Demon of the Iolair. He was shocking and surprising; he was nothing like the man Nighteagle expected. He never imagined he would be able to capture the man alive, he had no intention of it until he had seen the man cloaked only in blue paint and blood come screaming through his men, leaving a trail of dead behind him. He knew in an instant who the man was, just by the aura of death that flowed around the gorgeous man. Divinity in motion were the only words Nighteagle could use for the man who was known as the White Demon.

It had been sheer luck that he had been able to capture the man. He wasn’t even sure how it had happened, but for a single moment it was as though the man had lost consciousness. In that single instant Nighteagle was able to disarm him, and even then, with no weapon, the man had almost had him. Looking down at his cracked wrist he smiled at the thoughts of their battle. He should have stuck a sword through him instead of knocking him out, yet something inside of him desired this man. It was suicide to try to keep him, for it was obvious that he was skilled beyond imagination with a sword, but Nighteagle didn’t care.

 

Looking down at the luminous pearl white skin he was amazed by the unmarred surface. This man had been through many battles to have earned his name, yet his perfect skin was unblemished except for, strangely enough, scars encircling his wrists as though he had been held captive. He had run into battle completely naked except for guards around those wrists, hiding the scars. Nighteagle wondered at the story behind them, knowing for certain that this man had never known defeat or captivity before. Only Nighteagle of the Horse Lords would be mad enough to even try holding this fierce beast against his will.

Nighteagle’s eyes inevitably drifted down to the unawakened manhood that nestled in a soft bed of white curling hair. He admired the size and shape of the unconscious man, wondering briefly what he would look like full and hard with desire, something he had never considered before with his other partners. He unconsciously licked his lips, feeling an overwhelming desire to do the unthinkable, suckle the man as a defeated warrior would.

“He is clean, husband,” GraySparrow said softly, looking at the floor.

“Yes, prepare him for me. Then leave us,” Nighteagle said, glancing fleetingly at the small pregnant woman with short cropped, mousy brown hair.

He watched as she pushed and heaved the dead weight of the unconscious man until he was on his belly. She parted the man’s ass, inserting a generous amount of oil in the as Nighteagle watched greedily. The light pink hole seemed so impossibly small and inviting as his wife slipped her small finger inside the man. He reigned in his desire for the movement, knowing with certainty he wanted this man awake before he began his conquest of the White Demon’s virgin ass.

“Nighteagle?” came the familiar voice of Starfall as a tall, lanky warrior entered his tent.

Graysparrow rose gracefully from the ground despite her bulging belly and moved towards the exit quietly. Nighteagle nodded politely to her as she left, glad for such an obedient wife. Looking over at the entering man he frowned fiercely, surprised to see Starfall, since he often avoided Nighteagle after a battle, making him search for him.

He noticed that the young warrior had recently bathed, and his shoulder length black hair was wet and slicked back away from his finely crafted face. His slim, elegant body clothed in his best light brown leathers and an emerald stud in his right ear. He could tell that the young warrior had dressed himself up to impress Nighteagle.

“What is it?” Nighteagle growled.

“I thought you would like to know that we lost fifteen hundred men in this battle, but all of the Iolair are dead except for five captives and this man,” Starfall answered hesitantly.

“Did they surrender?” Nighteagle asked in surprise.

“No, they were knocked unconscious like this one.”

“Interesting, I didn’t expect our losses to be so high, over half of their forces were women, children, and oldsters. They were worthy foes,” Nighteagle mused.

“There is a forest nearby. It will take a day to cut enough wood to burn our dead,” Starfall said softly.

“And the Iolair as well,” Nighteagle commanded.

Starfall looked surprised for a moment then nodded in approval.

“Is there anything else,” Nighteagle asked impatiently.

“I thought…”

Nighteagle’s eyes swung over to the warrior, looking at the man intently as he paled and looked at the ground. He could see it in the Starfall’s eyes even though he denied it, even though he protested.

 

“What is it Starfall, you still want to be my bitch?” Nighteagle said deeply, walking forward toward the warrior.

“No, I hate it, but I lost to you. I follow the old ways,” Starfall said defiantly.

“So you are only following the old ways? You don’t like my cock up your ass?” Nighteagle asked, grabbing the man’s chin, making him face him.

“How could I possible like it? I’m a strong warrior, you are the only one that could possibly defeat me and make me submit to you,” Starfall said desperately.

“Then why did you challenge me? Did you honestly think you could win?”

“Yes, damn you. I thought I could be you, instead I ended up on my knees as you rutted with me. Again and again,” Starfall said, jerking back angrily.

“Good, then you are free of your obligation to me. I now have a new defeated warrior to rut with. If I tire of him I will challenge another,” Nighteagle said, dismissively turning his back on the man as he heard him leave.

Laughing softly he knew that the young man would be back eventually, despite his protests, but Nighteagle had no intention of using Starfall again. The man wanted it too badly and his full submission to Nighteagle’s demands cooled his desire for the young warrior. He could never respect a man who willingly offered his ass to him without protest. Although the boy’s moans of pleasure had their appeal, his cries of defiance had excited Nighteagle more.

Looking back over at the naked man on the floor he felt himself harden just thinking of the night ahead. The man’s naked ass and bound hands stirred something deep within him, a burning desire for conquest. He looked at the hair that had been crimson with blood, now almost white, spilling over the man’s back and sighed with regret.

Kneeling down he gathered the hair in his hand and brought out a knife, hesitating. The soft, corn silk hair slid through his fingers, tantalizing him. By his traditions, and he suspected the Iolair’s, the White Demon must shore his hair. He had been defeated, but despite that Nighteagle hesitated to mar the beauty of the man. He let the hair fall for a moment before braiding the impossibly long hair that matched his own, except for the color. When he finished he took his knife and sliced through the braid. Tying off both ends he tucked the trophy away in one of his chests regretfully.

He heard a soft moan and turned to see his captive stir on the floor and smiled. He watched the man, with a grace he shouldn’t have possessed, being bound and lying in an awkward position, rise to his knees and turn to face Nighteagle.

Fierce, ice blue eyes glared at him for a moment before he saw the man’s arms flex as he heard the impossible ripping of the binding ropes. Nighteagle stared in amazement as the man launched himself at him, the White Demon’s hands encircling his throat in an instant.

Nighteagle dropped to the ground, planting a foot in the man’s mid-section, pushing with all his strength and sending the man hurling over him. He rose only to see the totally naked man coming at him again, his expression that of man intent on death whether it be Nighteagle’s or his own.

Grinning in pleasure Nighteagle planted himself as the man attacked. Before long they found themselves on the ground grappling each other, before Nighteagle got the slight advantage and flipped the warrior quickly, seating himself on the middle of the man’s back and pinning his arms. The man under him struggled fiercely until Nighteagle reached around behind him to hit the wiggling ass hard with his hand, almost losing his grip on the warrior’s crossed arms.

Suddenly the strength in the man’s arms decreased slightly as Nighteagle struck the man’s ass again. The White Demon bucked under him, yet despite his fighting it seemed almost weaker.

 

“Let go of me you son of a bitch,” the man under him growled.

“I don’t think so, you belong to me now.”

“Let me die, damn you. This is not life for a warrior.”

Nighteagle chuckled at the words, acknowledging their truth but unwilling to kill the man despite the fact that it was the right thing to do. He gripped the man’s arms hard, pinning them, and reached around to land multiple hard blows on the now red ass of the man under him. He expected the man to renew his struggling and was surprised when he felt the man lift his hip a little.

