Death Song (Tales from the Tarot)

7. Rex

Chapter seven

Rex

W arm blood fills my mouth and the man I’ve chosen as my meal for the night slumps against my body. I sink my teeth deeper into his neck, cradling him against me so that he doesn’t fall to the pavement beneath our feet and tear my fangs from his flesh. I don’t wish to leave him with any marks when I part ways with him.

And I will be parting ways with him.

Though his hips press forward wantonly, and I can tell he’s become hard within his pants, I have no interest in pursuing anything with this man aside from his blood. Even that is tasting dull this evening as I swallow mouthfuls of him into my belly. It’s filling the need and sating the hunger inside me, but that is about the end of it.

I clamp my hand over his mouth as he moans, wishing that he would stop making such noises. I haven’t chosen him from any attraction, and I find I’m annoyed that he’s becoming aroused at my act of feeding. It isn’t his fault; this is a designed practice ingrained in each of us. The arousal induced by our bite allows for us to feed easily and becomes an exchange of sorts; blood for a mind-blowing orgasm.

It isn’t his fault, but I am irritated with him all the same.

I close my eyes as he moans again, his head lolling to the side and his hand reaching downwards to cup his erection. Trying my hardest to fill my belly without smacking his hand away from himself is a challenge.

I don’t want this.

I don’t want him.

I want… honey. I want the scent of sweetness filling my nose and the tickle of copper hair against my cheeks while I feed. I want Charlie, and this brown-haired human I happened upon at the rear of an apartment building will not suffice the urge for him that is growing inside me.

I pull my fangs from his skin carefully, then release him from my grasp. This nameless human shuffles on his feet for a moment, catching his own balance as his hand gentle rubs at the front of his crotch needfully. I reach forward and touch the side of his head, calling upon a power I only use when I’m feeding from humans who aren’t aware of my nature.

There are some who know us, and give themselves freely to us, but I much prefer anonymity. I’ve always felt it’s safer if nobody knows me, and while Gibson and Emery can frequent clubs where humans who welcome a fuck and a feeding spend time, I chose to not attend such places.

A warm pulse centers on my palm as the human I fed from slumps where he stands, his hand finally falling off his crotch. The scent of his lust fades, and I catch him as he falls, then prop him up against the wall of the apartment building. He will not remember the feeding or the arousal he was filled with, all he will be left with in memory is stepping outside and growing increasingly tired. To make sure he is left with no trace of me on him, I lick my fingers and soothe the bite marks in his neck, watching as they stitch together and disappear. Though my blood can heal, my saliva also carries similar properties, designed for moments like this.

I step away from him as he starts to wake, leaving him behind to yawn into the darkness. I hear him shuffle around on the pavement as I walk away, thankful that I stopped when I did. I’m not entirely full, but I took enough to get me through the next couple of days at least. Being as old as I am, the need to feed is nowhere near what I once lived with, and I can get away with once a week at the most if I push it.

Thoughts of honey and red hair fill my mind as I make my way through the city streets towards my vehicle. I know Charlie is at The Pinwheel Club starting to put together the mural I commissioned, I saw his vehicle arrive as I was heading out to find food, and while I offered a wave his way, I didn’t dare stop to chat. I wouldn’t have been able to control myself at the time and would have ended up feeding from him instead of a faceless human, but I am in control now, and I am craving his presence.

I am craving him.

He fills my mind as I head for my car and open the door, the urge to be near him and a strange disgust at myself for causing another man’s arousal warring inside my head.

What is happening to me?

Not even with my beloved Marius was I so single-minded. Charlie consumes me whole like he’s taken up pieces of my own mind I was not aware I had until I met him. It’s surprising and shameful to think like this when I consider all that Marius meant to me and how deeply I have felt his absence throughout the many years since he died.

I don’t know what is going on. Why this pull to this particular human has gripped me so tightly, but I can’t deny that it has, and so as I start my vehicle, I head for the one place I can count on him to be at this time of night, pushing all questions from my mind with ease.

