[ multichapter ] Blood House VI [ original ]
Title: Blood House 6
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: New material! Finally.
Chapter Six
The old coven house was surrounded. Four lean shadows belonging to smooth-faced, young vampires, stalked the building. They wore hungry, wary expressions, reacting like snapping turtles when their rounds brought them too close to each other.
From their vantage spot two streets down, Zakhar and Santos exchanged incredulous looks.
“Looks like my brother has learned to make friends.” Zakhar murmured, the wind nearly stealing the words away.
Which explained Ilya‘s disappearance and possibly Arizona. Santos regarded the guards, smelling their anxiety. Fear had them on edge. “The plan remains the same.”
Zakhar gave him a thumbs up, eyes cold. Their plan wasn’t intricate. They were going to go in and they were going to come out with Evan. No deviations allowed.
Santos straightened. “Go.”
Sleep dragged at his eyelids. Evan was in disbelief. There he was, tied up in a charred house that could come down on his head at any time and he could barely stay alert?
Obviously the dangerous life didn’t suit him.
“Excuse me.” It was an assumption that Ilya was still around, even though the vampire had moved out of sight nearly half an hour ago. “Can I ask how this is supposed to go down? Are you and Santos going to go mano a mano? Will there be pistols involved? Slapping of faces with gloves? Thumb wrestling?”
Ilya moved into his line of sight. “Why do you ask?”
“Stupidly, I’m fond of the idiot vampire that’s landed me in this mess. Bad mortal, don’t trust vamps, yadda, yadda, yadda. Spare me.” Evan wiggled deadened fingers until the fingertips prickled with heat.
“You’re fond of him.”
“Inexplicably.” Evan craned his neck. A sticky trail ran the side of his neck from the syringe’s entry wound. “Albeit less so than I was before.”
For such a warm hue of gold, Ilya’s eyes were uncomfortably flinty. He seemed about to say something when all hell broke loose.
Windows shattered inwards. Within the limitations of being bound to a chair, Evan jerked his head down. The sound of glass striking was melodically haunting. Evan cringed, sure he’d been cut up a hundred ways and just hadn’t felt the sting yet.
A current of air swept past him. Something heavy crashed into a wall, making the whole building tremble. Hands brushed against his wrists.
Evan opened his eyes.
“No screaming, okay? And yeah, I know.” Ilya whispered, shards of glass tumbling to the ground from the long blond hair and torn leather jacket.
Evan stared. Ilya hadn’t been wearing a leather jacket, nor did he have enough piercings in his ears that he should be wary of magnets.
The zip strips snapped. Evan automatically surged to his feet and Ilya held onto his elbows when his balance didn’t prove so hot. Another blow struck the building, support beams moaning with strain. Dust and ash thickened the air.
“Santos says, ‘you’re still 0 for 0, and I don’t blame you if you want to leave it at that.’ No, I’m not Ilya. Let’s break some speed limits getting the hell out of here, shall we?” The vampire would have dragged him out, except Evan was right with him on the ‘getting the hell out’ part despite wobbly knees.
“Where is he?” He asked Not-Ilya as the building gave another cry. Not-Ilya lifted him up with one hand and took them out via a second floor balcony. Evan’s breath squeezed out but his next was so sweet, so perfect, that he couldn’t care.
“Inside.”
Sweat ran down Evan‘s face. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Zakhar. I’m sure this comes as no surprise to you but,” Zakhar smiled grimly, yellow eyes iridescent in the moonlight. “I’m Ilya’s twin. But my loyalty is to Santos. Move it. Santos‘s orders.”
“His orders.” Evan echoed woodenly as he was pulled away from the building. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils.
“Don’t.” A hand tipped his chin back up, too slow to keep Evan from seeing the garishly red puddle at their feet.
“Decapitation. Messy business. Had to take care of a few Goombas on the way in before we could rescue the Princess from King Koopa.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Oh, yes. We’re all mad here.” Zakhar’s gloved hand tightened on Evan’s forearm. Evan realized belatedly that the man had never stopped tugging. They were now halfway down the block. He jerked free as a blast of heat fanned his back.
The coven house was in flames again. It had once been a two-story beachfront property with Victorian influences. Now it was a black skeleton that moaned and arched under the weight of flames. Evan’s breaths were hollow whistles in his chest. It didn’t take an architect to recognize the building was about to crumble.
“Where the hell is Santos?” One unconscious step forward followed into a second, taking him back to the house. Damn if he was going to leave his idiot vampire to a house on fire.
“Sorry.” Zakhar apologized before his fist made contact with Evan’s abdomen.
For the second time that night, everything went black.
Even a Banks had only so much humor and goodwill before their patience ran out.