Curious, he slid of the man’s back and flipped him quickly, recapturing the man’s wrists in his hands to look down in absolute shock. The man known as the White Demon, who was feared by all, was completely engorged. His organ, red and angry, stood up straight as ice blue eyes glared at him. Nighteagle almost lost himself inside his confining pants at the unexpected sight.

Without saying a word Nighteagle did something he had never done before expect with his wives, he leaned down and forced his mouth on the warrior under him. He felt resistance as the man bit his lip. Tasting the metallic taste of his blood he moved his mouth down to the man’s pale pink nipple and licked it to hardness, flicking a tongue over the ridged surface before taking the erect little nub in his teeth, biting.

The White Demon struggled beneath him, his now leaking member leaving a white trail on Nighteagle’s chest. He continued to play with the little nipples until he heard the man growl in pleasure. Nighteagle looked up to see anger and lust mixing in the man’s face as he let go of one of the man’s arms to quickly undo his confining pants and sink himself brutally into the small opening that had tantalized him not so long ago.

Instead of the expected cries of anguish at his brutal invasion he heard the man growl in pleasure even as he felt the man’s nails embed in the tender flesh of his face, drawing blood. Nighteagle hissed in pain, thrusting hard and deep in retaliation even as he felt long, powerful legs wrap around his, squeezing him painfully against the man’s body.

Reaching down, he stroked the pulsing member, squeezing it hard occasionally as the man hissed at him. Looking down into the deep pools of lust that made up the man’s eyes he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the red lips, and the man began to suck on his lower, injured lip, drawing out a little blood. Their tongues battled for dominance as he felt the White Demon move his hips against him, loosening his strangle hold on his body.

Nighteagle began to thrust hard into the body under him even as his hand milked the ridged organ between them and his mouth drank the man’s own suckling lips. He felt the pent up passion build between them as he the man shuddered under him, his far from virginal ass constricting on Nighteagle’s sensitive manhood. He moaned as he lost control deep within the man, even as he felt a fist connect with the side of his head, stunning him with conflicting feelings.

Groaning, he collapsed on the man under him. His body was pushed off of the hard, sweaty man as he backed away from Nighteagle. He looked up to see confusion and anger warring in those blue eyes. He felt himself pulled towards the man, captivated by that gaze for a moment before he shook himself.

“You’re Nighteagle?” came a surprisingly soft voice.

“Yes, and you are the White Demon,” Nighteagle said, shaking his head, trying to collect himself from the mind-blowing sex and blow to the head that had left him shaken.

“I’m Ari,” the man said, shaking his head.

“You’re not the White Demon?” Nighteagle asked sharply.

“It is only a title given to me by foreigners,” Ari said, shaking his head as he crouched down, ready to spring at Nighteagle.

“I’m a foreigner.”

“You’re a coward, taking me prisoner,” Ari retorted.

“You are mine. I defeated you in battle,” Nighteagle growled angrily.

“I fought you with honor, you should have killed me,” Ari retorted, his light voice holding menace in it.

“It is my right, you’re. . .”

Nighteagle’s words were drowned out by the man’s cry of anger as he launched himself at him. This time Nighteagle was ready and hit the man in his temple, knowing that having already been knocked out once, the second time would be easier as he felt the man collapse in his arms. He looked down at the man known as the White Demon and wondered what the hell had just happened.

Vampire Wings Chapter 4 Wings

Aziral sat next to Dillon, holding Dillon’s dry cool hand unable to take his eyes of the pale body of the boy. It had been two weeks since the crash, and yet his wildcat had yet to awaken. He knew without a doubt that it was his fault that the boy now laid in a coma. He had known that Dillon had been unhappy about his reluctance to talk about himself. It had made the boy uneasy. He also knew that the lifestyle the two of them had set up was far too tame, yet despite that centuries of hiding himself and everything about who he was laid heavily on him. When he was newly made he had made the mistake of reveling parts of himself to other humans only to meet with rejection and fear. Despite the wildcats acceptance of him lingering doubts still remained along with centuries of old habits that he still found hard to break. He had been alone for far too long. It had been over two hundred years since he had last taken a permanent lover and she had been the same as him. Neither one of them had pried into the others past knowing how painful the past of an immortal creature could really be.

“Aziral, I need to get back,” Sarah said softly her face tired and worn.

“I will stay with him through the night,” Aziral said without looking up.

“You need to get some rest. You look paler than Dillon Aziral. Right now there isn’t anything we can do for him, the doctors…” Sarah choked as tears began to fall down her lined face.

“Sarah?” Aziral asked putting a hand on her frail shoulder cursing the fact he couldn’t be here during the day.

“They say even if he does wake up, he will have brain damage,” Sarah finally said as Aziral pulled her into his arms stroking her back.

He held the sobbing woman unable to bring himself to accept her words. It couldn’t be true; it was way too soon for him to lose Dillon. He felt Sarah pull away from him looking up at him concern on her face.

“I didn’t know what to think when Dillon brought you home. You two didn’t seem to make a good pair at all you both were so very different, yet you’re the first person he has ever opened his heart to Aziral, the first person that he ever truly cared about pleasing,” Sarah said quietly.

“Surly you…”

“Oh he loved me, but he always did what he wanted when he wanted no matter what I said, no matter how much it hurt me but with you it was different. He went back to school not because of me but because you asked it of him. He stopped getting into fights not because of my scolding but because he wanted to get home to be with you Aziral. He never said a word, but it really frustrated him about your reluctance to open yourself to him. You are the first person in Dillon’s life that he ever cared enough to want to get to know better Aziral. Dillon was always a loner with no one close to him, but you changed all that. He truly cared about you, and I don’t think he would want you to continue to sit here by his side without thinking about yourself,” Sarah said firmly.

“What about you?” Aziral countered surprised by the woman’s words feeling guilt hit him even deeper.

“I’m not here all day every day Aziral,” Sarah sighed. “I love him, and I’m truly grateful that he found you, but I don’t like seeing you so pale and gaunt.”

“I will be fine,” Aziral assured her knowing that his lack of feeding was finally starting to show.

“Aziral…”

“No, please Sarah I need to stay with him. This is all my fault, if I hadn’t…” Aziral said wishing the woman would leave him alone with his guilt.

“Nonsense, Dillon was always reckless. His luck just ran out this time, the foolish boy,” Sarah said tears forming again.

When Sarah had finally left Aziral sank back into the chair feeling an overwhelming sadness spread through him that shook his very soul. The wildcat wasn’t going to come back to him. Even if Dillon woke up he wouldn’t be the man Aziral had fallen in love with, and it was Aziral’s fault. If Aziral had stopped Dillon from leaving and told Dillon everything about himself, this wouldn’t have happened. Aziral knew when he saw the man slumped on the ground at his feet that Dillon was hurting, yet Aziral had still held back. Afraid to speak of himself and still seething at the pictures that Brian had shown him. It had angered him beyond comprehension that anyone had seen the wildcat make such faces, that someone other than him could make the boy look so hungry with desire.

The urge to find those men who had seen his wildcat like that had been almost overpowering. He wanted to kill them to rip them apart for exposing the boy in such a way. His anger had been directed at those who had taken the pictures, yet he had also felt anger at the boy for foolishly allowing anyone to photograph him in such a way.

