SPN Fic: In Blood, We Trust (3/4)
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***
But, a few nights later, it’s Jensen’s birthday. Unfortunately, he’d let it slip in passing earlier in the week that it was coming up, and now here he is getting treated to birthday shots. Way too many birthday shots. Seems like everyone, human and vampire alike-Katie, Mark, Gil, Osric, Rachel, at least a half dozen more regulars that Jensen’s met in the past few weeks-makes a point to stop by his usual spot at the bar and knock one back with him. It’s getting hard to remember how many at this point. A lot. Definitely a lot.
Chris and Danneel just keep serving them up with matching smirks, Danni laughing outright when Jensen has to prop his wobbly head on his hand to keep from going face-down into the bar.
“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” she sing-songs.
“I regret it now,” Jensen replies, enunciating carefully so as not to slur his words. He has some dignity left, after all.
But when that one Modern English comes on, dignity be damned, he finds himself humming and singing along. “The future’s open wide. Mmmm Mmm Mmmm.”
It occurs to him that while he loves that so many people want to celebrate with him tonight-his past few birthdays had been mostly spent alone surfing the internet-all he really wishes is that Jared would come over and hang out for a while, too. Instead, Jensen had gotten a casual pat on the shoulder with one of those big paws and a “Happy Birthday, man,” before Jared had lit out for the dance floor. He hasn’t been back by since. That jerk.
Speaking of which, Jensen clutches his latest beer and turns to look for Jared on the floor. It’s automatic now, Jensen can spot him immediately, colored lights tripping softly across his face. He’s dancing with someone Jensen doesn’t recognize. A slim, handsome dark-haired kid that barely comes up to Jared’s shoulder. Jensen watches as the twerp moves closer, puts a hand on Jared’s hip, two fingers tucking into the waistband of his jeans, and fuck that noise.
Jensen’s up on his feet and shouldering through the crowd before he can think twice. He’s pretty proud of himself that he manages not to stumble or weave, although he has a little too much forward momentum by the time he reaches the pair and nearly plows right into them. Jared brings up both hands to catch him, steady him.
“Whoa, whoa,” Jensen hears him say, too busy glaring daggers at the interloper to see Jared’s expression. Maybe Jared’ll be angry. Maybe Jensen’s the one who’s intruding. Maybe-
But Jared simply says, “See ya, Milo,” dismissing the kid and swinging Jensen around so that he’s between them, so close he’s almost pressed up against Jared. So close that-hey, still not thinking-Jensen leans in to press his face to Jared’s shirt, breathing deep to fill his lungs with the smell of him. Jared still sweats, like a human does. Is still warm, breathing, like a human is. Not alien, not uncanny, not undead. And all Jensen wants in that moment is to melt into him, give himself over to him, bask in the glow of all that power and vitality.
Jared turns him so that he’s leaning back into the hard wall of Jared’s chest, his ass nestled in the cradle of Jared’s hips as they sway together. He feels Jared’s nose graze the curve of his ear, the fine hairs behind it, can feel his lips curl into a smile. “Never did think I’d get you out here to dance. Happy birthday to me.”
They move in rhythm, slow and sensual. Jensen reaches for one of Jared’s hands and pulls it so that it rests low on his belly. Liquid heat is pooling there, swirling. His head lolls of its own volition, too heavy, thick and fuzzy, back onto Jared’s shoulder. His neck is bare under Jared’s eyes.
“Hey? Are you okay?”
“More than okay,” he murmurs. He reaches up to peel away the sticker on his neck, flicking it aside.
Jared freezes, his arms suddenly like iron bands around Jensen. “Stop. Jensen. What are you doing?”
“Want to feel it.” Jensen turns in his embrace so that he’s chest-to-chest with Jared again. He looks up into Jared’s face, blinking, too close, can’t quite focus. “Want to know. Want you to show me. Taste me.”
Jared glances around swiftly then, without a word, practically lifts Jensen off his feet, hustling him off the dance floor and out of the light. Jensen would probably fall if not for Jared’s implacable grip, as they dodge several other couples until they reach a quiet, unoccupied spot. Jared steps in close, the breadth of his shoulders blocking out the rest of the club.
Jensen lets his head thunk back against the wall, as he’s seen so many other partners do. Not for Jared. Jared doesn’t do this. But maybe he will for Jensen.
Jensen’s breath shortens with anticipation of the sting of Jared’s teeth.
But Jared simply brings his hands up to cup Jensen’s face, framing it, waiting until Jensen opens his eyes to see Jared’s-hazel-blue, not gold-staring intently into his. “You’re drunk, you idiot.”
“M’not,” Jensen insists.
“You think you can just make yourself available at random in the middle of the club? That there aren’t a dozen Kindred lined up waiting for that to happen? What if my mark weren’t still on you? They’d drink you dry in a heartbeat.”
“Not them, just you,” Jensen says, because it’s obvious. He’s been Jared’s since the day he walked in here. It just took him awhile to figure it out, to get it. Now Jared needs to get it, too.
