Derr_Megan_-_Dance_in_the_Dark Page 8

  Heath laughed. "You like lording it over the six drunks who keep you in business. Speaking of, business must be booming with Mr. Fancy Pants here ordering vodkas all over the place."

  Peyton flipped Heath off. "This places closes, jackass, you'll have to find a new watering hole on which to waste your trust fund."

  Making a face, Heath only said, "Water me."

  Rolling his eyes, Peyton moved to a special cooler below his shelves of liquor and pulled out a bottle of dark green glass wrapped with a black, green, and silver label. Blood wine, Johnnie recognized. Vampires had a million and one ways to enjoy the only sustenance they required, even if the traditional method remained the favorite.

  Setting the bottle and a wine glass in front of Heath, Peyton took the twenty Heath held out, then moved down the bar to refill drinks, including a fresh vodka for Johnnie. He also set a fresh beer on the bar, two stools down from Johnnie.

  A minute later G-man appeared and moved immediately to the waiting beer. "Thanks," he told Peyton.

  Johnnie half-turned to face him. "Thank you for getting my belongings."

  G-man shrugged. "Forget it. Wasn't doing anything else, and the way they tried to get information out of me, I can see why you didn't want to go yourself."

  Johnnie nodded in agreement. "I have no doubt they are under orders to keep me there once I appear."

  G-man rolled his eyes. "A blood sucker tried to tail me, but he sucks at it. I lost him down on fourth."

  Lifting one brow, Johnnie said, "You have experience with being followed?"

  Peyton and the others laughed. "Yeah, he's good at that shit. He's like some secret agent, government spy type. That's why he's G-man."

  "I see," Johnnie said. "So what—" he stopped as the door opened, and a man came in bearing boxes that clearly contained food. The pizza, he supposed.

  "Set'em on the tables," Peyton ordered, and handed over the necessary cash. "Thanks, man." The delivery man nodded, and departed, and Peyton set Chuck and Nelson to squaring everything away, including bringing Johnnie a plate. Acutely aware of all eyes on him, but somehow amused rather than annoyed, Johnnie obediently picked up a piece as he saw someone else do, and took a bite.

  It certainly was not the four-star cooking of his father's in house chef, or anything like the food at the restaurants and cafés at which he infrequently dined. It was greasy and salty and seemed made of nothing but cheap cheese and questionable meat. But he did not hate it. "Not bad," he finally said, setting the piece down and wiping his hands on the napkin Peyton offered him.

  Laughing, the others dug into their own food, demanding more beer from Peyton. Johnnie slowly ate his own pizza; the one with vegetables was so far his favorite of the options provided. He watched his companions surreptitiously as they all ate—Peyton at the bar, eating between replenishing drinks, G-man back in his corner, cap pulled low as he nursed a beer and slowly ate his pizza, Nelson eating enough for three though he was half the size of everyone else in the room, Chuck barely eating at all, Heath nibbling almost playfully while he drank his wine.

  Throughout, they talked and laughed and joked. Clearly they were all good friends, never mind their colorful mix of races. In his circles, vampires did not mingle with lone wolves, never mind imps and low-level alchemists and witches.

  Witches. Try as he might, he missed Rostislav. Being a much more powerful witch, Rostislav could have helped with the case. The bar would have amused and pleased him; Johnnie wished he were here now. He would have been vastly amused that Johnnie had a 'case' at all. "The more he looked inside the more Piglet wasn't there," Johnnie muttered the quote to himself, and tossed back the last of his vodka. "Water," he said, when Peyton shot him a silent query. He finished off the last few bites of his vegetable-laden pizza and pushed the rest away.

  Micah and Walsh would be back soon. Unfortunately, there was not much more he could investigate. He could ask about the harassment, but he sensed he already knew where that ended, which was in nothing useful. "So who was harassed and by whom?" he asked the room.

