
LET THEM TRY
by Reno MacLeod and Jaye Valentine
This copyrighted book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing or future means without written permission from the authors. Contact information is available at http://macleodvalentine.com.
This book is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are solely the product of the authors' imaginations and/or are used fictitiously, although reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to actual situations or events is entirely coincidental. This book is intended for an adult audience.
Cover Design by: Reno MacLeod
Let Them Try © 2010 Reno MacLeod & Jaye Valentine
ISBN-13: 978-1-4524-7457-1
Published by M&V Tailz at Smashwords.com
All rights reserved.
Dedication
The authors extend their sincerest thanks to all who have sworn to serve and protect.
LET THEM TRY
by Reno MacLeod & Jaye Valentine
"When I found out what they meant to the rank and file, I said, 'Bring them back.'"-Edward T. Norris, Baltimore Police Commissioner, March 2000
Chapter One
Gripping the worn leather strap, Rick twirled an intricate pattern at his side with the attached wooden baton.
Sixteen years ago and already a ten-year veteran of the force, Rick's familiar weapon had been stripped from his hand by a police commissioner transplanted from California who didn't remotely understand this city. Six years later, Baltimore's new top cop---a tough, no nonsense NYPD veteran---restored Rick's faith in the chain of command.
The Glock 22, snug in the holster hugging Rick's right hip, provided comfort and moral support. But the antiquated wooden baton---with the ornately carved handle and soft leather strap---had become his signature. The wooden espantoon, as the weapon was called in these parts, signified security to the law-abiding and the threat of a serious ass whipping to those who weren't.
Rick made a left onto 34th Street off Keswick Road, admiring the bright autumn foliage and ignoring the hulking, deserted shell of the old Northern District precinct. The new stationhouse, an aluminum monstrosity on Coldspring Lane, seemed sterile and lifeless compared to the grand old, brick Victorian. The new building had no personality, just like the brand new, cookie-cutter houses springing up in the area. He missed the old girl.
A familiar, croupy cough snagged Rick's attention. He looked up the long flight of narrow cement stairs belonging to the rowhouse on his left. He let the espantoon fall to his side and raised his other hand to tip his dark-blue hat. "Front yard's looking nice, Mr. Griffith."
The old man---stick-thin, wearing an oversized, cranberry-colored sweat suit---shrugged and spat on his small, hilly lawn. "Can't get the goddamn kids to stay off my grass. Everything I plant gets trampled in no time. Goddamn kids."
Rick smiled, putting one foot casually on Mr. Griffith's bottom step. "My granddad told me you were one of those 'goddamn kids' back in the day. A bit of a troublemaker in your youth, huh?"
Mr. Griffith scowled. "We used to throw eggs at cars in need of washing, and we wrote dirty words on sidewalks with chalk. There's a big difference between that sort of idle mischief and these punks. Robbing graves and smashing headstones to smithereens---we would've never thought of desecrating the dead like that, Officer Baker."
"Tell you what." Rick yanked on the strap and gave his baton an around-the-world twirl for show. "I catch these boys who are tearing up the cemetery, and you plant me some daffodils and tulips next spring."
"People might talk, you asking for flowers." Mr. Griffith grinned and straightened the neckline of his sweatshirt against his throat. "Careful what you share with folks around here."
"I know." Rick planted both feet back on the straight-and-narrow sidewalk in front of the old man's tidy house. He tipped his hat and smiled. "Nice talking to you, Mr. Griffith."
Mr. Griffith nodded. "Watch your back, boy. There's evil afoot in this neighborhood, and it's got nothing to do with the likes of you and me."
Chapter Two
One week later . . .
Autumn leaves crunched under the feet of six shadows as they moved across the browning lawn of St. Mary's Cemetery. They walked through the darkness with haste between alternately tall and squat tombstones protruding from the earth like jagged teeth. Experienced, they knew not to use flashlights or cell phones, and instead they allowed the witching hour moon to light their way. The group of boys had been at this for close to five months, and they took pride in their ever-increasing accomplishments. Folks would pay plenty for supernatural servants, once he and his cohorts perfected their craft.
Jonathan called out instructions in an excited stage whisper. "You, set out the candles in a pentagram at the foot of the grave and light them. You, make a circle with the salt around the whole grave, and make sure the candles are on the inside. Then all of you form a ring and block the candlelight with your bodies. Move it---we're running out of time!"
The boys hurried about their assigned tasks with proficiency, wary as thirsty gazelles at a crocodile-infested watering hole. Baltimore's finest had broken in on the ritual several times in recent weeks, but to no ill effect. This time, though, the ceremony couldn't be interrupted. Tonight, the demon would be strong enough to crawl out of the earth, strong enough to serve a new master in the land of the living. If they couldn't perform the final ritual tonight, they'd have to start all over from scratch. Raising a demon wasn't a one-shot deal, contrary to popular belief. Months of preparation were involved to open a gate to hell, and then the final window only lasted a few days. Timing was crucial.
With everything in place, Jonathan recited the invocation.
The moon crept out from behind the clouds and cast a soft light over the chosen grave. Six joined hands. Six whispered the words. Six cut their palms, youthful blood dripping on recently turned soil. Wind stirred from the south, and the breeze seemed to sweep all the dead leaves from the grave with intelligent purpose. One by one, the candles in the circle extinguished in sequence.
Jonathan held his breath. His heart raced, waiting for even the smallest sign of their cumulative efforts paying off.