He is fading.

The Charlie that was here three days ago, excited about the prospect of the mural painting I commissioned is gone, replaced by a heavy soul. I watch through the front window of the club from the darkness of the street outside as he moves around the entry way, his feet dragging on the tile and his mouth cracking open in wide yawns more frequently than they have before.

He’s tired, but that’s an understatement. Exhaustion clings to him as he moves around, picking up and putting down buckets of paint like he can’t decide what to do with them.

And then there’s the smell of him. I can scent the chemicals once again clinging to him through the panes of glass, they are that strong this evening. They weren’t as present in him the day that I learned of his middle name; I could scent more delicious honey than the sourness of medicines, but today, they’ve nearly blotted out the sweetness of him. It is all I can do to keep from rushing inside and sinking my teeth into him to rip it away. My hands clench at my sides as I fight the urge to fix it. To fix him, or at least find out what this chemical scent is about.

I asked Bowman in confidence if there were concerns about drug use, but the wolf shifter claimed to know nothing of it. He claims to not be able to scent anything amiss with the human painter he’s extended pack safety to.

But I can and it’s wrong.

Charlie wavers on his feet, yawning again as he drops his paintbrush onto the drop cloth at his feet. He stretches his arms up, bones cracking as he winces, then settles back down into himself.

“Fuck my life,” I hear him mumble, and that is when I step through the front door and make my way to him.

“Are you all right?” I ask, startling him. He whirls around to face me, his chemical honey scent hitting me in the face. His eyes are sunken into his head, leaving bags behind so thick and dark they create shadows on his cheeks. Even his hair is without glow in the dim overhead lights of the entryway, and all I can think is that I want to keep him safe from whatever is plaguing him so deeply.

“Shitty sleep last night.” He yawns, covering his wide mouth with a pale hand. “I’m okay.”

“Do you always have shitty sleep?”

“More often than not. I should probably call it quits for the night and try to get home, though. Maybe I need to get some rest.”

If he thinks I’m letting him drive himself home in this state, he’s got another thing coming. It is far too dangerous; he can hardly keep his eyes open and risking a crash is the exact opposite of my intention of keeping him safe. “Allow me to drive you home.”

“It’s all right, I can get there myself.” He yawns as he says this, and I reach for my keys in my pocket.

“I will drive you. You are too tired for this, and I need you to be safe.”

He hesitates a moment, then shrugs. “I can take a cab here tomorrow, I guess.”

A breath of relief that convincing him to accept a ride from me wasn’t a harder task ripples through me. “I’m parked right out front.”

“I thought you have a garage?” he asks, yawning again.

I am ashamed to admit that my urge to see him drove me to leave my car parked out on the street instead of going all the way to the basement and taking the elevator up from the garage. It would have taken only a few extra minutes, but the need to see his face didn’t allow me even that.

Instead of answering him, I shrug and reach to open the door. The cool night air hits my skin, and Charlie inhales a deep breath of it into his lungs, tilting his head up towards the dim streetlights overhead. He inhales another deep breath, a small smile crossing his lips.

“You smell so good all the time,” he murmurs, turning his sleep hazy eyes to my face. “What cologne is that?”

“I don’t wear cologne,” I offer as I lock the door behind us. “What do I smell like?”

“Coffee. Rich, dark roast coffee beans. It’s delicious.”

“You smell like honey to me,” I reply as I lead him to where my Maybach sits by the curb. His eyes grow wide as he stares at the sleek, black luxury car, and he snorts a laugh of surprise and wonder.

“What are you? Batman? This is seriously your car?”

“I liked it, so I bought it,” I say with a shrug. It’s flashy, far flashier than anything I’ve driven before, but when I saw it online, I had to place an order for one for myself. It somewhat resembles one of the many iterations of the Batmobile, I suppose. Emery made a similar comment the day it arrived at our door back when we lived in a smaller home in the countryside.