  "Me," Nelson replied. "Walsh and Micah, too. I guess they thought we would be easy targets. Just came up, shoved us around a bit, told us if we didn't stop coming to the Bremen, we'd regret it." Nelson rolled his eyes. "Different guys for each of us, just a few Joes hired just to harass. We can probably hunt them out, but I doubt it would go anywhere."

  Johnnie shook his head. "No, guys like that are just paid to do a job; they do not ask the details, and no one gives them. We will wait and see what Micah and Walsh have to say."

  "Probably not for a couple more hours, if they're playing gumshoe," Peyton replied.

  Nodding, Johnnie stood up. "I am going to go situate my belongings. Call me immediately if they return, or something else happens."

  "Sure," Peyton said, and waved him off.

  It should feel strange, really, striding with such familiarity through the bar to the back and then up the stairs to the apartment above. But he only felt oddly proprietary—and despite repeated admonitions to himself, the beat of his heart increased with anticipation. Like the suite in Jesse's hotel, he could not think about the rooms above the Bremen without thinking about Eros.

  He pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing the door behind him again. He looked around the space. It really was a tidy little set of rooms. The living area was generous, the bathroom adequate, and he did not care about the kitchen because he had very little use for one. It could all use a bit of touching up, some cosmetic changes here and there, but overall …

  What was he hoping; that he could there? He had pressed his luck as it was, defying his father just that morning. If he dared to tell Ontoniel he was moving out, and planning to live above a bar in the worst part of the city … and it was a bad idea, anyway. Peyton and Heath knew who he was, which meant everyone knew who he was, and he sincerely doubted they would want him there much longer than it took to solve the case.

  The idea appealed, however, no matter his misgivings. He could all too easily imagine his belongings there. If he fronted the money for the expansions Peyton wanted to make, he could expand the upstairs as well, meaning there would be more than enough room for his books and clothes, and whatever else he brought with him.

  He strode across the living area to the rightmost bedroom; the one that contained no windows. It would make an ideal library, and the second room would be his bedroom. He stood in the middle of the room, imagining, wishing there was a way to make the dream a reality. Now that he had thought of it, he very badly wanted it.

  The light flicked off, and Johnnie whipped around—right as the door clicked shut. Hands sank into his hair in the next breath, and before he could say a word a mouth took his in a ravenous, bruising kiss. Johnnie meant to push him off, get some space, resolve this strange matter once and for all—but his fingers only gripped the soft cotton of the man's shirt. Johnnie kissed back hungrily, even though he should not, even as it ached because he was so tired of living with someone who barely acknowledged him and wanting someone who would only kiss him in absolute dark.

  What a kiss. The few one-night stands in his past, desperate attempts to banish Elam from his mind, had never felt anything like Eros' kisses. Johnnie should be afraid, angry, or at least offended, but it was hard to think of anything except the hot mouth plundering his like he was the property of Eros. Johnnie wanted to know how the hands gripping his hair would feel elsewhere.

  Eros finally tore away, and Johnnie had trouble gathering his thoughts. All he could focus on was his breathing. Finally gathering enough air, he said, "I did not think I would encounter you again."

  Eros angled Johnnie's head, nipped his ear, nibbled along the column of his throat until he reached the collar of Johnnie's shirt. "I did not intend to visit you again, but my resolve vanished when you reappeared. You are more than you seem, human child of the Dracula. Too beautiful to be truly normal, too warm to be a vampire; every lordly order you hand out is matched by a gesture of
kindness."

  "I have no idea what you are talking about," Johnnie said, genuinely baffled. Too beautiful? Too warm? Lordly? Kindness? None of those fit him, not really. His looks were barely passable for his strata, he was hardly 'lordly'—more like simply reserved. Eros chuckled and sank his fingers into the hair at the nape of Johnnie's neck, tilting his head for another plundering kiss. Johnnie moaned despite himself, fingers still tangled in the cotton shirt Eros wore. But then Eros slid his free hand down Johnnie's back to finally rest on his ass, jerking them flush.

