Envious Of Fire (Kissing With Teeth #2)

13. Give Me One Night of Your Life.

—?—

“Run away from the sun,” recites Kyle to himself for the tenth or eleventh time. He has been scouring the arid stretches of land outside Nowhere, far away from any highway or sign of life in the dead of night, for what feels like hours, but is likely just been half of one. He walks as quietly as he can, yet with all the crunchy sand and tiny rocks, stealth isn’t easy to maintain. “He has to mean head west. The sun rises in the east, so heading west would be like running away from it. Right?” Kyle presses on, hoping he didn’t misunderstand the annoyingly unspecific riddle Lazarus left him. With each step, he feels less sure.

Ten minutes later, he reconsiders. “But it could also mean heading east,” he realizes, “since the sun sets in the west, and of course the only time I’d look for him is at night … so running away from the sunlight would be heading east.” Kyle clutches his head in frustration. “Or is it still west?”

Kyle’s skill level in solving riddles was never something he bragged about or planned to put on any résumé.

And the farther he travels across this sprawling stretch of dust and nothing, the more he worries. The nights are only so long. Once the sky starts warming with the inevitable dawn, he will find himself in a dire situation. There is absolutely nowhere to hide out here from the sunlight.

And Kyle knows firsthand what it feels like to endure that cruel and merciless sun out here in the desert.

The only light he doesn’t mind is the moon, and with it at its fullest tonight, it blankets the desert in its pale, milky color, making the sand look like snow.

“Fuck it,” he blurts, then starts heading east instead—with increased urgency to his movements. “And fuck you and your dumb riddles,” he adds in a growl as well, breaking into a sprint as he makes his way across the dry, hard ground. “We’ve got technology, you know. Could’ve dropped a fucking pin on my phone if you wanted me to find you so badly.”

Another hour later, Kyle is nowhere closer to encountering any sign of some secret vampire hideout, and exhaustion starts to pull on his legs the more he runs.

If he gave up on his quest right now, would he even have the strength to head back home? Or the time?

“Find us hiding beyond a dark mouth,” mutters Kyle under his breath, recalling the words, “itself armed with teeth.” He has moved on to making sense of the second half of Lazarus’s instructions, as the whole “running away from the sun” part is a total gamble as far as Kyle is concerned. “Dark mouth? Is that like a cave or something? Sounds like a cave. Are y’all a bunch of fucking vampire bats?”

Then Kyle stops, his Reach finding something. Frenetic, sparkling, electric, utterly untethered. Like a fly bashing against the walls of a honey jar in its desperate pursuit of a way out.

It is unmistakably human.

Then he spots a speck in the distance—a human being.

Running.

Kyle takes off in the direction of the human. The earth flies under his feet as he gains ground, closing the distance between them, certain that the human is a sign.

The closer he gets, he realizes the human is terrified and running for his life. Running from what? Lazarus? Did Kyle catch them in the middle of a hunt? What’s a human doing out here in the desert in the middle of the night, anyway?

Can Kyle save his life if he reaches him first?

As Kyle grows closer, with a substantial amount of distance still between them, he realizes it’s a totally naked man, which in itself creates a whole new list of questions.

Then the man stops.

Does he see Kyle?

The man frantically waves his arms in the air, as if signaling a rescue plane to his deserted island. Now he changes course, running straight for Kyle. “Help!” he cries across the distance. “Please! You gotta help me!”

The closer he comes, Kyle realizes the man is muscular and young. Sweaty. Short blond hair. Some college football player, perhaps, like Kyle might have one day become had his fate been different. Or a wrestler. A gymnast. Amateur bodybuilder with a side gig in modeling. None of these possible conclusions help Kyle understand what this man is doing running around naked in the middle of the desert at this hour. For all Kyle knows, this is a completely unrelated drug deal gone wrong, and the guy was dumped in the middle of the desert without a thing on him, left for dead. He could have been lost out here for days.

When the man grows close, he slows down, quickly slaps a hand over his privates as if just now remembering his state, and spits out the words, “Please, I need—I need to get—to get a—” He can’t catch his breath, doubling over, grabbing Kyle by the arm to prevent himself from collapsing. “P-Please, h-h-help … I need—I need a phone … Do you have a phone? … Can we—Can we even get reception all the way the fuck out here?”

Kyle reaches out to help steady the exhausted young man, causing him to let go of his privates in favor of clinging to Kyle like a life raft. “You’re okay, you’ll be fine,” Kyle quickly tells him, because what the fuck else? “Take a breath, tell me what you’re running from. Tell me why you’re all the way out here.”

“You … You wouldn’t believe me if I—” The man sucks in air, desperate to catch his breath. He looks like he may pass out. “I just need a phone … P-Please, dude. Please.”

Kyle, with one arm steadying the guy, pulls his phone from his pocket. Utterly no reception, as expected.

“You gotta get me outta here,” begs the man, drooping his head on Kyle’s chest, breathing heavy, nearly in tears. “They’re comin’ after me, dude. They’re gonna kill me one of these days, they’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, I just know it …”

“Who’s gonna kill you?” Kyle tries to straighten the man up, but it’s like fighting with deadweight. “Tell me who.”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” he repeats.