The wildcat was the only one who had ever been able to truly make him lose his composure so completely. Aziral had lived as a vampire for over five hundred years and he had never once felt this way for anyone. Because Aziral had loved the fierce strong man so very much, it became even harder to open himself to Dillon fully. Every single time he had told his past lovers about himself it had ended in ruin. From some backing away from him in fear and leading a mob against him to running a spike through his heart or those that were determined to become vampires themselves, confidant in the fact they would be able to kill him and free themselves from slavery to him. He had stopped taking lovers altogether when Maya had left him.

A vampire like himself, they had live together sharing for over fifty years. Both of them had gone through similar trials being a creature of night. He had not loved her but they were the same and had common ground on which to stand. All of that had changed the night he had told her of his long dead master’s journals. He had awakened to find her glued to his neck her mind ferociously battering at his own trying to take control of him. She was trying to kill him as he had once killed his own Master by draining all the blood completely from his body as only a vampire could do sucking his very soul from his body.

As he had fought her, his mind touched hers. He realized that she had never loved him but had only been looking for information on his creator something he had always been reluctant to talk about, a man who she had truly loved long before he had been created. He had felt betrayed and used as he struggled against her eventually winning the battle of minds and taking her life just as he had taken his Masters so long ago.

After that night he had refused to ever care about anyone again nor reveal anything important about himself. For two hundred years he had held to that promise and then a crimson haired wildcat had landed with all four feet firmly planted in Aziral’s heart. At the first taste of Dillon’s blood Aziral had felt himself addicted to the boy and yet Aziral had tried to remain firm in his resolve and stayed away from Dillon until the night of the exhibit when Aziral saw Brian’s newest creation.

He knew instantly that it was his wildcat bound in chains his eyes defiant and at the same time seductive. Brian had captured him so perfectly that it had made Aziral literally tremble at the sight of the painting. He knew in that single instant he had lost and that his promise was shattered. When the boy had come at him shouting his name and swinging he knew that for the first time he had met someone that was his match in strength of mind and soul, later that night the wildcat had not only welcomed the monster within him but eagerly drew him closer. Aziral knew that he could never let Dillon go.

Each night of exploration of the boy’s mind and body had only increased Aziral’s addiction to the wildcat until Aziral knew that he was totally lost. He loved the young man’s ferocity and passion that was tempered by a rough kindness that made him sacrifice everything for those he cared about. His indomitable spirit and lust for life was so very addicting that it pulled Aziral in. Dillon’s fearlessness of Aziral and what he was, so intoxicating to a man that had always been met with fear by anyone who had discovered his secret.

Aziral buried his face in his hands unable to look at Dillon so broken and lifeless on the bed. Aziral couldn’t bear the fact that he had lost Dillon so soon after meeting him, the fact that his own inactions had caused it was more than he could bear. There was nothing he could do; he had sunk his mind into Dillon’s countless times since the accident only to be met with darkness and silence. Now he knew why, his beloved was no longer there.

The pain was so completely unbearable. He couldn’t lose his wildcat, he couldn’t. He rose from his chair and left the room knowing there was only thing left to do. Flipping open his cell phone he made a call to set a plan into motion, a desperate plan that would ultimately lead to his own death.

 

A quiet wind blew through the window as Aziral stared at the fuzzy image in the mirror in front of him dully. The sounds of Wildcat’s radio echoing throughout the empty castle. He knew that the boy had slipped away from the castle as soon as the sun had set thinking he could go out hunting without Aziral knowing as long as he turned on his favorite CD and left it blaring, yet Aziral knew and followed the boy with his mind watching Dillon as he carefully feed slipping his mind into the victim erasing her memories completely.

It had been two months since they had come to England. Each night was a bittersweet torture for Aziral as he watched Wildcat grow into his new life. The name didn’t fit him anymore although Aziral couldn’t bear to call him anything else. The passion and fury of his wildcat was gone now, remade into a calm almost languid man with a deep introspective personality. The change had wrought its magic on his mind and body, remaking his wildcat into something completely different, everything except the outer shell was different. It was if Wildcat had become the polar opposite of the rash youth he had been before. Wildcat’s subservient nature was breaking Aziral’s heart even more.

He had taught the young vampire everything he could as quickly as he could unable to bear his life anymore. The guilt of what he had done out of his cowardice ate at him. Aziral heard Wildcat slip into the room crawling up into Aziral’s lap curling around him like a tame version of Wildcat’s namesake.

“Master,” Wildcat murmured burying his head into Aziral’s chest.

Aziral sighed stroking the bright red hair feeling the warm body next to his own ice cold one. It was time, he knew, to set his creation free and himself from the pain of his own memories.

“Wildcat, I want you to promise me something,” Aziral said softly.

“What Master?”

“Never fall in love, guard your heart carefully,” Aziral whispered as he felt a finger reach up to press against his lips.

“You loved me once, didn’t you?” Wildcat asked his bright sapphire eyes stared at Aziral deeply.

“Yes,” Aziral said simply looking down at a face that was so much like the one he loved yet so very different at the same time.

“I promise Master,” Wildcat replied softly.

“I want you to drink from me, Wildcat, until I no longer exist,” Aziral said softly closing his eyes.

“I don’t want to,” Wildcat said looking at Aziral with eyes that sparked of defiance.

“Don’t you want to be free?” Aziral asked.

“No,” Wildcat shook his head in denial.

“The Wildcat I loved would wish it and I wish it. You know how to survive in this world now as a vampire, I want you to set both of us free,” Aziral said.

“So you can fly? But then why do you cry?” Wildcat asked.

“What are you talking about?” Aziral asked confused.

“You want your black wings, but you cry when you get them. I remember this from before, it is the only thing I remember,” Wildcat said.

“You mean from your previous life, but that isn’t possible,” Aziral said stunned.

“I remember you with black wings crying tears of blood. It is confusing because I remember it with all these emotions that aren’t my own,” Wildcat said with a shrug.

Aziral sunk his mind into Wildcat’s frantically looking for any glimmer of his old love, ruthlessly going through the boy’s mind as he squirmed on Aziral’s lap. Aziral found no memories of the man he had loved until finally he found what the young vampire was talking about. He looked at the vision feeling the heavy tones of pleasure, horror, and confusion hanging around it. He probed the memory until finally he realized where it had come from. He had never even known Dillon had possessed such a vision. He had remembered the night having relived it over and over again in the past months, the last night he had been with his love.

It was a vision of Aziral’s death for it was the same memory he himself had seen when his own master had died. It was the only memory he had been left with of the man who had created him. He began to laugh the irony of the vision hitting him as Wildcat stared at him confused. It was too much. If Dillon had only said something that night perhaps things would have turned out very differently yet instead he had hid it just as Aziral had hid everything from him.

“Drink Wildcat,” Aziral commanded forcing the young vampire to obey him.

He felt teeth sink into his body as he wrapped his arms around the man who was no longer the person who he loved. He felt the blood quickly leave him as he slowly lost consciousness leaving his mind completely open to the vampire drinking from him. He felt Wildcat’s mind merge with his own, a soft gentle voice wrapping around his mind.

“Aziral, I can’t give you your wings yet. Come and forget with me until we are both ready to fly together. Be my master and my slave for the sake of the man who loved you and who left within me the strength and passion to keep you alive. Forget with me and love again.”

Vampire Wings Chapter 3 Unbalanced

Dillon laid on his stomach on the floor watching Aziral as he worked, ignoring his homework spread out before him. It had been almost a month since he had come to live with the man and the passion they had both felt that night had yet to cool. Parts of his days were spent at school and his nights were spent with Aziral. His sleeping was so screwed up there were times when he felt he would never feel fully rested until Aziral had finally decided to let him sleep part of the night before waking him. It wasn’t unusual for Dillon to crawl into bed with Aziral as soon as his classes where over to be pulled sleepily into the man’s embrace only to be awakened by more than playful nips on his neck around midnight.