“Oh god,” Jared groans, leaning in so his forehead is touching Jensen’s. It’s closer. Closer is good.
“I know you don’t do this,” Jensen explains carefully. “Anymore. Not humans. And blood. But it’s me. It’s okay. Can’t we have this together?”
“No, you don’t understand-“
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, it does matter. You’re all I think about. This isn’t a game for me like it is for them.” His voice drops, almost to a whisper. His mouth is so close to Jensen’s, their lips almost touch. Temptation. Addiction. Possession. “I want you so much, I ache with it. But once I’ve tasted what you are, I won’t want to give you up.”
“I don’t want you to give me up.”
Jared draws in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut as if Jensen’s wounded him. Then he straightens up. “Listen. Let’s get you home safe and talk about this tomorrow, when you’re thinking straight.”
“No, wait.” But Jensen feels the moment slipping away, and with it, his bravado, his momentum. His legs feel like water, his head like cotton, and he sags into Jared when he pulls Jensen’s arm over his shoulder and starts walking him toward the exit. As they pass the bar, he dimly hears Jared call to Jason, “Grab your keys, man. I’ll drive Jensen’s car, you follow us to his place.”
The ride home is just a blur.
***
Jensen wakes up the next morning when the alarm goes off and immediately longs for death. He can’t stand, can barely crawl, but he does manage to make it into the master bath in time to puke violently into the toilet. He gasps for air, retching, eyes streaming, sinuses burning until it’s over and he can collapse onto the cool tile floor. It takes awhile to gather enough strength to heave himself up and fumble his phone off the nightstand. One eye squeezed shut against the agony of his pounding skull, he emails a terse message to work telling them he’s taking a sick day, and then curls back under the covers in misery.
It’s noon before he comes up for air again, still nauseous and foul and, to be honest, mortified. How can he have thrown himself at Jared that way? Right out in public, in front of everyone, all Jared’s friends and associates, the Kindred, the Were. Oh, hadn’t Jensen been proud of distinguishing himself from the rest of the crowd, the herd, that showed up at Trust merely for the titillation and thrill? He’d been his own person, not just a human, not just a meal.
Guess he’s not so special after all. Just another bloodbag, easy pickings.
And Jared doesn’t even do that, for fuck’s sake. How much must Jensen have insulted him by assuming he’d go back to drinking blood after all this time, just because Jensen begged? Just how much of an idiot did Jensen make of himself, with Jared having to hurry him off the floor, having to escort him from the club?
He groans and buries his face in the pillow, wishing he’d suffocate in it. His stomach churns and his throat aches and he’s stupid. So stupid.
Before the Cowboys game, Jared had given him a cell number, but he’s never felt the need to use it before. Now he reaches over for his phone and texts Jared: I’m sorry. I was an ass last night.
He checks a few minutes later. No return text from Jared. It’s daytime, though. Jared’s probably still asleep.
All afternoon and into the evening, into the night, the next morning. No return text from Jared.
Jensen thinks he remembers Jared saying that he wanted Jensen too. Weren’t the words he used that he ached for him? Or more likely Jensen’s feeble, inebriated brain just imagined it. But the way he brought Jensen home, the way he let Jensen-oh Christ, it’s so embarrassing-rest his head in Jared’s lap during the ride, he can’t be mad at Jensen.
He checks his phone again.
This feels to Jensen a whole lot like being ignored. Like how Jared might treat him if he was embarrassed by Jensen’s actions too, and in the light of day-no pun intended- wanted to distance himself from potential drama.
So Jensen decides to ignore all his issues with Trust. What he needs is a break, some distance, some perspective.
He heads in to work the next morning resolved to focus on his current accounts which he’s let slide over the past few weeks. But after a few hours reviewing client files and management timelines, he realizes that it’s all going just fine. Even on autopilot, he’d been keeping up with his work with no problem. It was somewhat depressing to face what he already knew: being a Mortgage Loan Purchase Specialist Reviewer is not exactly anyone’s dream job. He’d never been 100% sure he liked accounting and finance in the first place, but his parents had encouraged him to pursue a secure, stable degree in college and he kind of just wandered into it.
He glances around at the off-white walls, the gray computer screen, the tan file folders stacked on his beige desk. Damn, the last thing he needs to be doing is sitting here at his desk having a career crisis, on top of everything else.
At the end of the day he drags himself home. As he’s changing out of his suit, he looks at the casual clothes he’d typically throw on before heading out to Trust hanging there, tempting him.
But Jared still hasn’t texted a reply and Jensen’s still too chicken to show his face uninvited. He clicks on the TV but can’t find a movie or show he wants to watch: hockey, basketball, nothing sounds interesting. So instead he puts on some athletic shorts, laces up his New Balance, and runs out the door.
***
He calls Mackenzie the next day to see if she’s free for lunch. He’d spoken with her a couple of times recently, to make sure she was getting along alright, but they hadn’t talked directly about the club since that first night when he followed her there.