Evan’s well of patience had been scrapped dry the moment he’d woken up handcuffed to a bed.
Stubborn, despite the ache of his wrist, he gave the handcuff another vicious yank.
“Separately kidnapped by the same set of twins in one night.” Yank. “Un-fucking-believable.” Rattle. “This has to be some kind of record. Ripley’s better be ready for this shit.”
He was stuck. Again.
Never in his life had he ever regretted not learning how to pick locks more. The moment he got away from all the lunatic vampires crawling all over Boston, he was going straight to the self-help section for Houdini’s Escape Tricks for Dummies.
Defeated, he slumped on the bed, arm dropped above his head. As far as kidnapping scenarios went, this was an improvement. There was little personal warmth to the room but it was large, airy, modern in décor, furniture made up of sharp metal angles and lush, bright reds. Drapes were drawn over the windows. Lamps were turned on their highest settings. It was either a hotel room or the most impersonal bedroom he’d ever been in.
After a few minutes, the door opened and shut.
Evan turned his head, prepared to verbally flay Zakhar.
Santos gave him a wry smile, looking like he’d gone a round with a lawnmower. What had once been a fine suit was torn to shreds and stained with soot and blood.
The vampire opened his mouth and then simply closed it. “I don’t know what to say.”
Well, he did. Evan sat up, chain rattling. “Let’s start with ‘fuck you‘, shall we?”
Santos nodded and picked up something from a table.
“Right. So. Fuck you, Santos. What the hell just happened?”
“You want the short version, or the long one?”
“Short. Then long.” Evan’s brows snapped together as the man unlocked him. He rubbed his wrist and pointedly leaned away.
“Right. Short version.” Those beautiful green eyes sought his. Santos unhooked the handcuff from the frame and threw it away. “Ilya was my best friend. I did something stupid. He’s never forgiven me for it. You got caught in the crosshairs.”
Evan rubbed his wrist. “Wow, that is short. How’d you get his wife killed?”
The words plainly hurt Santos from the flinch he gave. “Corrine saved my life at the cost of hers. Without going into the details, I made a decision against their wishes and put us all in danger. It was unforgivable.”
“…okay, I’m going to need the long version.”
Santos hesitated. “Can that wait? …I need to shower. You should as well. Zakhar should not have bound you to the bed. You are a guest.”
“A guest that can’t leave.”
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”
“Spare me the diplomacy.” Wobbly knees maintained his dignity as Evan lifted his chin and strode past Santos into what he assumed was the bathroom.
It was. He closed the door and took a shower with a hand always kept on the wall for balance, bracing for the next conversation.
When he stepped out of the stall, a man’s bathrobe was draped over the sink. He noticed stitching on the front. Hilton Hotel. Somehow that last bit of weirdness made him snort with disbelief. What, was Santos’s creepy castle being fumigated?
Ashy clothes folded under his arm and wearing the bathrobe, Evan stepped out. The room was empty. He ventured into a perfectly impersonal living room, no signs of vampires anywhere. Until he tested the front door and discovered Zakhar lounging in the hallway.
“Yo.” The vampire drawled.
Evan gifted him with an ‘eat shit and die’ look. “From one castle to another, huh?”
Zakhar‘s smile could have illuminated all of Vegas. “That’s about right, Princess Toadstool.”
With a snort he closed the door and investigated the kitchen, praying, hoping… hell yes and hallelujah. He found an unopened bottle of whiskey which he promptly deflowered and carried to the living room, drinking straight from the mouth.
That was the way Santos found him. Hair slicked wet across his face, legs casually stretched out on the coffee table, caressing the neck of the bottle as if it were a lover.
“Why,” Evan began with the slightest slur to his voice. “Do you have such good stuff when you can’t drink?”
“It’s Yvette’s. I’ll tell you about her later.”
“Right.” Evan gave him a patient, distant nod as if he were dealing with Santos only out of noblesse oblige. He waved his hand imperiously. “Begin.”
“Vampires belong to covens.” Santos sat across from Evan, dressed in sweatpants. Lines ran across his chest that hadn’t been there before, newly healed scars. “Sometimes it’s as vague as being a name on a mailing list. There are hundreds, the largest one being a sort of… a general thing. There are no requirements about getting in. Others are of a different sort.”
“Like your coven.”
“I suppose. Regardless, with gatherings of any social beings, there are politics. Power struggles. I’m trying not to dive too deep into muddy history. Just accept what I’m saying.”
“Oh, sure, why not. Go on.”
A tic displayed itself at the corner of Santos’s jaw. “My mother is the leader of this coven but she’s been away for many years, placing me as acting head in her absence.”
“What happened?”