Kyle can’t presume anything. He has to be absolutely sure. He sees no bite marks, no obvious bruises, nothing to indicate this guy is any victim of his kind. “Try me,” says Kyle.

“Thirsty …” The man chokes out a sob. “H-Help …”

Then he full-on collapses in Kyle’s arms.

Kyle, who was already exhausted making this reckless trip into the middle of the desert, has now been given the unasked-for gift of another burden: the passed-out body of some guy running for his life from likely the very individuals Kyle seeks.

Perhaps this is sign enough that this mission was a bad idea.

Kyle should turn back, carry him to Nowhere, and return another night. If he heads home now, he may beat the sun if he’s lucky. And that’s assuming he can even carry an amateur bodybuilder. Or football player. Or fitness model.

Or whoever this naked mystery man is.

Kyle’s first and second attempts to lift the young man fail, his body proving far too heavy. Kyle keeps trying to grip him in different ways in an attempt to hoist him onto his back, but the man’s body is either too slippery, too awkward, or too naked. “I need you to help me help you,” mutters Kyle in frustration, “or else both of us might die out here once that sun comes up.”

Kyle even considers leaving the poor guy here. But then he will certainly die, whether eaten by a pack of coyotes or the deadly sun itself, which given the right circumstances can be just as fatal to a human with zero supernatural sun allergies. Kyle waves his phone in the air, angry with himself suddenly, to no avail. He closes his eyes and, crouched next to the guy, attempts to cast his Reach out as far as it can go. Beyond the distinctly different pulls of animal presences, Kyle detects no other humans.

Shouldn’t he be getting another surprise passive-aggressive visit from Wendy right about now?

Kyle grows more desperate as the minutes tick by, grabbing the naked man in an awkward bear hug, one hand on his back, the other trying to find purchase on his ass, the man’s bare cock grinding against Kyle’s front as he strains to hoist him over a shoulder, or at the very least carry him like a sack of luggage. The moment he thinks he’s winning, after managing seven and a half steps, his sweaty human cargo slips through his arms and crashes onto the hard ground. Kyle trips, catches himself, then lands atop the muscled man with an awkward grunt, rolls onto his back next to him, sighs with exasperation.

“Do you not know the hour?”

Kyle rises off the ground at once, turns.

The dauntingly tall Lazarus towers over the two of them, his shape painted over the pallid moonlight, his long black hair swaying like cables in the dry night wind.

“Part of me didn’t think you’d come,” admits Lazarus with his usual detached expression and deep voice. “But the Devil’s Mouth is a bit farther, however.” He points off. It’s only now Kyle notices how long the vampires fingers are, with nails as sharp as talons. “In a shadowy basin, safe for us even in the morning hours, but not in the late afternoon.” Then, like an afterthought, he adds, “That one belongs to Salazo.”

Kyle is confused for a moment until his own eyes return to the body by his side. “You mean—?”

“I don’t understand those of you who keep pets,” Lazarus goes on. “It annoys me. But Salazo loves keeping one from time to time. This one’s lasted longer than the others.”

Kyle feels protective suddenly, frowning. “He cried out to me for help. I’m not just gonna let him go back to you. I—”

“He isn’t yours.”

“He isn’t yours, either.”

“No, he isn’t.” Something whips past Kyle’s face, sweeping dust into the air. Kyle barely flinches, blinks, then discovers the body of the young man now hanging limply from Lazarus’s pale arms, like he’s as light as a bundle of sticks. “This is Salazo’s.”

Kyle can’t help but be staggered by his supernatural speed and strength. “He doesn’t belong to anyone!” he shouts back.

“You’re being disrespectful. Did I not quitclaim my interest in your human when you confronted me? Did I not respect you in your lair? I expected that courtesy returned.” Lazarus’s eyes darken—and it does something quite terrifying to his already off-putting face, causing Kyle to step back. “Unless you wish to rescind your own claim on that human you had tied down.”

Kyle swallows hard, reassessing everything in the space of seconds. The young man still hangs limply, head lulled to the side, arms dangling, cock flopped onto his thigh, hair messy.

If Kyle attempts to defy Lazarus, it could spell disaster for everyone Kyle knows and cares for. He needs to keep Elias and the people of Nowhere in mind at all times—especially seeing as Lazarus has proven he can slip undetected through Wendy’s allegedly impenetrable radar.

“Of … Of course not,” says Kyle at last. “He’s yours.”

“No, he’s Salazo’s. Like I said.” Lazarus peers down at the man in his arms with a mixture of weariness and disgust. “They do this often. Salazo pretends to set his pet free, then captures him again, over and over … It’s a game they play. He insists it makes his pet’s blood taste sweeter, all that adrenaline, all that excitement …” He lifts his cold gaze to Kyle. “Do you wish to see our lair? The mouth armed with fangs I described … I shall take you there. You’ll meet all of us … and see what you are.”

Kyle stares again at the defenseless young man, wonders if he ever truly wanted to know what he is, or if this isn’t just one more self-destructive quest he should never have embarked on.