He had also insisted that Dillon see a doctor regularly to make sure Dillon’s odd sleeping patterns nor Aziral’s feeding habits didn’t ruin Dillon’s health. If the doctor wondered at his abnormal blood lose he remained quiet thanks in large part to Aziral’s large payments.

They went out every night doing something together to explore each other’s likes and tastes, finding them very much in synch with each other. Although Dillon had asked a multitude of questions about vampires, curious if the legends where true, Aziral often found a way to turn the subject to other matters, and Dillon had finally taken the hint and put a lid on his curiosity. Despite the fact that Aziral had been especially thoughtful and treated him well, Dillon was restless and the more time he spent with Aziral the more the lid on his questions irritated him.

School was incredibly boring although both Jack and Sarah were enormously pleased at his enrollment no matter how it had happened. He felt almost caged and a deep need inside of him to do something anything abounded in him. He found himself throttling down those desires firmly and channeling it into passionate sex that often time seemed to take the edge off the desires.

“Hey Aziral how long are you going to keep me?” Dillon asked abruptly.

“What are you talking about?” Aziral asked putting down his brush and walking over to Dillon kneeling down and rubbing his shoulders.

“I mean, how long before you tire of me?” Dillon asked.

“I shall keep you forever,” Aziral said.

“What, so are you going to make me a vampire then?” Dillon asked.

Suddenly Aziral turned from Dillon and walked back to his work his whole body tense. It was apparent he had broached another sensitive topic.

“I will never make you a vampire Dillon, never,” Aziral said softly picking up his brush again.

Although he really didn’t want to be made one the abrupt denial hit Dillon like a bolt. Wasn’t he good enough? Was Aziral just playing with him?

“So how long will you keep me?” Dillon asked again trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Why do you ask such things?” Aziral said his brush stoking the canvas softly.

“You say forever, but there really isn’t a forever for me. After all you’re not going to take much pleasure out of nailing a sixty year old guy,” Dillon said tightly.

“I could grow old with you, you know. All I would have to do is not feed as often,” Aziral said lightly.

“And starve yourself? Like I could live with that,” Dillon scoffed.

Suddenly Aziral threw his brush knocking over the ruined canvas as he went over and picked Dillon off the floor with ease. Dillon found a mouth covering his own as Aziral kissed him roughly. Before Dillon could protest he felt hands tearing the clothes off him even as his own hands ripped the light clothes away from Aziral. He bit the man’s tongue letting his long nails rack down the pale skin of Aziral’s taunt body causing deep lines of blood before they closed. Dillon licked at the small lines of red and lifted his face to allow the man to kiss him. Aziral’s tongue licked at his mouth greedily as Dillon pushed the man to the floor. Straddling Aziral’s face he let his cock slide into the hot mouth even as he leaned forward to take the semi-hard member in his own mouth.

He hissed in surprise as he felt Aziral sink his teeth in the delicate skin of his inner thigh gasping as he felt the man drink from for the first time in over a week. He looked down at the enormous cock that almost pulsed as he took it into his mouth fully once again. Pulling his leg away from the greedy mouth tearing his skin painfully he turn and looked down at Aziral’s blood cover face that looked up at him angrily. Before the man could say anything Dillon slipped the rigid sex into him with a long moan of pleasure. He rocked on Aziral leading the man’s now overly warm hand to his own aching shaft as he watched anger shift to lust.

He moved his body almost frantically on the man feeling his restlessness subside on the fierce torrent of pleasure, pain, and sex. He could hear Aziral’s characteristic growls moving him faster as a hot hand pulled hard on his leaking organ. He exploded shooting hard and splashing Aziral’s chest and throat as he felt the man’s hips piston into him harder until Aziral found release as well.

Dillon looked down at Aziral panting wondering where the anger and passion had come from as he gazed at the bloody face. He still didn’t know what he felt for this man but whatever it was it was intense and explosive for both of them.

“Aziral?”

“If I make you a vampire I will lose you Dillon. This isn’t like the movies or books, this is reality. A newly created vampire is a new born soul with no memories of its past and connected to its maker by unbreakable ties of blood. If I turn you, you will be my obedient slave until the day that I die with no memories of the man named Dillon. Very few vampires make another until they themselves are ready to die and certainly not of anyone they care for,” Aziral said with his eyes firmly shut pain in his deep voice.

“Then your maker…”

“He died the night he made me, he chose me because he knew that I had the strength of spirit to overcome him. He drank from me even as he gave me his own cut wrist to drink from. The hunger of a new vampire is insatiable and it gives him an added strength of mind. My desire and lust for more gave me the strength to cling to my master taking control of his mind forcing him to let me drain him until there was no blood left in him until I sucked out his very soul.

“I awoke the next night with a husk of a man that had created me and no memories of anything up until I had first awoken except for a single vision of my master with black wings. I was scared, and hungry. Yet my creator left me his legacy in the form of a handwritten book filled with every scrap of information on vampires that he knew and instructions on how to go unnoticed in the human world. I don’t know how I knew how to read I just did, yet that book contained nothing of who I was only one thing about me was there and that was my new name, Aziral. He left it for me since he knew that I would be able to kill him,” Aziral said deeply his voice laden with sadness and anger.

“How long ago Aziral?” Dillon asked softly.

“Five centuries ago,” Aziral said looking up at Dillon. “Five centuries, wildcat, and never once have I made another nor have I ever loved another as I love you.”

“You said you had lovers before,” Dillon said leaning down on Aziral’s chest feeling an arm wrap around him.

“Yes, from time to time mostly in the beginning of my new life, yet none stayed for more than a couple of years,” Aziral said.

“Why?”

“Because I am a vampire, a monster that feeds on humans. Because none were important to me, none were able to fight me as you did, and retain their memories. None have your fierce spirit and passion that comes from the very fact you can die. You like to test the boundaries, wildcat, don’t you, to live dangerously? You’re restless here,” Aziral stated sadly.

“I don’t know why, but I need something Aziral,” Dillon said slowly.

“It isn’t to be made as I am. You would loss a part of you, if that happened. Any precious part of you that you cannot afford to lose,” Aziral said his hand stroking the lower part of Dillon’s back.

“I don’t want to be a vampire Aziral. I never have,” Dillon said.

“I know.”

Dillon remained quiet in Aziral’s arms his restlessness gone for the moment as he wondered how long the two them could truly remain together.

 

“Hand me the whip,” Aziral commanded.

“Which one? I didn’t even know they made so many different sizes,” Dillon said exasperated.

“The largest one,” Aziral said turning to point at the requested item as he held the skillet away from the flame.

Dillon snatched it up quickly and brought to him as Aziral started to whip the mysterious contents of the skillet. Aziral had been appalled by the fact Dillon knew nothing of preparing food and had filled his refrigerator with cheap frozen dinners.

Dillon had returned from college and a visit with the old hag to find all his frozen dinners gone, replaced with fresh vegetables, meat, and fruits. A wide variety of spices and cooking oil as well as a giant handwritten cookbook had also appeared in the immaculate kitchen.