He tunneled his hands through his hair roughly, a little desperately. “I fucked up.”
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: New material! Finally.
Chapter Six
The old coven house was surrounded. Four lean shadows belonging to smooth-faced, young vampires, stalked the building. They wore hungry, wary expressions, reacting like snapping turtles when their rounds brought them too close to each other.
From their vantage spot two streets down, Zakhar and Santos exchanged incredulous looks.
“Looks like my brother has learned to make friends.” Zakhar murmured, the wind nearly stealing the words away.
Which explained Ilya‘s disappearance and possibly Arizona. Santos regarded the guards, smelling their anxiety. Fear had them on edge. “The plan remains the same.”
Zakhar gave him a thumbs up, eyes cold. Their plan wasn’t intricate. They were going to go in and they were going to come out with Evan. No deviations allowed.
Santos straightened. “Go.”
Sleep dragged at his eyelids. Evan was in disbelief. There he was, tied up in a charred house that could come down on his head at any time and he could barely stay alert?
Obviously the dangerous life didn’t suit him.
“Excuse me.” It was an assumption that Ilya was still around, even though the vampire had moved out of sight nearly half an hour ago. “Can I ask how this is supposed to go down? Are you and Santos going to go mano a mano? Will there be pistols involved? Slapping of faces with gloves? Thumb wrestling?”
Ilya moved into his line of sight. “Why do you ask?”
“Stupidly, I’m fond of the idiot vampire that’s landed me in this mess. Bad mortal, don’t trust vamps, yadda, yadda, yadda. Spare me.” Evan wiggled deadened fingers until the fingertips prickled with heat.
“You’re fond of him.”
“Inexplicably.” Evan craned his neck. A sticky trail ran the side of his neck from the syringe’s entry wound. “Albeit less so than I was before.”
For such a warm hue of gold, Ilya’s eyes were uncomfortably flinty. He seemed about to say something when all hell broke loose.
Windows shattered inwards. Within the limitations of being bound to a chair, Evan jerked his head down. The sound of glass striking was melodically haunting. Evan cringed, sure he’d been cut up a hundred ways and just hadn’t felt the sting yet.
A current of air swept past him. Something heavy crashed into a wall, making the whole building tremble. Hands brushed against his wrists.
Evan opened his eyes.
“No screaming, okay? And yeah, I know.” Ilya whispered, shards of glass tumbling to the ground from the long blond hair and torn leather jacket.
Evan stared. Ilya hadn’t been wearing a leather jacket, nor did he have enough piercings in his ears that he should be wary of magnets.
The zip strips snapped. Evan automatically surged to his feet and Ilya held onto his elbows when his balance didn’t prove so hot. Another blow struck the building, support beams moaning with strain. Dust and ash thickened the air.
“Santos says, ‘you’re still 0 for 0, and I don’t blame you if you want to leave it at that.’ No, I’m not Ilya. Let’s break some speed limits getting the hell out of here, shall we?” The vampire would have dragged him out, except Evan was right with him on the ‘getting the hell out’ part despite wobbly knees.
“Where is he?” He asked Not-Ilya as the building gave another cry. Not-Ilya lifted him up with one hand and took them out via a second floor balcony. Evan’s breath squeezed out but his next was so sweet, so perfect, that he couldn’t care.
“Inside.”
Sweat ran down Evan‘s face. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Zakhar. I’m sure this comes as no surprise to you but,” Zakhar smiled grimly, yellow eyes iridescent in the moonlight. “I’m Ilya’s twin. But my loyalty is to Santos. Move it. Santos‘s orders.”
“His orders.” Evan echoed woodenly as he was pulled away from the building. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils.
“Don’t.” A hand tipped his chin back up, too slow to keep Evan from seeing the garishly red puddle at their feet.
“Decapitation. Messy business. Had to take care of a few Goombas on the way in before we could rescue the Princess from King Koopa.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Oh, yes. We’re all mad here.” Zakhar’s gloved hand tightened on Evan’s forearm. Evan realized belatedly that the man had never stopped tugging. They were now halfway down the block. He jerked free as a blast of heat fanned his back.
The coven house was in flames again. It had once been a two-story beachfront property with Victorian influences. Now it was a black skeleton that moaned and arched under the weight of flames. Evan’s breaths were hollow whistles in his chest. It didn’t take an architect to recognize the building was about to crumble.
“Where the hell is Santos?” One unconscious step forward followed into a second, taking him back to the house. Damn if he was going to leave his idiot vampire to a house on fire.
“Sorry.” Zakhar apologized before his fist made contact with Evan’s abdomen.
For the second time that night, everything went black.
Even a Banks had only so much humor and goodwill before their patience ran out.