They meet at their regular little café right off her main campus. She’s only got about 45 minutes between classes, so he makes sure to get there first to snag a table. When she hurries in, he flags her down. She looks good, happy and less stressed, and he can’t help but smile as they casually catch up on news about family and mutual friends.
But soon he shifts the conversation to talk about Trust. She’s the only one who can give him a second opinion.
Unfortunately, she’s come around exactly to the wrong position: the one Jensen urged her to.
“Are you kidding? Don’t tell me you’ve been going back there, Jensen,” she says. “You told me yourself that place is too dangerous. We’re just… just things to them.”
“Not to everyone,” he insists, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “I know you got mixed up with some shady characters but-“
She cuts him off, scowling. “Adrianne lured me there. And I went, even after she told me-” she lowers her voice, glancing around, too, “-what she is, because I thought she wanted to be with me. But once I showed up, she ignored me completely. And then she tossed me to her friends like I was a toy, like I was nothing.”
This is the first Jensen’s heard about how Mac felt about Adrianne, the underlying reason why she went to Trust in the first place. And it doesn’t make much sense. If Adrianne has a human partner, it’s most certainly Genevieve. Jensen has never seen one around the club without the other, dancing or walking arm in arm. There must’ve been some kind of misunderstanding.
“Maybe Adrianne didn’t know you were so interested,” Jensen offers. “Maybe she was just inviting you into the scene more generally.”
“Don’t defend her to me. They’re all alike. They don’t care about us except as a convenient, walking meal.”
“I don’t know, Mac.” She sounds so angry, so vehement. Nothing like the uncertainty she displayed the night he took her back to Katherine’s. Maybe getting some distance has allowed her get a clearer perspective than he has right now, still muddled and confused. Or perhaps she’s simply latched onto a good justification for staying away.
She leans in closer. “Let’s put it this way, why don’t you tell me the name of the club?”
It’s a weird question, but when Jensen opens his mouth to say Trust, nothing comes out. He tries again-Trust, dammit-but he can’t say the word.
Mac smirks knowingly. “Yeah, and try tell me where it is, how do you get there in your car?”
He can’t. He can picture every turn in his head, but when he tries to describe it, even vaguely, his sentence simply trails off.
“They say it’s for protection,” she tells him. “So that human authorities can’t find them, so that the club can hide in plain sight. But maybe it’s only because they enjoy screwing with us, mucking around with our minds.”
Jensen doesn’t know what to think. He fiercely resents that someone put-what did Jared call it?-a geas on them without his knowledge. But at the same time, he has to grant that the explanation makes some sense. What else would stop humans like Mac with a grudge against the Kindred from exposing Trust to the world? Humans would certainly start hunting down vampires if it were discovered they were anything but a myth. Jared’s plan to bring people together safely relies on a certain degree of secrecy.
Or is he just making up sorry excuses for them? Has his judgment been impaired somehow, even without being seduced by the lure of feeding for pleasure? Are Jared and his friends the good guys or the bad guys in this story?
He must’ve been quiet too long, because Mac’s expression softens. She lays a hand over his. “You have to quit, too.”
“I have quit,” he replies. And it’s the first time saying it out loud. It hurts his heart. “I’m done. I mean, I never really started. Never engaged in, you know,” he looks pointedly at her throat, “what humans go there for. It was just a place to go to have fun. Where I-it sounds stupid, but I felt at home. Mac, I just don’t know.”
“I don’t know either. I mean, honestly, you look great, seem happier than you have in years. Maybe you can make it work when I couldn’t. But you’re the one who told me it was evil and not to go back there. You need to decide whether you should take your own advice.” She checks her watch and then fumbles for her backpack. “Thanks for lunch. And be smart about this, okay?”
He has one last question. “Tell me, do you miss it?”
“No,” she says brusquely. “I don’t. It was addictive, but it couldn’t give me what I was really looking for. Cold turkey was the right thing to do. You know what the worst part is, though?” She stands and comes around the table to give him a parting hug around the shoulders, and as she does, she whispers to him. “I know I’ll never feel that happy ever again.”
***
That night, Jensen returns to Trust. The second he’d assured Mac that he had quit, he knew it was a lie. He hasn’t been able to stay away since the moment he stepped foot in this place. Wrath, then curiosity, then affection. It had been a slippery slope.
He parks in his usual spot, the bright full moon illuminating the typically unlit parking lot, making it seem unfamiliar, even after only a few days’ hiatus. There are also fewer cars than Jensen’s gotten used to, but it’s not until he walks into the club’s foyer that the niggling feeling that something is off is confirmed. Adam’s not at his regular post and John’s bulk is missing from the corner. The entryway sits empty, and Jensen has to reach around to open the drawer in the podium himself to pull out a sticker.
He places it carefully, precisely on his neck. It feels like armor.
