[ multichapter ] Blood House V [ original ]
Title: Blood House 5
Author: frostberryjam
Rated: NC-17 (overall)
Fandom: Original.
Warnings: Gayness, smut, blood, violence.
Summary: It's 2010; there's an oil spill threatening to turn the Gulf of Mexico into the Dead Sea, the President is Obama, Simon Cowell finally left American Idol -- and vampires are an accepted part of society.
Evan Banks wants to spend only one night with a vampire, to satisfy a curiosity even he can't explain. One night with the vampire known as Santos however turns out to be far more complicated than Evan ever thought it'd be. Because if there's only one sure truth when it comes to vampires, it's that they all have secrets.
Author Notes: My thanks go to radish_lily for being my beta. Thanks, bb.
This is the last chapter of the stuff I had up on AFF. So, from now on... new things, omg, yay! Zakhar. <3
Chapter Five
The next four days were made only bearable by texts. They weren’t exchanging messages every few minutes like a couple of lovelorn teenagers but Santos still sent one or two every day. The contents ranged from ‘what’s your favorite flower?’ (to which Evan laughed at because he might have been gay, but that didn’t mean he knew a daisy from a poppy any more than the next guy.) to completely dumb knock-knock jokes that Evan found adorable.
Somehow he’d managed to find the one vampire that apparently didn’t take himself too seriously. Santos was the type to dress up on Halloween as Dracula, complete with the accent.
That was the good part. The rest was hell. He saw the red-haired woman two more times. Once on Tuesday morning and then on Thursday night -- worse yet, he saw her standing on the street corner, watching his apartment.
Evan almost called the police but what could he say? He had no proof of anything. Still, he made sure to meet with Harrison every morning and was generally more careful of his surroundings when he walked home at night.
By Friday, anticipation had him fidgeting.
Half an hour before their designated meeting time, Evan called a cab and locked the apartment. Wet hair gleamed under the hallway light, darkened to a burnished gold and brushed back from his face. He wore dress pants and leather shoes along with a silk blue shirt, aware it enhanced his gray eyes. He didn’t wear jewelry, not having much that wasn’t silver -- Santos was damn lucky that Evan’s tongue piercing was platinum.
Hm. He was going to have to ask Santos what else he needed to know about vampires. Myths outnumbered the facts. Some people thought vampires couldn’t cross rivers. Or that they were allergic to wood.
Vampires were less than forthcoming about what could hurt them. Considering how detrimental humans were to their safety, it was understandable. Hate crime was an ugly reality. Add in an unhealthy belief from the religious that they had the duty to purge the earth of vampires, and fang fans that took obsession too far… vampires had a hell of a lot more to fear from humans than humans did from vampires.
None of that mattered tonight, though. Evan hummed as he stepped out into the street. The cab had estimated ten to fifteen minutes. Evan checked his cellphone watch. Still on time. He sent Santos a text message.
Taking a cab. Be there in twenty.
You should have let me pick you up. The reply was immediate, carrying a hint of admonishment. Evan chuckled. Santos had a bit of a haughty, I-know-what’s-best attitude at times. There was definitely some uncontested alpha in him.
Evan began replying when something cold plunged into his neck.
Sluggish, he tried to turn around before crumbling as the drug seeped into his system.
The attacker grabbed him and the cellphone, easily balancing Evan’s dead weight. A new message was sent on Evan’s cellphone. Then it and an empty syringe were thrown in the trash.
The suite would be perfect the moment he got Evan on the bed. Until then… Santos examined the room critical eye. “You did well, Zakhar.”
“Why, thank you, Princeps Santos. I never knew you had a romantic bone in your body. Nor did I know I apparently had one for interior decorating…” The blond quipped back shamelessly.
Aside from a distant smile, Santos disregarded the comment. He wasn‘t in the mood to exchange playful banter. The Russian vampire enjoyed that far too much. Instead he stepped up to the row of unscented candles lining the room and picked up a lighter, setting wicks aflame.
A minute later the phone beeped again, indicating a new text message.
Sweetness brought about by relief and anticipation made him reach quickly for the cellphone. Evan. After four failed attempts to find a mate, he’d started to wonder if he’d ever get lucky
He flipped the phone open and read the message.
Fury heated his veins in a flash.
Then he relaxed. Not willingly, but he did, muscle by muscle, forcing himself to be what Evan needed him to be at that moment.
“Zakhar.”
Zakhar immediately stopped fiddling with a vase full of flowers and approached, moving with the predatory leanness of a hunter.
“Ilya has Evan.” The words hurt to say, but he didn’t dwell on that. He could experience panic and fear for Evan’s safety later. Once Evan was in his arms.
Zakhar exhaled with a surprised hiss, comprehending completely with those three words.
Santos showed him the cellphone. Somehow he’d refrained from snapping it in two.