  It reminded Johnnie that he while he could not see, he could still touch. Loosening his fisted hands, he splayed them across a chest that proved to be impressively muscled beneath the cheap fabric of his shirt. He moaned again as Eros continued to kiss him senseless, and shifted his own arms to wrap tightly around Eros' waist.

  He broke the kiss briefly, startled as his back met the wall, and the arm around his waist suddenly became a hand grabbing him through his pants, fondling with a boldness that would normally have had Johnnie reaching for his dagger. Instead, he thumped Eros hard on the chest, wishing he could see. "Do not mess up my clothes—" He bit at Eros' lips as he was cut off, eliciting another chuckle before the kiss grew deeper.

  Eros shoved a hand inside his pants and boxer briefs, grabbing firm hold of Johnnie's already hard cock. Johnnie jerked, hips moving of their own volition, and really—it had been far too long since he had had any attention but his own. Eros' laugher was warm against his skin, and his tongue warmer still as he lapped at Johnnie's throat just above the collar of his shirt. "I want to see you naked, spread out on your bed and begging me to take you."

  Johnnie felt his way up Eros' body, then sank a hand into soft, soft hair, tugging hard. "I want to see you, period."

  "That would spoil the fun," Eros murmured, then kissed him again, cutting off Johnnie's reply, eventually making him forget what he had been going to say. Suddenly he was no longer pressed against Johnnie—but in the next moment, belt and button and zipper were undone, and the hottest mouth Johnnie had ever felt engulfed his cock. Johnnie only just barely bit back a shout. He clapped one hand over his mouth, the other once more fisted tightly in Eros' hair, as Eros sucked him off like their lives depended on it.

  Only the fact that everyone downstairs would hear him held back another shout as he came in Eros' mouth. He was still attempting to catch his breath when Eros rose and kissed him. Johnnie made a sound that might have been a whimper as he tasted himself in Eros' mouth, and the scent of myrrh and musk roses was heavy all around them.

  He fumbled in the dark a moment, but at last found what he sought. Eros jerked in surprise, grunting as Johnnie fumbled through fabric and finally got hold of his cock and stroked, as hard and sure as he could manage with absolutely no visibility. Eros kissed him again, kept him pinned against the wall, and there seemed something urgent, even desperate, about his rough-edged kiss.

  Eros' cry was soft, further muffled by Johnnie's mouth, and he shuddered quietly in Johnnie's arms. His kiss softened, a little clumsy but somehow sweet. "I want to see you," Johnnie repeated in low tones, releasing Eros' cock, gripping Eros' shirt, feeling like a clinging child. Pathetic, pleading was too much like begging for his taste, but …

  "See me once, and you'll not want to see me again," Eros replied. "Spy by candlelight, and the dripping wax will stir me."

  "But of all the senses," Johnnie quoted, "sight must be the most delightful. Is that all you ever plan to do? Steal pleasure in the dark and vanish again when sated?"

  Eros brushed a soft kiss across his mouth, then recited, "Stolen sweets are always sweeter/Stolen kisses much completer/Stolen looks are nice in chapels/Stolen, stolen, be your apples." Another brief kiss, and then as suddenly as that, Johnnie was alone again.

  He swore softly in the dark, the only shred of light the sliver between the closed door and the floor. "The pleasure is momentary, the position ridiculous, and the expense damnable," he quoted with a sigh, furious with himself but not as sorry as he should be. If it was the last thing he did, he would figure out the mystery of Eros—and he was not foolish enough to let the candle wax drip.

  Pushing away from the wall, he fixed his clothes and combed his fingers through his hair. He had just reached the bedroom door when he heard footsteps in the living area beyond. Pulling the door open, he saw Peyton. "Oh, there you are," Peyton said. "Micah and Walsh are back."