Dillon had looked at the vampire wondering what in the world he was thinking and bluntly asked him what Dillon was suppose to do with all the raw food. Aziral had been shocked that Dillon had no clue about cooking and had promptly rolled up his sleeves, tied up his long hair, and put on a green apron. It wasn’t long before delicious aromas began floating around the kitchen as Aziral began to cook in earnest. Dillon watched amazed as the vampire moved through the kitchen with ease hardly even looking at the cook book as he added spices to the wonderfully smelling food.

“How do you know how to do this? You don’t eat do you?” Dillon asked leaning against the counter as Aziral worked.

“I don’t need to of course, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the smells and taste of food. I do still have all of my senses, although I can’t digest food unless I feed first, and only in small amounts since this body isn’t really meant to process that sort of food, at least not anymore,” Aziral explained.

“Then why can you cook better than me?” Dillon asked somewhat offended by the fact someone that didn’t even eat was able to cook more than he could.

“That isn’t hard, a twelve year old could cook better than you,” Aziral snorted. “I learned to cook simply because I enjoy the aromas of cooking. Besides over the centuries learning new things is the only thing that keeps life interesting.”

Dillon remained quiet as he watched the man finish, wondering a little about what Aziral’s life had been like before Dillon had entered it. He had found over the past two months that there was a great deal more to Aziral than he had first thought. He was far from a dark and morbid vampire of stories. Dillon had no idea how much the man had changed over the years but the remnants of the man who had painted the delicate fairy art was still there. He was far from the cold man Steven and Brian had warned him about. Although Aziral rarely laughed, he still knew how to play. Every night he had taken Dillon out to night clubs, movies, and even an opera which Dillon had vowed he would never go to again. They had spent hours naked in bed exploring each other and spent time playing video games. It was amusing for Dillon to watch the fierce looking man growl in frustration when his player was killed or beaten by Dillon’s.

Aziral had spent all of his time with Dillon the past months ignoring his studio most of the time, instead he seemed intent on nothing more than gradually learning about Dillon, yet he continued avoid the subject of himself often deflecting questions or answering them only briefly. Dillon had for the most part taken it in stride realizing that the man might feel uncomfortable talking about his less than human side, yet he had also begun to feel a growing uneasiness at Aziral’s evasions.

“So after you feed me, what have you got planned?” Dillon asked sticking his finger into the rich cream filling on the dessert Aziral was finishing up.

“What do you feel like doing? Aziral asked

“Clubbing?” Dillon suggested feeling a restlessness in him despite being out and about all day.

“Very well, I have to admit I do enjoy going with you. It was something I did before I met you, but I never found it as enjoyable as I do now,” Aziral agreed turning to take the freshly baked fish from the oven.

“What did you do before I came into your life? Steven said you didn’t have any close friends or lovers, so did you just go out by yourself? I can’t see you being celibate,” Dillon asked curiously.

Aziral snorted removing his apron and carefully returning it to its hook on the wall. He could tell that once again he had hit on a subject Aziral didn’t want to talk about.

“Steven and Brian both have their reasons for warning you away from me,” Aziral said frowning.

Dillon looked at the man for a moment wondering where that had sprung up from. He wasn’t really talking about the two men yet somehow the answer was once again something he hadn’t expected. It seemed that once again the man had side stepped answering anything about himself. Still he was curious about Brian’s relationship with Aziral since it seemed that Brian almost hated Aziral but at the same time loved him as well.

“I noticed that Brian seemed a little flustered by us together. Actually the entire week that I modeled for him he seemed in a state of constant panic because none of his works were good enough. I looked at them Aziral they weren’t bad at all,” Dillon commented hoping to draw the man out as he set up a plate of food for himself.

“Brian wants to paint like me, but that is impossible and the more he strives to come closer to me the more he fails. It frustrates him and irritates me since he does have talent if he would stop trying to imitate me so much,” Aziral said

“So is that why you told him you wouldn’t help him anymore?” Dillon asked.

“In part. I took him on as a protégée simply out of boredom, and made the mistake of sleeping with him. When I refused to become his lover on a permanent base he had hysterics. Steven blames me for causing the boy to have a nervous breakdown. I seduced him and then broke his heart, never mind the fact he was in a relationship with Steven and the fact I made it very clear to him that I didn’t love him before tumbling with him. Despite everything Brian still clings to me hoping that if he is able to imitate me well enough and win my respect with his art that I will take him on as a lover. Steven is furious with Brian for still seeking my attentions, yet he can’t forbid it since in the end Brian would leave him and the fact everyone has told him Brian’s career depends on how people perceive him. The cold truth is as my protégée his art draws in more attention than it would without me sponsoring him,” Aziral sighed walking out of the kitchen towards the dining room.

“Hey aren’t you going to eat?” Dillon called out after him.

“I haven’t feed yet,” Aziral said shaking his head as he sat down at the end of the table.

“You usually do before I even wake up,” Dillon said surprised looking at the man.

“I thought perhaps tonight….” Aziral started looking embarrassed.

Suddenly Dillon realized the Aziral wanted him to be dinner tonight. Aziral hadn’t taken any of his blood in a couple of weeks, instead going out as soon as he awoke while Dillon still slept to feed. Dillon had been a little disappoint by the fact considering their first night together Aziral’s feeding from him had turned Dillon on enormously and it still did. Suddenly the delicious aroma of the food didn’t seem as important nor did Brian’s relationship with Aziral.

Carefully seating his plate on the table he went over and leaned down to kiss Aziral. He felt cool dry lips press against his own as a large hand caressed the side of his face. When he broke away from Aziral he saw that Aziral’s embarrassment had faded and hunger had appeared in his eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” Dillon said softly.

“You mean you don’t mind?”Aziral asked surprise evident in his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t think I have ever been as turned on as that first night,” Dillon laughed.

“Then eat, I don’t want you to faint on me,” Aziral said.

“Oh, so that is why you cooked for me?” Dillon said sitting down.

“Of course,” Aziral smiled.

It didn’t take long for Dillon to finish off the delicious meal that Aziral had cooked. He still couldn’t believe a man that rarely even ate could produce such mouthwatering food. It seemed rather unfair but now that he knew Aziral could cook he was determined to have the vampire cook for him more often.

Unsurprising the conversation once again turned to Dillon leaving the rest of the reason Aziral had stopped being Brian’s mentor unsaid. Although he was a little tired of always being the one to volunteer information about himself he wasn’t about to bring up the subject again. Aziral had cooked him a sumptuous dinner and they were going out. The last thing he wanted to do was pick a fight with the man, especially since tonight was undoubtedly going to be an incredibly erotic night.

When he had finished Aziral sent him off to get cleaned up as he took care of cleaning up the kitchen. He picked out some clothes that Aziral had bought him and hopped into the large shower closing the frosted glass door and running some very hot water. He was almost finished when he heard the door open, startling him as he spun around to see Aziral’s naked body entering the shower.

He stared at the man once again captivated by the sheer overwhelming masculine presence of the man. Whatever he had been before he was made into a vampire must have required extreme physical work to create such a firmly muscled body. He had over the course of the months explored every inch of the man’s pale white skin and yet seeing Aziral now standing before him clothed only in his long black hair made him even more alluring and erotic. He reached out pulling the man under the hot water warming Aziral’s skin on the outside as he pulled the man down to his neck prepared to warm Aziral on the inside as well.

He felt Aziral’s tongue flicker over his neck caressing the tiger on his skin as hands reached down to stroke Dillon’s already expanding member. Aziral cool hand stroked him as his mouth descended on Dillon’s neck. He felt the familiar prick of pain in his neck that had haunted Dillon for weeks and now had become something he desired as he gasped into Aziral’s black hair pushing himself into the man’s firm hands. Hot water streamed down around them as he felt his heart pounding as his blood coursed into Aziral. Dillon wrapped his arms around the feeding man pulling Aziral closer as Dillon panted and moaned. Closing his eyes he let Aziral play with his body surrendering total control over to another freely for nothing more than pleasure unclouded by money or uncertainty.