I have him. Come to the coven house. Alone. Only Ilya would dare.
The Russian’s lips pulled back, teeth flashing. “You aren’t going alone.”
“I’m taking you. I’ll need you to escort Evan somewhere safe while I deal with Ilya. Although you‘ll have to give him something from me. Otherwise he will be less than inclined to go with you.”
Zakhar grimaced, acutely aware of his appearance. “No doubt.”
Holding on to that controlled dispassion he’d worked so hard to achieve, Santos dialed as they abandoned the room. This was not the way he’d planned for Evan to find out the truth, but things were what they were, and he’d deal with them.
God help Ilya from his wrath.
The syrupy-sweet taste coating his mouth reminded Evan of vomit. Muscles rebelled when he swallowed.
He was thinly aware of his surroundings. Facts and memories filtered in. He’d been kidnapped. He’d been drugged.
He was seriously fucked.
Inventory was taken. Aside from a lulling nausea and a thirst unlike he’d ever experienced, he seemed in good shape. Evan didn’t twitch a single muscle, unsure if he was under observation. He was tied to a chair with his arms around the back. Textured plastic bound his hands. Damn. Zip tied. He’d only seen that in cop shows.
“I assume you are thirsty. Water?”
Gray eyes opened in surprise.
Whoa. In spite of the dire situation, Evan gawked. The man was so beautiful that it was unreal, something indelibly alien. They seemed the same age and were both blonds, but there the similarities ended.
The man’s hair was every imaginable shade of blond, moonlight and sunlight spun together. The comparison sounded cliché even in Evan’s mind but it was the only appropriate comparison. He had patrician features that lent themselves to haughtiness, even if they were momentarily blandly set.
Evan noticed the water bottle. At the risk of it being drugged, he hesitated. Then nodded. The bottle was opened with a casual twist, the plastic clicking with release. Not drugged, then.
The vampire pressed the bottle to his mouth. Evan knew it was a vampire because he couldn’t possibly be anything else.
Once the bottle was empty the vampire stepped back and closed it. The gold of his eyes shimmered in the darkness. They regarded each other. Evan raked his brain, trying to figure out what a vampire could possibly want with him.
Obviously it had something to do with Santos, or maybe the redhead. But what was he dealing with? A pissed off ex-lover?
Evan tested his voice. The words came out dusty. “Why?”
The other folded his hands together. Long tapered fingers with wide palms made them artistic and wonderfully elegant. “You are the means to an end. It’s nothing personal.”
Goody! ‘Nothing personal‘, said the crazy who had tied him up. Evan’s head whipped around, trying to figure out where he was. There was a scent of something burnt in the air, of charcoal. All he saw were dim shapes in the shoddy darkness.
“It’s an old coven house we used when on the East Coast. It was burned by Catholics in the 1970’s. The damage was extensive and the location no longer secret, so it was abandoned.”
Evan frowned at the use of ‘coven’, unsure of what it meant in this context. “We?”
“Santos’s coven.”
Okay. Santos had a coven. Of vampires? Jesus Christ, what had he gotten into? Fear slithered up Evan’s stomach to his throat like a germinated weed. It all sounded way too cliché to be true but the vampire’s face was composed when Evan frowned dubiously.
“I’m going to--” He swallowed, wetting his throat again. “--take it by this little enforced encounter that you and Santos aren’t buddy-buddy anymore.”
“You could say that.” The vampire had an exotic Russian accent that would have been attractive under different circumstances. At the moment it took all Evan had to refrain from laughing.
Dear God, he’d ended up in a crossover between a James Bond flick and an Anne Rice novel. The only thing missing was a shark tank.
“So I’m bait.” Bad guy kidnapping the theoretical hero’s love interest? Completely standard stuff. Unless you were the one being kidnapped.
The vampire smiled thinly, indicating he recognized the absurdity of the situation. “Yes. Once I do not need you, I will let you go.”
Once he kills Santos, he means. I don’t think this is to catch up on old times. The realization was upsetting. Yeah, sure, he’d get to go home, possibly -- but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of anyone decapitating his vampire.
Even if said vampire apparently had a hell of a lot to explain.
As the villain of the drama playing out was being so affable, Evan dug deeper. He‘d always wanted to be a plucky reporter. Considering he might or might not be dead by sunrise, now was as good a time as any. “Okay. What’s your name, and what’s your beef?”
“Ilya.” The vampire answered, apparently willing to indulge the tied-up human. His amusement then turned bleak. “My wife is dead because of Santos.”
Evan digested the announcement. It could be a lie, it could be absolute truth, he had no tangible proof either way, even if Santos seemed harmless. Pain of such a true, stark nature marked Ilya‘s face, assuring that he fully lay the blame at Santos‘s feet.
No mistake. Ilya had loved his wife deeply.
Fuck. Retribution.