Inside, things feel off-kilter as well. The club is undeniably less crowded than usual, and the small groups of that do cluster together on the dance floor seem oddly jumpy. Jensen watches as a vampire strides onto the floor and takes a human firmly by the arm, marching him away from the group without a word. Something about the abruptness of it, the lack of the exuberance that’s always seemed to characterize interactions between partners in Trust, sets alarms ringing in his head. Even more unsettling, there are three strange Kindred tending bar, with Chris, Danneel, and Jason nowhere to be seen.
Across the room, Jensen spies a table occupied by a few of Jared’s friends and he makes his way over, trying not to freak out.
“What’s going on?” he demands once he’s in earshot.
“We don’t know,” Katie says anxiously without even commenting on Jensen’s recent absence or his birthday antics. “We haven’t seen Jared for days.”
“Days?” Jensen’s stomach is suddenly hollow. “Have you checked his apartment?”
“No answer,” Ty confirms. “His phone either.”
“What about the Were?” No way Chris or Danni stands by and just watches this happen.
“This is the time of their regular monthly seclusion. During their transformation, they have to stay locked-down for everyone’s safety.” Ty says it matter-of-factly, but Jensen can hear the distaste in his voice. Stupid prejudices.
Jensen keeps pressing. “Worthy?”
Aldis shakes his head ‘no’ as Amber chimes in. “We haven’t seen him around at all. But if this is some kind of coup, the timing couldn’t be better. And there are enough of his people here taking advantage of Jared’s absence and messing with the humans that it’s going to ruin Trust whether it’s Worthy behind it or not.”
Jensen is this close to yelling at them for their cowardly lack of action. But what would that solve? “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” Ty grumbles. “Go home, or stay here with us.”
“It’s not safe to wander around alone,” Katie says, “even wearing that.” She nods at Jensen’s trusty sticker.
“Christ,” Jensen swears under his breath. He had no idea. Speaking of cowards, he’d been sitting at home feeling sorry for himself when all this was going down. When Jared needed him. Not that he could’ve done anything helpful, trifling human that he is, but it still feels like he abandoned Jared at the exact wrong moment. Where was Jared, anyway? Dread at the possibilities tastes thick and poisonous in his mouth.
He smacks the palm of his hand against the tabletop. He has to do something, even if it’s useless. “I’m not going to wander, I’m just going up to check Jared’s apartment for signs of where he might have gone.” He turns away before they can argue against it and heads for the cut-through in the bar, ducking under and slipping through the door to the back offices before one of the nameless bartenders can stop him.
The hall is still and empty, but he doesn’t make it three strides toward the staircase before one of the office door opens and out steps a vampire. It’s Alaina, but Jensen’s not sure what she’s doing back here.
“You should have chosen me when you had the chance, sunshine.” She gestures for him to precede her back into the office, and there he finds Worthy, sitting behind the desk with his feet up. Amanda and Sebastian and a few others Jensen doesn’t recognize stand arrayed around him.
“It’s Jared’s pet,” Alaina announces.
“I can tell. He stinks from the mark,” Worthy says, looking Jensen up and down like a cockroach he’d like to squash under his boot heel. “I’d drain him, but I’m sure his blood tastes like sewage.”
“What should we do with him?” one of the vamps asks.
“Throw him in with the beasts in the basement,” Worthy replies. “They’ll rip him apart for us. That seems only fair retribution to Jared for raising them up in our presence.”
Jensen can’t hold his tongue any longer. “Jared will find you, he’ll make you pay for this.”
Worthy just gives a small smile. “Jared’s not going to do anything to anyone. Ever again.”
His certainty crushes Jensen’s hope. He must’ve done something to Jared personally, must have-
But they don’t give him any time to despair; two of them grab him by the arms and march him out through a different door that reveals a hidden staircase, which leads them to the building’s unfinished warehouse-like basement. The cinderblock walls and concrete floors trap the chill, but that’s not what makes Jensen shiver. It’s the sight of a massive cell-a cage- built of thick iron bars. The moment the captives inside spot them, they let loose with blood-curdling howling and growls, throwing themselves against the sides of the cage in fury, red-eyed and jaws slavering. They’re not wolves, or at least they’re bigger than any wolves Jensen’s ever seen or heard of. They’ve got huge shoulders and barrel chests, elongated muzzles bristling with teeth sharper than any dog’s, four of them standing more than hip-high on Jensen and one terrifying monster the size of a small pony.
One of the vampires grabs a key ring off of a hook set into the wall and advances warily toward the cage, careful not to let her hands anywhere the wolves could reach her as she opens the lock. The other has Jensen in a vice-like grip and the moment the cage door swings open the narrowest slit, he shoves Jensen through. Jensen stumbles forward as the sound of the door clanging shut behind him is nearly drowned out by the vicious baying of the Were, and he stumbles to the floor, bruising his hands and knees, curling up in a fetal position, taut with anticipation of the deadly slash of fangs.