Aziral increased the pressure and speed of his stroking hand the warm water made his hand glide down Dillon’s shaft smoothly. As Dillon lost himself within the flow of his blood and the quicken of his hardened member he saw a vision of Aziral form in his mind. The vampire kneeled surrounded by crimson streams of flowing blood with a pair of black wings sprouting from his back weeping tears of blood. His eyes snapped open at the vision even as he felt his body release spasming as confusion swept through him at the disturbing image. He hadn’t even noticed Aziral stopped his feeding and began to lick the two small openings as he leaned against the wall panting as water streamed off both of them.

Aziral turned off the water and retrieved a towel carefully drying Dillon off as Dillon tried to figure out what he had just seen. It was far from an erotic image and he couldn’t imagine where it had come from. He looked down at the man drying off his legs with a large red towel and wondering if it had come from Aziral. He could always feel Aziral’s mind touching his when he fed, but this was the first time he had ever saw anything before.

“Are you alright?” Aziral asked with some concern when Dillon continued to lean against the wall lost in thought.

“Yeah fine, amazing,” Dillon said wrapping his arms around the man’s neck pulling him up for a kiss, not willing to share the disturbing image with Aziral just yet. He put it in the back of his mind to think of later not wanting to disturb their night together.

He was amazed at how such a little bit of blood from him could make such a drastic change in the man. Although Aziral was far from being as warm as a normal human he was far from being ice cold either. Dillon had learned that he did need to feed everyday to keep his temperature close to a normal human and to make his skin look more normal rather than an almost luminance white that looked ethereal and eye catching. Yet it didn’t take a lot of blood to make his appearance normal as long as he feed regularly. He could go weeks without feeding before he began to noticeable age, something that had rarely happened to Aziral for he had no compunctions about feeding on humans.

“Come on there is nothing to worry about. Lets get dressed and go out, you can feed a little more and then we can enjoy the night together,” Dillon said shaking the picture of Aziral with wings out of his mind.

Aziral looked at him for a moment before shrugging and walking out of the bathroom totally naked. Dillon shook his head and put on his clothes and tying his hair back out of the way. He went to find Aziral already dressed trying to drag a brush through his long wet hair. Sighing Dillon went and plucked the brush out of his hands and worked on the tangles in the man’s hair. Shaking his head at himself for waiting on anyone in that way he quickly finish as Aziral pulled him up against him.

“Are you sure you want to go out?”Aziral whispered seductively.

“Of course I do, I love being seen with you, besides I like going out,” Dillon said feeling a little restless.

Aziral smiled as Dillon let go of him and did nothing more to tempt him. It wasn’t long before both of them were entering one of Aziral’s favorite night clubs. Dillon had been rather surprised to learn that Aziral was a regular at several of them when he wasn’t lost within his artwork. He wouldn’t have even have known except for the fact that more than a couple of men and women had approached him asking where he had been recently. Many were more than a little disappointed to see Aziral was bringing someone with him more than once. He could also smugly see the surprise and even jealousy on many of the faces of the women and men as they entered the club together.

Dillon pulled Aziral onto the dance floor without any delay getting lost within the pounding music that seem to be an almost counterpoint to the restlessness growing inside of him. It had been constantly aching within him since he had started staying with Aziral and almost settling down with him as a stable couple. He hadn’t got into a fight and had even been keeping semi-regular hours between school and nights with Aziral. He needed to do something anything to make his life more interesting, as if living with a vampire hadn’t been interesting enough, yet Aziral’s silence on his supernatural side had left Dillon irritated and dissatisfied as well. The edge of danger was fading from that aspect of their relationship leaving Dillon no outlet for his darker side that sought out danger and thrill.

He could feel the pounding music run through him engulfing him as Aziral’s hands and body subtly controlled him and directed him with tantalizing warm hands. He would only briefly touch his body only to release him as they danced making a game of seduction and control that they both loved. Dillon’s attention was totally focused on Aziral’s gracefully moving body and seductive eyes that he didn’t notice a thin cute boy trying to cut in between them until he spun and found himself alone.

He was surprised to see a short slender young man with hair even longer than Aziral’s bleached almost white glued to Aziral’s body. Dillon could clearly see the irritation in Aziral’s eyes as he tried to move away from the young man who skillfully dancing manages to stay with him.

Dillon’s restless irritation finally had a target as he went to intercept the two when the song came to an end. Aziral gracefully slipped away from the blond without a backward glance leaving the young man pouting on the dance floor alone. Dillon went up to Aziral slipping an arm around his waist possessively as they walked to a table.

“One of your admirers?” Dillon asked.

“I don’t remember him, but I have taken so many home with me it is hard to remember,” Aziral shrugged.

Dillon snorted shaking his head at the comment. It was apparent that Aziral was a major player and wondered if there was anyone that he hadn’t slept with. It was ironic that Aziral was so jealous about Dillon’s own past constantly asking him about Brian assuming that Aziral’s protégée had done more than paint him to the point Dillon had finally had left the house and not returned until Aziral had come for him the next night apologizing for his jealousy and promising not to bring it up again.

“Jealous,” Aziral asked arching a brow almost mockingly.

“Fuck you, just remember what you told me that first night,” Dillon growled.

“And what was that?” Aziral asked.

“You belong to me now,” Dillon growled grabbing Aziral’s head and roughly pulling the tall man to him in an almost brutal kiss not really caring about the audience that was watching them.

When he finally let Aziral up for air he saw a look of such smug satisfaction in the man’s eyes that he punched him lightly in the shoulder as Aziral motion for him to sit.

“I shall go get you something to drink,” Aziral said with a mock grin as Dillon sat down rolling his eyes.

He was unsurprised that as soon as Aziral disappeared in the crowd the petite blond made his appearance sauntering over to Dillon’s table with a couple of friends. Dillon watched them casually as they approach looking unconcerned even as he felt excitement fill him. The blond posed no problem and Dillon would relish the chance to flatten him. The blonde’s two friends were more of a problem, one being taller than Dillon and the other one shorter but with considerably more muscles. Fighting them would be a challenge that Dillon couldn’t wait to take up. He didn’t care whether they wanted it or not Dillon was ready for a fight. It had been far too long and the wildcat that Aziral called him was roaring inside of him. The restlessness had finally found a willing target in the little slut that was trying to poach on Dillon’s exclusive territory now.

“Hey, whore don’t you think it’s time you left? Aziral’s too good for the likes of cheap hooker like you,” the blond sneered his pretty face twisted in distaste.

“I think Aziral made it pretty clear where your slut ass ranks, and if you still don’t get it. My cheap ass is better than yours,” Dillon said casually leaning back in his chair looking at the blond who flushed in anger his green eyes like fire.

“Shut up, at least I don’t sell my body like you. I’ve seen pictures of you, whore, I wonder if Aziral knows what his little pet really is,” the blond spit out.

Dillon laughed at the man while wincing a little inside. He knew those photos were going to came back to haunt him. He had a feeling Aziral would be less than pleased to learn about them. The man seemed inordinately jealous of him and those photos were far from tame. He seemed to dislike the thought of anyone having touched Dillon, despite the fact it had happened before they had even met. Aziral was aware of the fact he had been a prostitute occasionally, yet he very much doubted seeing visual proof of it would make him happy, and didn’t relish the thought of Aziral seeing those photos.