That was even worse than a vengeful ex-lover.
Author: frostberryjam
Rated: NC-17 (overall)
Fandom: Original.
Warnings: Gayness, smut, blood, violence.
Summary: It's 2010; there's an oil spill threatening to turn the Gulf of Mexico into the Dead Sea, the President is Obama, Simon Cowell finally left American Idol -- and vampires are an accepted part of society.
Evan Banks wants to spend only one night with a vampire, to satisfy a curiosity even he can't explain. One night with the vampire known as Santos however turns out to be far more complicated than Evan ever thought it'd be. Because if there's only one sure truth when it comes to vampires, it's that they all have secrets.
Author Notes: My thanks go to radish_lily for being my beta. Thanks, bb.
This is the last chapter of the stuff I had up on AFF. So, from now on... new things, omg, yay! Zakhar. <3
Chapter Five
The next four days were made only bearable by texts. They weren’t exchanging messages every few minutes like a couple of lovelorn teenagers but Santos still sent one or two every day. The contents ranged from ‘what’s your favorite flower?’ (to which Evan laughed at because he might have been gay, but that didn’t mean he knew a daisy from a poppy any more than the next guy.) to completely dumb knock-knock jokes that Evan found adorable.
Somehow he’d managed to find the one vampire that apparently didn’t take himself too seriously. Santos was the type to dress up on Halloween as Dracula, complete with the accent.
That was the good part. The rest was hell. He saw the red-haired woman two more times. Once on Tuesday morning and then on Thursday night -- worse yet, he saw her standing on the street corner, watching his apartment.
Evan almost called the police but what could he say? He had no proof of anything. Still, he made sure to meet with Harrison every morning and was generally more careful of his surroundings when he walked home at night.
By Friday, anticipation had him fidgeting.
Half an hour before their designated meeting time, Evan called a cab and locked the apartment. Wet hair gleamed under the hallway light, darkened to a burnished gold and brushed back from his face. He wore dress pants and leather shoes along with a silk blue shirt, aware it enhanced his gray eyes. He didn’t wear jewelry, not having much that wasn’t silver -- Santos was damn lucky that Evan’s tongue piercing was platinum.
Hm. He was going to have to ask Santos what else he needed to know about vampires. Myths outnumbered the facts. Some people thought vampires couldn’t cross rivers. Or that they were allergic to wood.
Vampires were less than forthcoming about what could hurt them. Considering how detrimental humans were to their safety, it was understandable. Hate crime was an ugly reality. Add in an unhealthy belief from the religious that they had the duty to purge the earth of vampires, and fang fans that took obsession too far… vampires had a hell of a lot more to fear from humans than humans did from vampires.
None of that mattered tonight, though. Evan hummed as he stepped out into the street. The cab had estimated ten to fifteen minutes. Evan checked his cellphone watch. Still on time. He sent Santos a text message.
Taking a cab. Be there in twenty.
You should have let me pick you up. The reply was immediate, carrying a hint of admonishment. Evan chuckled. Santos had a bit of a haughty, I-know-what’s-best attitude at times. There was definitely some uncontested alpha in him.
Evan began replying when something cold plunged into his neck.
Sluggish, he tried to turn around before crumbling as the drug seeped into his system.
The attacker grabbed him and the cellphone, easily balancing Evan’s dead weight. A new message was sent on Evan’s cellphone. Then it and an empty syringe were thrown in the trash.
The suite would be perfect the moment he got Evan on the bed. Until then… Santos examined the room critical eye. “You did well, Zakhar.”
“Why, thank you, Princeps Santos. I never knew you had a romantic bone in your body. Nor did I know I apparently had one for interior decorating…” The blond quipped back shamelessly.
Aside from a distant smile, Santos disregarded the comment. He wasn‘t in the mood to exchange playful banter. The Russian vampire enjoyed that far too much. Instead he stepped up to the row of unscented candles lining the room and picked up a lighter, setting wicks aflame.
A minute later the phone beeped again, indicating a new text message.
Sweetness brought about by relief and anticipation made him reach quickly for the cellphone. Evan. After four failed attempts to find a mate, he’d started to wonder if he’d ever get lucky
He flipped the phone open and read the message.
Fury heated his veins in a flash.
Then he relaxed. Not willingly, but he did, muscle by muscle, forcing himself to be what Evan needed him to be at that moment.
“Zakhar.”
Zakhar immediately stopped fiddling with a vase full of flowers and approached, moving with the predatory leanness of a hunter.
“Ilya has Evan.” The words hurt to say, but he didn’t dwell on that. He could experience panic and fear for Evan’s safety later. Once Evan was in his arms.
Zakhar exhaled with a surprised hiss, comprehending completely with those three words.
Santos showed him the cellphone. Somehow he’d refrained from snapping it in two.
I have him. Come to the coven house. Alone. Only Ilya would dare.