  "Good," Johnnie said. "Actually, Peyton, there was something else I wanted to discuss with you."

  Peyton looked at him, faintly puzzled and a little worried. "What's that?"

  "I was wondering if you would take me on as a silent partner," Johnnie said. "I will front the money for the renovations you want to do, as well as the repairs you need to make now, if you cut me in on the profits and give me the rooms upstairs."

  Peyton's jaw dropped. "What—but—why? You—you're the son of the Dracula, Johnnie. Why would you want to bother with this crumbling dive?"

  Johnnie fought the sudden, crushing, unexpected weight of disappointment. He drew himself up. "Of course if you are not interested—"

  "You get haughty when you're upset, don't you?" Peyton laughed. "It drops over you like a blanket, or maybe like a switch got flipped. I didn't mean no, I only meant you could do so much better than this place."

  Relaxing slightly, Johnnie shrugged and said, "I like it here. I would like it to remain open. I would like to see it do well."

  Peyton grinned, "Then by all means. The rooms are yours, man. I'll dig out all my plans and paperwork and crap."

  "Send it all to this man," Johnnie said, and pulled out his card case. Flipping briefly through it, he extracted one for his lawyer. "He will take care of everything."

  Laughing, Peyton took the card and put it in a pocket of his jeans. "Sure thing. Never had a fancy lawyer to do all the work, before."

  Johnnie shrugged. "It is convenient. If we are to be business partners, he will be our lawyer as well. At some point we will all have to go to dinner. Now, however, I want to know what Micah and Walsh have learned."

  Peyton nodded and led the way downstairs, back into the bar proper. Walsh and Micah were at the bar nursing beers; they looked tired but triumphant. "Hey, Johnnie," Micah greeted.

  "Hello," Johnnie said, and sat at his own seat. "What did you find?"

  "Three other places have been hit recently, vandalizing and harassment of customers, just like Peyton. The weird thing is that each has nothing to do with the other—this place, a bed and breakfast just outside of town, an upscale bar on the west end, and a fancy steakhouse on the east end. We only found about the steakhouse and the B & B by sheer dumb luck," Micah said, and finished his beer, motioning Peyton for another one.

  Johnnie latched onto that last bit. "What dumb luck? Tell me precisely what you learned, leave no detail out."

  Micah nodded around his beer, but Walsh spoke before he could set it down. "We left here and started working our way south, stopping at every bar, restaurant, and other dives we came across. Someone in the Blue Dove tipped us to the bar uptown, heard it from a friend of his who worked there. The manager at the upscale bar, Blood & Lace, told us they'd been having the same problems Peyton's been having—broken glassware, fires, harassed customers, a few other things. He told us that the owner of Blood & Lace also owned a steakhouse on the other side of town, and it had been having the same problems. So we went there, and the manager there told us something else—"

  "That a friend of his, who owned a bed & breakfast, was also having the same problems," Johnnie said.

  Laughing and shaking his head, Micah said, "How did you know?"

  "Deduction," Johnnie said. "Peyton, that friend of yours who was a teacher—does he have a lover or spouse who is in the restaurant business?"

  Peyton frowned in thought. "He was dating a manager at a diner we haunted for ages. They'd been going out for months when we split; they were still together when we went our separate ways. What wa
s his name, Roger? Something like that. He had ambitions to own his own place. He always was jealous I beat him to the punch on this bar."

  "What did you deduce?" Walsh asked, curious.

  "Peyton told me earlier that he was in a band," Johnnie said. "The lead singer resented the band's breaking up. One of the band members went on to run a bed & breakfast, just outside of town. Acts of violence that randomly hit that place as well as this one? It could be coincidence. However, the upscale bar and the steakhouse are owned by one person, which means only three people are being affected, and we know for a fact that the owner is friends with the man who runs the bed & breakfast. So we have Peyton, Roosevelt, and Cat's lover all being harassed and their properties vandalized."