Evan’s well of patience had been scrapped dry the moment he’d woken up handcuffed to a bed.
Stubborn, despite the ache of his wrist, he gave the handcuff another vicious yank.
“Separately kidnapped by the same set of twins in one night.” Yank. “Un-fucking-believable.” Rattle. “This has to be some kind of record. Ripley’s better be ready for this shit.”
He was stuck. Again.
Never in his life had he ever regretted not learning how to pick locks more. The moment he got away from all the lunatic vampires crawling all over Boston, he was going straight to the self-help section for Houdini’s Escape Tricks for Dummies.
Defeated, he slumped on the bed, arm dropped above his head. As far as kidnapping scenarios went, this was an improvement. There was little personal warmth to the room but it was large, airy, modern in décor, furniture made up of sharp metal angles and lush, bright reds. Drapes were drawn over the windows. Lamps were turned on their highest settings. It was either a hotel room or the most impersonal bedroom he’d ever been in.
After a few minutes, the door opened and shut.
Evan turned his head, prepared to verbally flay Zakhar.
Santos gave him a wry smile, looking like he’d gone a round with a lawnmower. What had once been a fine suit was torn to shreds and stained with soot and blood.
The vampire opened his mouth and then simply closed it. “I don’t know what to say.”
Well, he did. Evan sat up, chain rattling. “Let’s start with ‘fuck you‘, shall we?”
Santos nodded and picked up something from a table.
“Right. So. Fuck you, Santos. What the hell just happened?”
“You want the short version, or the long one?”
“Short. Then long.” Evan’s brows snapped together as the man unlocked him. He rubbed his wrist and pointedly leaned away.
“Right. Short version.” Those beautiful green eyes sought his. Santos unhooked the handcuff from the frame and threw it away. “Ilya was my best friend. I did something stupid. He’s never forgiven me for it. You got caught in the crosshairs.”
Evan rubbed his wrist. “Wow, that is short. How’d you get his wife killed?”
The words plainly hurt Santos from the flinch he gave. “Corrine saved my life at the cost of hers. Without going into the details, I made a decision against their wishes and put us all in danger. It was unforgivable.”
“…okay, I’m going to need the long version.”
Santos hesitated. “Can that wait? …I need to shower. You should as well. Zakhar should not have bound you to the bed. You are a guest.”
“A guest that can’t leave.”
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”
“Spare me the diplomacy.” Wobbly knees maintained his dignity as Evan lifted his chin and strode past Santos into what he assumed was the bathroom.
It was. He closed the door and took a shower with a hand always kept on the wall for balance, bracing for the next conversation.
When he stepped out of the stall, a man’s bathrobe was draped over the sink. He noticed stitching on the front. Hilton Hotel. Somehow that last bit of weirdness made him snort with disbelief. What, was Santos’s creepy castle being fumigated?
Ashy clothes folded under his arm and wearing the bathrobe, Evan stepped out. The room was empty. He ventured into a perfectly impersonal living room, no signs of vampires anywhere. Until he tested the front door and discovered Zakhar lounging in the hallway.
“Yo.” The vampire drawled.
Evan gifted him with an ‘eat shit and die’ look. “From one castle to another, huh?”
Zakhar‘s smile could have illuminated all of Vegas. “That’s about right, Princess Toadstool.”
With a snort he closed the door and investigated the kitchen, praying, hoping… hell yes and hallelujah. He found an unopened bottle of whiskey which he promptly deflowered and carried to the living room, drinking straight from the mouth.
That was the way Santos found him. Hair slicked wet across his face, legs casually stretched out on the coffee table, caressing the neck of the bottle as if it were a lover.
“Why,” Evan began with the slightest slur to his voice. “Do you have such good stuff when you can’t drink?”
“It’s Yvette’s. I’ll tell you about her later.”
“Right.” Evan gave him a patient, distant nod as if he were dealing with Santos only out of noblesse oblige. He waved his hand imperiously. “Begin.”
“Vampires belong to covens.” Santos sat across from Evan, dressed in sweatpants. Lines ran across his chest that hadn’t been there before, newly healed scars. “Sometimes it’s as vague as being a name on a mailing list. There are hundreds, the largest one being a sort of… a general thing. There are no requirements about getting in. Others are of a different sort.”
“Like your coven.”
“I suppose. Regardless, with gatherings of any social beings, there are politics. Power struggles. I’m trying not to dive too deep into muddy history. Just accept what I’m saying.”
“Oh, sure, why not. Go on.”
A tic displayed itself at the corner of Santos’s jaw. “My mother is the leader of this coven but she’s been away for many years, placing me as acting head in her absence.”
“What happened?”
He tunneled his hands through his hair roughly, a little desperately. “I fucked up.”