He didn’t mind Aziral’s possessive manner finding it rather appealing for someone to care for him enough to not want others to touch him but at the same time Aziral’s jealousy was sometimes a bother to deal with. Luckily Dillon was perfectly content with having Aziral as his only sexual partner since the man kept him more than satisfied. He found it rather unique and satisfying to have a real relationship with somebody gradually coming to know them mentally as well as physical. He had found surprisingly, enough, it had made the sex between him and Aziral even more pleasurable.

“At least I’m good enough to sell myself, I doubt anyone would pay ten bucks for that pathetic body,” Dillon smiled sweetly.

The blond launched himself at Dillon with a cry of rage, his pretty face contorted in anger. Dillon laughed at how surprisingly easy it had been to set the man off. He rose from the chair taking the attack full on as he easily deflect a weak punch countering with his own fist sending the blond back to his companions with a split lip. That was all it took for all of them to jump him. He lost track of everything except the three attackers as he felt a fierce joy well up inside of him. Even as the fists that connected to his body and face didn’t stem the pleasure he felt as he fought in a dance that he had been longing for.

He ignored everything around him forgetting even Aziral as the men attacked him. He lost himself in the rhythm of the fighting taking immense pleasure every time his fist and feet connected to his attackers inflicting damage. It wasn’t until no one came at him that he spun and saw Aziral staring at him with an unreadable face that he came back to reality. He surveyed the damage of broken tables, three unconscious men laying on the floor and a ring of spectators cheering before he truly realized what he had done.

“Come, it is best if we leave,” Aziral said calmly.

Dillon nodded as the crowd began to disperse now that the entertainment was over and Aziral grabbed his arm pulling him out of the club. Dillon looked at the man wondering when the lecture would come for his fighting. He could sense nothing from the man although that wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t fair that Aziral could read Dillon so easily sometimes with his vampiric powers yet was able to keep so much under the calm serene face of his. He wasn’t about to let Aziral tell him what to do and yet he found himself a little fearful of losing the man as well. In the last few months he had come to enjoy the man’s company more than he would admit. What had started out as thrilling sex with someone that was dangerous had began to meld into something more, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to lose.

They got into the car without a word as Dillon looked down at himself surveying the damages. His ribs were tender, and he knew that there were several scratches and bruises on his face; as well as, his knuckles were cut and his clothes were ruined. He ached a little from some of the hard punches he had taken and when he had literally been kicked into the table. Still over all it wasn’t nearly as bad as many of his fights had turned out.

Glancing over again at the silent man driving he sighed digging out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up. He was beginning to feel a little irritated at Aziral for dragging things out. He wished the man would just yell at him and get it over with. The wait was killing him, it was almost worse than being yelled at.

“Just yell at me and get it over with, damn it,” Dillon grated finally unable to wait any longer.

“Why would I yell at you?” Aziral asked quietly.

“Because I was fucking fighting,” Dillon growled.

“If I remember correctly you were fighting when we met, it was what attracted me to you,” Aziral said pulling into the drive of the house.

“You mean you aren’t mad,” Dillon asked incredulity.

Aziral parked the car and before Dillon was able to grasp the fact he wasn’t going to be scolded like a child he felt himself pinned against the side of the car as Aziral lunged at him Aziral’s hands clawing at Dillon’s shirt as Aziral’s mouth latched on to Dillon’s mouth savagely. Dillon’s ribs cried out in protest even as he buried his hands in Aziral’s long hair pulling him closer. Aziral continued to rip at his already destroyed clothing to expose the skin underneath, as Dillon undid the tight pants that looked good on Aziral but were a pain to get off. The close confines of the car making it even harder to get the large man undressed.

Growling in frustration he fumbled with the door handle finally opening the door and pushing Aziral out and against the wall of the garage pinning him as he kissed the man. Aziral impatiently pushed Dillon against the hood of the car pulling Dillon’s pants off him as Dillon hopped on to the hood of the expensive car spreading his legs wide for Aziral while stroking his hard sex as Aziral stared at him ravenously devouring him totally with his gray eyes.

“What do you want more Aziral? My blood or my body,” Dillon asked softly spreading his legs even further for the man’s inspection.

“Both,” Arial said thickly his voice dripping with his pent up desire.

Dillon smiled tilting his head his hair falling to the side to expose his neck for the man as Aziral inched closer to the edge of the black hood of the car. Aziral slowly moved forward his eyes never leaving Dillon as Aziral stepped in-between Dillon’s invitingly spread legs. Dillon reached down to grab Aziral forcing the man inside of his body as Aziral leaned forward his hot breath on Dillon’s neck. Dillon shivered in excitement at what was coming as he felt the man’s hot length inside of him. He wrapped his arms around Aziral’s neck burying his fingers into the man’s long black mane as he felt teeth sink into him.

Dillon gasped pulling the man closer as his legs wrapped around Aziral. He clung to the feeding vampire that was firmly embedded inside of him as he closed his eyes enjoying the feeling of being so completely connected to someone. He could vaguely feel Aziral inside not only Dillon’s body but his mind, as Aziral feed on him, a comforting presence that seemed to almost slip inside of his consciousness intermingling with his own.

He felt Aziral pull away from his neck as he rose up pulling Dillon with him with inhuman strength. Dillon wrapped his arms and legs completely around the man kissing him as he remained fully impaled on Aziral’s hot member. He pulled away to look into the red flecked eyes of his lover amazed by the man’s beauty and strength. He squirmed a little wanting deeper penetration into him.

“Let me down,” Dillon whispered.

“No, I like you like this wildcat,” Aziral said licking Dillon’s ear.

“Then move, damn it,” Dillon said impatiently.

Aziral laughed putting him down as Dillon turned around bending over the hood of the car. He felt the man’s hot hands on Dillon’s ass even as Aziral thrust deeply into him growling. Dillon cried out in pleasure leaning against his arms as he let Aziral move within him. The man thrust hard and quick into him almost slamming him against the side of the car with the force of his thrusts. Smooth burning hands gripped his lean hips pulling Dillon’s body towards Aziral’s hard sex as Dillon felt the man’s hair drag on his skin frantically as Aziral’s pace quickened.

He heard Aziral growl and pant above him as he quickly reached his climax slamming himself into Dillon fiercely. He felt Aziral withdraw from him and slowly turn him kissing him gently the taste of his own blood lingering in the man’s mouth. He ground up against Aziral his own member still hard and ready. Aziral chuckled moving down to lick Dillon.

“Hey watch the fangs,” Dillon said cautiously.

“They have already retracted,” Aziral assured him as his warm mouth engulfed Dillon.

He totally forgot about the man’s fangs and everything else as he felt his whole member being taken into the man’s willing mouth. He stroked Aziral’s deep black hair as he felt the man suck him intent on bringing him pleasure. Watching the naked man on his knees in front of him turned him on enormously as he watched his aching sex slip in and out of Aziral’s soft lips. He could feel the man’s tongue on the underside of his member moving as his sex slid deep into the man’s mouth causing him to lose control far sooner than he wished as jets of liquid spilled out into Aziral’s mouth.

Dillon leaned against the car panting and Aziral gracefully rose from the floor pressing Dillon’s body against his own. Dillon leaned into Aziral as he felt the man effortlessly pick him up and carry him into the house.

“You really aren’t mad at me?” Dillon asked quietly as Aziral finally laid him down in their bed.