“You really do have all the money,” he mumbles with a small smile. He opens the passenger door and climbs in, looking up at me from the plush leather seat. “Let’s go, caped crusader. I’m tired as hell.”

I close the passenger door, then head around and climb into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine. Glancing beside me as I put the car into drive, I see that Charlie has closed his eyes and is leaning heavy into the comfortable seat beneath him. I hate that I have to rouse him from his sleep, but I am not sure where he lives.

“Where am I heading?” I ask, gently nudging his side.

“The lofts at Springhollow,” he murmurs, not opening his eyes. The name ripples through me like an electric current, the familiarity pinging in my head.

“Springhollow?” I ask, needing to be certain I heard him right.

“Yeah, new development in the edge of downtown. I bought one of the first units through my asshole ex back in the day. His law firm was involved in the sales and development of them, but I like the place.”

Springhollow. The town I once called home where the Bloodrend Court held the throne and the control. This can’t be coincidence, and I’m instantly on edge as I plug the location details into my GPS.

“It’s a good place?” I ask as I take off from the curb and follow the roads leading towards Springhollow.

Charlie hums his assent, and when I glance over at him, he’s sunk into the leather, his lips parted and brows furrowed in his sleep. I stay silent for the rest of the ride through the city streets to the downtown edge where Springhollow sits, reveling in being so near to him for the quiet moments.

Finally, a short few moments later, I pull up to the location as the GPS voice announced we’ve arrived. The building is tall and broad, the sign on the front proclaiming it to be exactly what Charlie said it was named in a script font designed to make the place appear high end and elite.

“We’re here,” I murmur, taking a chance to reach over and brush a stray lock of hair off Charlie’s forehead. He hums at my touch, smiling before he even opens his eyes.

“That was a good nap,” he comments, as I pull my hand away, my fingers warm to the touch from his skin.

I chuckle softly as he blinks his sleepy eyes open. “It was, like, five minutes long.”

“Still a good nap.”

We climb from the car, Charlie turning back to make another comment about Batman, before heading down the paved walkway leading to the front of the building. I could leave him here to get into his place on his own, he is still tired, but I know he can make it there on his own. The problem is that I don’t want to leave him and despite telling myself that he is fine, I can’t make myself part ways with him just yet.

“You wanna come see my place?” he asks, sounding slightly confused as to why I’m following him like a lost puppy.

“Making sure you get in safely.”

He doesn’t question that, putting his key into the front door of the building and letting me follow him inside. A common vampire myth is that my kind cannot enter places unless invited. I’ve never found that to be true, save for the locations that are specifically warded against our presence. There are a few in this city that I know of that I am denied entry. One of them is the shifter lands in the woods that border the city itself, and another that comes to mind as I follow Charlie through the building to the elevator at the back is the strange house tucked into the older residential area. I’m not sure who lives there, but they are well protected from all manner of paranormal beings.

I get onto the elevator and watch in amusement as Charlie touches the button for the very top floor, simply labeled L1 on the display. “Loft number 1, huh?”

“Had to get the best if I was putting out that much money.” He shrugs. “I have half the top floor, and the views are amazing. Well worth the mortgage, which is a beast if I’m being honest. It was easier to afford with Colin’s salary, but I make do with what I have.”

And my money will ease things even more, I know. He doesn’t have to say as much out loud, but I know that having the funds I’m paying him for his art will make it easier to afford the place he lives. Though he must make more than I had assumed from selling what pieces he does at the gallery. Either that, or he has a nest egg saved that he’s drawing from to afford such luxury.

The door to the elevator opens and we step out into a small hallway containing just two doors. L1 and L2. Charlie heads for the door on the left, pulling a set of keys from his pocket but he stops short as alarm ripples down my spine. An awareness prickles at me and it’s all I can do to not step in front of Charlie, danger rising in my mind.

“What the fuck?” he whispers, staring at the door.

“Charlie, why is your door open?”