But the russet-furred one-oh Christ, this must be Danneel-simply stands over him protectively, while the others stay pressed up against that bars, harassing the vampires that are backing slowly toward the stairs.
Danneel nudges him with her muzzle, and he lets out a small involuntary yelp. She cocks her head at him, as if trying to tell him something and then bumps him again, harder. She takes the hem of his shirt in her teeth and tugs and worries at it, growling, then looks up intently at their captors and back down at Jensen again.
He has no idea if he’s interpreting her correctly, or if he’s just gone mad, but he lets out a louder cry, for the benefit of the vampires. “No! Stop! Please!” he screams. And god knows he’s no actor, but he’s sure got enough panic to draw on to make it sound real. The other wolves rush over, screening him from sight, and he screams again from inside their circle, wordless and drawn out, like he’s being torn apart.
The minute the door closes behind the vamps the Were back away, allowing Jensen to scramble to his feet. Chris, Jason, Adam, he can tell exactly who is who. And of course John is as mammoth in wolf form as he is as a man.
Jensen rushes past them to the cell door, testing its strength, examining the lock, gauging the width of the bars to see if he can possibly squeeze through. How the hell is he going to get out? He figures if there was a vulnerability in the cage, the Were would have already exploited it.
But then he glances up, and notices that the ceiling is made of a panel tile grid like you’d find in an office. He wonders if that could be the answer. But the problem is he can’t reach that high and the bars are too slick to shimmy up and there’s nothing to stand on except-
He sucks in a sharp breath. Then he reaches out a hand toward John who’s shadowing Adam, both of them ignoring him and pacing restlessly at the far end of the cage. Do the Were understand English in their current form?
“Hey,” he calls softly, in case for some reason their captors are listening. “Would you help me?” He points at the ceiling and then beckons John over. All five of the Were stop and stare at him unnervingly. Chris lets out a barely audible growl that nevertheless rasps along Jensen’s nerves like asphalt. He shivers and finds himself backing up slowly, rethinking this whole thing, but then Chris signals with a nod of his head, and John pads up to Jensen’s side.
Jensen cautiously touches his gigantic shoulder, his gray-white fur stiff as a boar’s bristles. He points up again with his free hand and then gingerly, oh so carefully, places a foot on John’s back haunch and clambers up onto his back. Holding onto the bars for balance, Jensen stands and reaches for the ceiling. He can almost touch, his fingertips brushing the tile above. He strains up onto his toes, but still can’t quite make it. Suddenly, underneath him, John rears up onto his hind legs, boosting him another two feet into the air, and Jensen’s able to grab onto one of the grid crossbeams. It snaps off in his hand like a twig, goddammit, but when he scrabbles for a second hand-hold, he finds one that must be part of the permanent structure, because it’s strong enough to bear his weight. He grips it with both hands and grunts with effort as he hauls himself into the shallow plenum space between the ceiling panels and the building’s guts-wires and piping and A/C ducts-hanging above.
Now he can see which crossbeams are solid, and he crab-walks on hands and toes across them like a kid on a playground monkeybars. He counts-nine, ten, eleven- until he figures he’s gone far enough to be beyond the cage limits, and then pops a tile out of place to check.
He’s good, but, fuck, the ground looks a long way down. There’s nothing to do, though, other than swing down and let himself hang in mid-air, praying he doesn’t break both ankles, before dropping to the floor.
The impact jars every bone in his body, but a second later he’s on his feet and running for the key. He grabs it off the wall and flies back to the cell door, fumbles, turns, throws it open. The Were burst out, tearing up the stairs in the wink of an eye. Jensen throws the key to the floor and rushes to follow, up, up, up to find Jared.
***
Jensen takes the stairs three at a time, heart in his throat, only to come smack up against Jared’s locked apartment door.
Fuck! How’s he going to get in? Maybe Worthy was lying, maybe they couldn’t get to Jared either?
But he knows that’s a false hope, that if Jared was okay, he’d have returned Jensen’s text days ago. He would have been out fighting for the club.
Jensen hammers on the door with his fist, then kicks at it. He might as well be pounding away at a block of steel. He rests his head against the wood and squeezes the doorknob like he’ll pulp it, and in that moment he feels a tingle work its way up his hand and arm, the same pins-and-needles sensation from when Jared laid his protective mark on him.
There’s a click, and the door swings open.
Jensen doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t hesitate, just shoves his way inside, shouting Jared’s name. The living room is wrecked, ransacked, but in a hurried way. Mostly stuff swept off of surfaces and onto the floor, a few chairs turned over. A rushed job. But he barely takes a moment to process it as he dashes through each of the apartment’s rooms, looking for any sign of Jared himself.
The last door at the end of the hall must be Jared’s bedroom, someplace he’d imagined-fantasized-seeing in different circumstances. Now it’s Jensen’s last hope for finding Jared alive. Bursting in, he frantically scans the room, the huge California king empty, the master bath door thrown wide revealing an empty space. Then, against the back wall in a recessed alcove, Jensen spies what is possibly-no, definitely-a coffin.