The Russian’s lips pulled back, teeth flashing. “You aren’t going alone.”
“I’m taking you. I’ll need you to escort Evan somewhere safe while I deal with Ilya. Although you‘ll have to give him something from me. Otherwise he will be less than inclined to go with you.”
Zakhar grimaced, acutely aware of his appearance. “No doubt.”
Holding on to that controlled dispassion he’d worked so hard to achieve, Santos dialed as they abandoned the room. This was not the way he’d planned for Evan to find out the truth, but things were what they were, and he’d deal with them.
God help Ilya from his wrath.
The syrupy-sweet taste coating his mouth reminded Evan of vomit. Muscles rebelled when he swallowed.
He was thinly aware of his surroundings. Facts and memories filtered in. He’d been kidnapped. He’d been drugged.
He was seriously fucked.
Inventory was taken. Aside from a lulling nausea and a thirst unlike he’d ever experienced, he seemed in good shape. Evan didn’t twitch a single muscle, unsure if he was under observation. He was tied to a chair with his arms around the back. Textured plastic bound his hands. Damn. Zip tied. He’d only seen that in cop shows.
“I assume you are thirsty. Water?”
Gray eyes opened in surprise.
Whoa. In spite of the dire situation, Evan gawked. The man was so beautiful that it was unreal, something indelibly alien. They seemed the same age and were both blonds, but there the similarities ended.
The man’s hair was every imaginable shade of blond, moonlight and sunlight spun together. The comparison sounded cliché even in Evan’s mind but it was the only appropriate comparison. He had patrician features that lent themselves to haughtiness, even if they were momentarily blandly set.
Evan noticed the water bottle. At the risk of it being drugged, he hesitated. Then nodded. The bottle was opened with a casual twist, the plastic clicking with release. Not drugged, then.
The vampire pressed the bottle to his mouth. Evan knew it was a vampire because he couldn’t possibly be anything else.
Once the bottle was empty the vampire stepped back and closed it. The gold of his eyes shimmered in the darkness. They regarded each other. Evan raked his brain, trying to figure out what a vampire could possibly want with him.
Obviously it had something to do with Santos, or maybe the redhead. But what was he dealing with? A pissed off ex-lover?
Evan tested his voice. The words came out dusty. “Why?”
The other folded his hands together. Long tapered fingers with wide palms made them artistic and wonderfully elegant. “You are the means to an end. It’s nothing personal.”
Goody! ‘Nothing personal‘, said the crazy who had tied him up. Evan’s head whipped around, trying to figure out where he was. There was a scent of something burnt in the air, of charcoal. All he saw were dim shapes in the shoddy darkness.
“It’s an old coven house we used when on the East Coast. It was burned by Catholics in the 1970’s. The damage was extensive and the location no longer secret, so it was abandoned.”
Evan frowned at the use of ‘coven’, unsure of what it meant in this context. “We?”
“Santos’s coven.”
Okay. Santos had a coven. Of vampires? Jesus Christ, what had he gotten into? Fear slithered up Evan’s stomach to his throat like a germinated weed. It all sounded way too cliché to be true but the vampire’s face was composed when Evan frowned dubiously.
“I’m going to--” He swallowed, wetting his throat again. “--take it by this little enforced encounter that you and Santos aren’t buddy-buddy anymore.”
“You could say that.” The vampire had an exotic Russian accent that would have been attractive under different circumstances. At the moment it took all Evan had to refrain from laughing.
Dear God, he’d ended up in a crossover between a James Bond flick and an Anne Rice novel. The only thing missing was a shark tank.
“So I’m bait.” Bad guy kidnapping the theoretical hero’s love interest? Completely standard stuff. Unless you were the one being kidnapped.
The vampire smiled thinly, indicating he recognized the absurdity of the situation. “Yes. Once I do not need you, I will let you go.”
Once he kills Santos, he means. I don’t think this is to catch up on old times. The realization was upsetting. Yeah, sure, he’d get to go home, possibly -- but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of anyone decapitating his vampire.
Even if said vampire apparently had a hell of a lot to explain.
As the villain of the drama playing out was being so affable, Evan dug deeper. He‘d always wanted to be a plucky reporter. Considering he might or might not be dead by sunrise, now was as good a time as any. “Okay. What’s your name, and what’s your beef?”
“Ilya.” The vampire answered, apparently willing to indulge the tied-up human. His amusement then turned bleak. “My wife is dead because of Santos.”
Evan digested the announcement. It could be a lie, it could be absolute truth, he had no tangible proof either way, even if Santos seemed harmless. Pain of such a true, stark nature marked Ilya‘s face, assuring that he fully lay the blame at Santos‘s feet.
No mistake. Ilya had loved his wife deeply.
Fuck. Retribution.
That was even worse than a vengeful ex-lover.