Aziral sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand delicately over one of the bruises on Dillon’s face. He could see that a look of sadness crossed the man’s features, and couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

“I’m not mad at you Dillon. I have noticed you haven’t been happy,” Aziral stated.

“It isn’t that I’m not…” Dillon started only to feel a hand pressed against his lips.

“Maybe unhappy isn’t the right word. You are like a caged animal, irritated and uneasy. Even without my mind powers I can sense it. While you were busy helping your brothers to study, I’ve had many conversations with Sarah. She is pleased with the way you have changed and not been in fights and been going to school so dutifully, yet you are not happy, are you wildcat?” Aziral asked.

Dillon looked away not sure what to say. He didn’t want the man to feel bad but he was right he wasn’t entirely happy with the life he had now. He enjoyed the closeness that was forming between the two of them but there seemed to also be a wall between them that Dillon had yet to breech. The long past that Dillon knew nothing of and the resistance of Aziral to let him deeper into Aziral’s life combined with the loss of the wilder side of his life had left him feeling empty. The lost of the thrilling danger of fighting couldn’t be so easily filled by Aziral especially when he held himself back from Dillon.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt anymore than Sarah, yet at the same time wildcat this is who you are. Fight if you want to just remember to come back after your little brawls,” Aziral said leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Aziral I…” Dillon hesitated not wanting to disturb what they already had.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Dillon said pulling the man down into bed ignoring his uneasiness once again.

The next morning came far too soon for Dillon as he looked at the alarm clock irritated at its noise. He quickly turned it off and sank back into bed amazed once again by the fact that Aziral could sleep through it. He was sore and tired from the long night and previous day of very little sleep.

He had spent most of the afternoon with the old hag since one of the twins had once again come down sick. None of the children that she now raised were legally hers and each time they became hurt or sick it was always stressful for her. Jack had used his connections in the shadier side of law to get fake documents proving the old hag was their guardian, but they wouldn’t stand up under much scrutiny. Each time she needed to prove her status with the brats she risked the authorities finding out that they were nothing more than abandoned children that she had taken in. Each one of them left by their parents while Sarah babysat them, and she was unwilling to let them go into the foster care system where they would be shuffled from home to home with no stability, none of them being young enough to find a true home.

He didn’t want to get out of bed nor go to school. Today there wasn’t anything but boring lectures to attend, and he decided missing a day of classes wouldn’t affect him. He had missed much more in high school yet still passed in the top of his class. Learning came easily to him sitting in one place or even going was the hard part. Yawning he curled up against Aziral’s back wondering what Aziral would think when he found out Dillon had skipped classes today.

Somehow he doubted it would make the man angry, he had only suggested Dillon go to college since Dillon had wanted something to do and it would please the old hag. He was beginning to think he needed to find something else to do. Before he had met Aziral he had never thought about his future. There seemed to be very few options available to him. Now there were a multitude of avenues open to him and yet he found none of them suited him. He also wondered what would happen when Aziral tired of him. Although the man insisted he wouldn’t the very fact he remained so quiet about himself made Dillon doubt him. If he was afraid to open up to Dillon then Aziral certainly didn’t trust him.

Sighing he draped an arm around Aziral pulling him close, putting the thoughts out Dillon’s mind as he let sleep pull him under again. When he woke up again he found himself completely alone the little alarm clock reading seven at night. He rose from the bed wondering if Aziral was even home. He doubted the man had even realized Dillon hadn’t gone out today and would be expecting him to sleep until much later. He was surprised when he heard voices coming from downstairs. He walked down the staircase wondering who could be in the house for Aziral rarely had company. As he reached the landing he could clearly hear Brian’s voice.

“Aziral it is for your own good. He is beneath you, just look at the pictures,” Brian’s pleaded.

“Brian…,” Aziral started anger in his voice.

“I don’t know what he has said to you to make you to not answer my calls or avoid me, but how can you believe a whore over my words,” Brian cut in.

Dillon felt anger rise up inside of him as he walked down the remaining steps prepared barge into the conversation when he felt an arm wrap around his upper arm. He swung his fist instinctively connecting with Steven’s head as the man let go of him.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Your little princess is trying to get into Aziral’s pants and you are just standing here? What kind of fucking man are you?” Dillon growled turning to go into the room where Brian’s high pitch voice was becoming more and more desperate.

“Whatever he wants Dillon, I will allow it. Do you think Aziral is the first to attract his attention, besides we both know that bastard isn’t going to let Brian anywhere near him, is he? He’s a freak that stays locked up in this morbid house and doesn’t let anyone close to him. I bet you don’t know a thing about him, yet you have been with him for months now, do you? You’re just a fuck toy that he has taken a perverted interest in for a while,” Steven jeered.

Hearing the words that he had privately been obsessing about spewed out from the man set Dillon off as he punched Steven cleanly in the face and pounced on the surprised man before Steven could react. Before he knew it he had the larger man pinned to the floor as he whaled into him. Anger surging through him and bitterness at the man’s words. He felt Aziral lifting him off Steven who sat up with the help of Brian blood leaking from his mouth even as his eye began to swell shut. Dillon struggled in Aziral’s arms trying to get loose to wreak more damage on the man, trying to deny the words with his fists.

“I suggest both of you leave,” Aziral said calmly as he held Dillon.

“Remember what I said Dillon you are nothing more than a fuck toy he has taken an interest in,” Steven said disdainfully as Brian tugged at the man pulling him towards the door.

When they had finally left Dillon stopped struggling as Aziral let him slip to the floor all of his rage seeping out of him at once. He stared at the wooden floor wondering where it had all come from as he heard Aziral sigh above him.

“That wasn’t like you, wildcat, it is the first time I have felt true anger from you. What did Steven say to you, surly your past couldn’t have brought this on,” Aziral asked softly.

“It was you Aziral, he’s right you never tell me anything about yourself. I am really nothing to you,” Dillon said subdued.

“I have told you more than anyone else,” Aziral protested weakly.

“That you are a vampire yes, but little else. You shy away from every question I ask about you even the ones not related to you being a vampire. I know nothing about you Aziral, except you are a vampire, and the only reason I know that is for some reason I remember you,” Dillon said.

Dillon I…” Aziral began.

“No Aziral, Steven is right,” Dillon said rising from the floor not looking at the man.

“Dillon, wait,” Aziral said grabbing on to Dillon’s arm.

Dillon looked up at the man feeling anger and frustration rise in him. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He felt like his whole life was messed up. Nothing felt right anymore. He had lost his balance. He didn’t even know why he wanted to know more about this man, he had never wanted to get close to anyone before. It had never mattered. He sure in the hell never was the good boy who dutiful went to school and came running back to another yet somehow he had become just that. Somehow he had changed, and the new unsettling feelings he was having for the man that looked almost stricken at him was driving him crazy. He wanted his freedom back and at the same time he wanted to be bound to Aziral by a bond that couldn’t be broken.

He turned from the man and ran unable to face the conflicting emotions, yet unable to deal with the problems that they both faced. He was for the first time terrified of Aziral not because of what he was but for what he was becoming to Dillon.

He jumped on his motorcycle thankful that he had left the keys in the bike instead of taking them out. Before Aziral could come after him he found himself speeding down the road going faster and faster as if trying to escape from the confusing swelter of emotions. He knew he was going far too fast, yet he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t until he tried to take a curve that he realized how much he should have cared as he felt the bike lose control his last thought as his body crashed towards the pavement was of Aziral adorned with black wings.