A coffin. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Jared.
He rushes over, hands scrabbling across the black-lacquered surface for a way to open it, but it’s been sealed shut with ordinary duct tape, tight bands encircling it from top to bottom. Jensen can’t figure out what it means, why it’s there. Then he wonders maybe, if Jared’s enemies had opened the lid to get directly to him, he might have awoken and put up a fight. This way, they could kill him without a touch. Those bastards.
He wastes precious time tugging fruitlessly at the tape with his bare hands before he thinks to spin and sprint back out to the kitchen. He snatches a knife from the butcher block on the counter and dashes back to the bedroom. He starts slicing and sawing at the thick silver bindings.
Thank god the blade is sharp, because Jensen’s going crazy from the horrific images flashing through his head of what might be inside, hoping against hope it’s not some gruesome remains, wondering how long Jared could survive being sealed away.
When the last strand pops free, Jensen grips a brass handle affixed on the coffin’s side and throws back the lid.
He’s there. Jared. Lying still on the bedding of satin lining. He might as well be asleep-bare-chested in incongruous plaid pajama pants-except that he’s as bone white as a marble statue, his lips grey, his eyebrows dark feathers arching across his pale brow.
“No. No, no, no.” Jensen lays his palm on Jared’s cheek, finds his skin is cool to the touch.
How do vampires die, anyway? He tries to remember some of the stories Jared told him, how he’d laugh at myths about garlic and stakes and dead man’s blood. So said the fucker who’s lying in a coffin, Jensen thinks, heartbeat racing as he wracks his brain over what to do. He grabs Jared’s lifeless hand and brings it up to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Feed, damn you,” he mutters, willing some of his lifeforce to flow into Jared’s empty tank.
Long seconds, more than a minute ticks by with no response, the room silent except for Jensen’s harsh breathing. Finally he drops Jared’s hand and turns away in frustration, but as he does, his foot hits the knife that he’d dropped heedlessly to the floor.
He scoops it up, stares at the blade. It could work. He’s got to try. After the other night, he still doesn’t know how Jared will react, what he wants. But they say it’s better to beg forgiveness, and Jensen sure can’t ask goddamn permission.
Swiftly, before he can chicken out, he draws the knife across the meaty part of his palm, cutting as deep as he can stand. If this doesn’t work, he’s probably going to have to go to the hospital for stitches. But it will work. It will.
Blood starts to flow, the red shockingly bright. Jensen has to cup it in his palm as he reaches out to bring it to Jared’s cold lips, dropping the knife back onto the floor and using his other hand to ease Jared’s jaw open. He watches as his blood trickles into Jared’s mouth.
If he wasn’t looking for it, he’d have missed it. The smallest movement of Jared’s throat. The smallest swallow.
A trace of pink blooms in Jared’s cheeks, but immediately fades away again.
Jensen scoots his free arm underneath Jared’s shoulders and tries to sit him up a bit. But he’s heavy and the angle Jensen’s got is awkward. All he can do is shove his bleeding hand farther into Jared’s mouth. He swears he feels Jared’s lips curl deliberately around it, and then suddenly he knows because Jared’s sucking at the wound, and an electric shock of sensation bursts across Jensen’s nerves, up his arm and down his spine, a jolt of fire and ice that almost sends him to his knees with its intensity.
Jared’s eyelashes flutter. Jensen swallows against a lump in his throat.
“Hey. Hey. You okay? You with me again?”
“Jensen,” Jared croaks. “What’s going on?” He licks his lips unconsciously as if chasing the lingering taste of Jensen’s blood. He looks like shit.
“You were dying or-or whatever it is your kind does to stop existing. But it’s okay now. I’m here.”
Jensen’s optimism is short-lived, though, as Jared’s eyes slip shut again and his breathing, oh god, his breathing stops.
Jensen brings his still-oozing hand to Jared’s lips again. Once more the trickle of blood seems to revive him. But no color infuses his skin and this time when he speaks, Jensen can barely hear him.
“I’m sorry,” Jared whispers. “It’s too late.”
“The hell it is.” It’s not even a plan, it has no hope of working, but it’s simply all he can think of to do. He rips off his button-down shirt and grabs the back of the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath and drags it off over his head. Then he plucks the knife up once more and climbs into the fucking coffin with Jared, hovering over him, just enough room to get a knee on either side of Jared’s thighs.
Desperate as he is, he can’t quite bring himself to slice into his own throat, so he brings the blade up, near as he can stand to the soft hollow between shoulder and neck.
He cuts, and flings the blade away.
With both hands he seizes Jared’s shoulders and hauls his limp body upright, drags him in and guides his lips to the wound on Jensen’s shoulder that stings like flame. He can’t bear to look down at it. Can’t look at Jared’s shoulder, either, where Jensen’s bloody palm has painted a twin scarlet smear on the smooth skin. He just closes his eyes and begs whatever strange gods might have dominion over the Kindred to make Jared feed, to make him take whatever he needs from Jensen and live.
The bite is quicker than a viper’s strike, the dull thump of the punctures sinking deep. Jensen jerks as if electrocuted, has to grasp Jared’s head and clutch him tight to keep from writhing and bucking right off his lap. Jared’s mouth works at him and the pressure of it, the pleasure, oh god, it whips through him as furious and unexpected as a tornado, dismantling everything in its path. He’s flying out of his skin, his nerves singing, shattering like glass. His heart beats loud in his ears, matching in rhythm with the suck suck suck of Jared consuming him, rejuvenating him, the two of them merging together.
Jared’s skin gets warmer and warmer under Jensen’s hands as he runs them frantically over his back and shoulders and neck, needing to touch, needing something to cling to. He wants to push up into Jared’s jaws, wants Jared to peel back his skin, to break his collarbone with the force of his ownership. He wants to push down, to grind into Jared where he can feel Jared’s cock start to stiffen and twitch, to ease the aching pulse of his own where it’s trapped in his slacks.
Jared’s hands come up to seize Jensen’s hips, making that decision for him as he yanks Jensen closer, hitching his hips upward and groaning his need into Jensen’s skin. Jared’s dick is a searing line of heat even through two sets of fabric and Jensen humps against him shamelessly, his entire lower body throbbing and raw.
Jared suddenly pulls back and Jensen looks down into Jared’s dazed and desperate eyes, his beautiful skin pink and healthy again, his lips coated in Jensen’s blood.
“Jensen,” Jared gasps to him helplessly.
“Do you want more?”
Jared nods, hunger burning in his gaze.
“Then drink,” Jensen commands, pulling Jared in toward his throat once again. The second bite is even more intense than the first, like a double shot of heroin driven straight into his bloodstream, like pure adrenaline and light incarnate, permanent trails of it etched along his nerves. He understands now, he takes back every judgmental thought he ever had about humans who gave themselves over to this. How could anyone be less than an utter, wanton slave to this feeling?
He feels Jared’s hands fumbling at his belt, unbuckling it, unzipping his fly. He whimpers as Jared’s long fingers slip beneath the waistband of his underwear to brush along the length of his cock. Even that slight touch is breathtaking, punching little “ah, ah” sounds out of his lungs as Jared curls his fingers gives Jensen a series of short, smooth strokes. It’s suddenly necessary, essential that he touch Jared the same way, so he slips a hand between them-careful not to interfere with the exquisite movements Jared’s making- and eases Jared’s downy-soft cotton pants over his jutting dick.
Jensen rears up just enough to allow Jared to shove his clothing as far down his thighs as it can go in this tight space, then widens his legs and lowers himself back down. The hot skin of their bare cocks grazes then thrusts against each other as Jensen arches his back, rolls and circles his hips, filthy and unabashed in Jared’s lap. He times his strokes with the cadence of suction at his neck, and the radiant feeling of each sip Jared draws from him is sharpened by the friction of the ridges of Jared’s cock against his.
Suddenly, Jared pulls his hand away, bringing it up to Jensen’s mouth. His gut clenches at the smell of his own sex and at the feel of Jared’s lips coasting up the taut tendon of his neck to his ear to whisper, “Lick.”
Jensen does as he’s told, his tongue seeking out Jared’s palm, wetting it, soaking it, tasting the earthy hint of precome that already leaked onto it.
He almost comes from the jolt of Jared’s third bite alone, but then it’s joined by the feel of Jared’s slick hand skating over the head of his dick, taking up both of them, his fingers long enough to encircle them together, stroking them down to the base. Jensen buries his face in Jared’s hair to keep from screaming, his ass clenching, wishing Jared was deep inside him, for Jared to fill him up with liquid dense and hot to replace all that he’s siphoning off.
Then he’s bucking uncontrollably as Jared’s hand tightens-oh god, oh god-jerking them choppy and fast, sucking harder and harder, until fireworks blast from the base of Jensen’s spine, his pleasure roaring up through his veins, straight into Jared’s waiting soul. Jensen’s balls draw up, rock hard, pumping spunk over Jared’s fist. A second later he feels Jared gasp for breath, his cock jerking against Jensen’s and then his come is flowing too, mixing with Jensen’s, a pungent, thick mess between them.
It’s Jensen’s turn to slump boneless into Jared and Jared’s turn to support him, hold him through it, as echoing waves roll through him and his muscles melt like candlewax. Jared’s whispering “thank you, thank you” over and over into the tender skin of Jensen’s neck. He’s laying wet, healing open-mouthed kisses over the knife mark, the bite marks, and Jensen’s torn between wanting to keep some kind of scars-as proof, as keepsake-and moaning with contentment at the soft sweetness of his lips. He doesn’t resist, but also doesn’t help as Jared tucks him away back in his pants, straightening both their clothes.
It’s the strangest sensation when Jared stands, lifting Jensen up in his arms light as a feather. Jensen can’t recall the last time another person actually picked him up, and yet here Jared does it with seemingly no effort. Even more astonishing is when he leaps with Jensen out of the coffin. He lands, cat-like, with barely a sound, barely a jostle, and carries Jensen swiftly to the bed, easing him down onto the blankets.
Jared sits down next to him, his weight making the mattress dip and Jensen tilt slightly toward him. How appropriate.
Jared takes Jensen’s hand in his, looking down at it with wonder. He skims a thumb along the fading pink seam that is all that’s left of Jensen’s original wound. Jensen soaks in the sight of him, radiant and strong.
Jared glances up again to catch Jensen’s gaze. “Why?”
This feels more difficult than cutting himself open with the knife. But Jensen realizes the technique is the same: don’t think, just strike, quick and deep. “Because I’m in love with you.”
There’s a scary moment when Jared doesn’t respond, his eyes wide and his hand tightening painfully over Jensen’s, but then everything is perfect as he dives down, sealing his mouth to Jensen’s in a heated kiss, one hand cupping the back of Jensen’s skull as he strokes his tongue along the seam of Jensen’s lip, nipping and laving at them, diving inside when Jensen opens to him, sharing a hint of the copper-penny taste of blood. He only breaks away to murmur, “Me too. Me too.” He presses into another deep, breath-stealing kiss and then pulls back once more. “Since the moment I first saw you. But I wasn’t sure you could ever feel the same. About someone like me.”
Jensen sits up so that they’re facing each other. He knows he’s grinning like a lunatic, but then, so is Jared, so it’s okay.
He reaches out to smooth Jared’s disheveled hair, tucking a glossy strand of it behind one of his ears. He’s never been in love before, and he realizes that he’s going to be pathetically sappy about it. “I’m so thankful you’re alright.”
He didn’t intend for that to cause a cloud of concern to flow across Jared’s face, but it does.
Then Jared kisses him again, hard but too short, and stands up, striding over to pull jeans out of a dresser drawer and slip them on.
“What are you doing?” Jensen asks, taken off guard.
“I need to go confront Worthy and his confederates.”
“What?” Jensen exclaims, then realizes sitting here arguing with Jared over the stupidity of rushing out the door right after a near-death experience is fruitless. Jared’s going to do stupid things with or without him. So with him, it is. He hops up too, almost falling on legs as wobbly as a newborn colt’s, and hurries over to where his shirts lie in a ball on the floor. His slacks are smeared and damp with questionable stains, but there’s nothing he can do about that.
“Wait, Jensen, you’ve got to stay here,” Jared insists. “Look at me. I’m strong, with what you’ve given me. Stronger than any of them. But you-”
“Stop,“ Jensen cuts him off, continuing to button his shirt. “I’m coming with you. I won’t put myself in danger, but I will also not sit back and let them hurt you again.”
Jared’s brow furrows but he doesn’t deny him. “When we find the Weres, you’ll stay with them? Or Amber and Katie?”
“I’m staying with you. There’s nowhere I’m safer than with you. Didn’t you tell me that once?”
Jared smiles faintly. “That’s right, I did.” He hesitates, looking off into the middle distance for a second. Then he says in a quiet voice, “Maybe I was wrong. Wrong in thinking I could protect you. Wrong in thinking this club would work. Who am I to think I can change how Kindred and humans interact? That we could have partnership instead of-instead of what we’ve had for who knows how long?”
“You aren’t wrong.” Jensen hurries to Jared’s side. He needs to touch him. He wants to make this count. Taking Jared by the shoulders, he gives him a little shake. “I believe in Trust. I believe in you. Just look how knowing you has changed me. Don’t let the actions of few evil people destroy your work.”
Jared brings his hands up to frame Jensen’s face. He leans down to bestow another sweet kiss, then pulls his shoulders back like he’s girding for battle.
“So what’s the plan?”
Who knows how many vampires Worthy has recruited, or even others who will stand by and watch as Trust is taken down. Katie and the others will help, but exactly how, and what will happen beyond that is a mystery to Jensen. “I don’t know. Kick some ass?”
“Sounds good,” Jared says, and when he turns to wink at Jensen he lets his eyes flash gold with power for a brief moment. Show off.
Jensen doesn’t know what awaits them, but he puts his hand on the doorknob without pause. “Okay. Let’s go take our club back.”
He certainly doesn’t expect to swing the door open and find all five Were arrayed waiting in the hall. The blood on their muzzles and the battered condition of their coats tells a tale of violence: Jason’s favoring one paw, Adam’s left eye is swollen shut. But the bigger surprise is when Chris pads forward, because in his jaws is what looks like the grisly stump of an arm, and that arm is encased in what looks like the sleeve of the coat Jensen saw Worthy wearing earlier.
He looks at Jared. Jared looks back.
“I think they stole our plan,” Jensen says calmly.
***
| Epilogue |