A hushed but insistent whisper came from Daniel, Jonathan's best friend. "Jonathan, look! Someone's coming! Shit!"
As Jonathan squinted toward the Roland Avenue side of the cemetery, he saw the bouncing glow of an approaching flashlight. "Damn it! We'll have to come back tomorrow night and start again! Split up!"
He grabbed as many of their supplies as he could, shoving the items into his backpack. One of the other boys tripped and fell, knocking askew the headstone inside the salt circle. Climbing to his feet in a panic, Jonathan didn't notice where his friends ran, too concerned with his own escape to care.
\*
The teenagers scattered like rats in all directions, and despite Rick being in damn good shape for a man on the cusp of fifty, he felt winded by the time he reached the spot from which they'd taken off. He gripped the edge of a tall headstone for support, leaning slightly forward to catch his breath. The scant light of the moon began to filter through parting clouds, and his eyes adjusted better to the night. Nearby movement beyond that of skittering leaves yanked his attention downward.
He unsnapped his holster and put his hand on the grip of his gun. At his feet lay a young man, naked as a jaybird and curled up in a fetal position on fresh, loose dirt in front of a tipped-over headstone. Rick took his flashlight in his left hand and shined the beam downward, his brain automatically entering identification mode.
Slender, toned build. Very dark hair, collar-length in the back. Skin the color of cinnamon---Hispanic, perhaps. No bodily marks, like big scars or tattoos, were visible on the exposed areas of skin. Rick couldn't tell if the man breathed or not, but with no immediate backup available, he wasn't taking any chances.
He pulled his sidearm from the holster and trained the muzzle on the man. "Don't move. If you can respond, say something now."
The young man opened his eyes, the irises dark as the night sky. He uncurled his body as if all the time in the world belonged to him, and in a strange, smooth motion adopted a crouching position. "Are you Jonathan?"
His youthful voice sounded soft, sweet, and lyrical. Innocent.
Rick kept the Glock pointed at him. "Officer Richard Baker, Baltimore Police. Are you injured?"
"No." The man glanced in the direction the kids had fled, and then back to Rick. "They left me?"
"Okay, sir---on your feet, hands on top of your head." Rick stowed his gun but left the holster unsnapped. "What's your name?"
The man stood, the rise to his feet fluid and flawlessly graceful. He looked around, brown doe eyes examining the site with hawkish attention. "Diego. My name is Diego." He placed his hands, palms down, one atop the other on his head. "Jonathan brought me here. Where is he?"
"Don't move a muscle." Rick moved behind Diego, unclipping the set of handcuffs from his utility belt then slapping them onto Diego in short order. "This Jonathan character and his buddies---friends of yours?"
Diego sighed and shrugged, looking around with an exasperated, childlike attitude. Rick began to wonder if the guy was on drugs or simply a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
"Jonathan needs me." Diego kicked at the dirt with one foot. "And I wanted to go with him to try and convert the others."
Convert? Rick felt a burning rush of adrenaline surge through his body. He moved to face Diego, pulling the Miranda card from the inside pocket of his lightweight uniform jacket. With no real need to look at the card after so many years, he recited the litany of rights to Diego from memory, rattling the words off in the customary monotone.
After completing the required task, he stuffed the card back into his pocket. "Do you understand each of these rights?"
Diego nodded.
"Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk to me now?"
Again, Diego nodded.
Rick removed his jacket and draped it around Diego's shoulders. He gestured toward the road. "Start moving, sir. You want to explain to me what you were doing out here in the middle of the night, stark naked with a pack of teenagers? You're a little old to be hanging out with high school kids."
"I can't move." Diego remained rooted in place and looked at the ground. "You have to break the circle."
"Break the what?" Rick followed Diego's downward gaze. Sure enough, they stood next to several snuffed-out votive candles in the center of what looked like a circle of salt.
What the hell were those kids doing?
"Let's go. I've had enough of this crap---you can explain yourself at the station." Rick grabbed Diego by the shoulders and spun him around, giving him a shove in the direction of the street.
Diego lurched forward and stumbled.
Rick gave him another push.
Diego stopped dead and Rick heard a thud, as if the man had run into a solid wall.
Fear rose in tiny pinpricks on the back of Rick's neck and his throat went instantly dry. He lowered his right hand to grip his holstered gun, walking around the outside of the circle to face Diego. "Walk toward me."
Diego took one step, setting his toes at the very inside edge of the salt. "I'm bound within the circle until you break the line. Only then will I be free."
Rick swallowed and wiped the sweaty palm of his left hand on the leg of his pants. He met Diego's dark eyes. A shiver ran through him. Despite a valiant effort, he couldn't force the tremor out of his voice. "What the hell are you?"
"I'm the answer to your prayers. Why are you so afraid?"
"I . . . I don't know." Sweat trickled down Rick's temples, and his hand felt shaky on his gun. He harbored a terrible, visceral gut feeling that his weapon wouldn't be much help, so to prevent a potentially dangerous, trembling aim, he let go of his sidearm and snapped the holster closed. Feeling more scared than he'd ever been and also somehow foolish, he raised his hands slightly in front, fingers up and palms forward. "No more gun. I'm not going to hurt you, and I'd appreciate the same from you."
With his heart pounding like a parade drum in his throat, Rick stuck out one foot and broke the salt circle with the toe of his regulation shoe.
Diego's entire body perked up like a wilted vine watered and placed in the sun. He stepped outside the circle without hesitation and rubbed his lithe, nude body against Rick's torso as if he were a long-lost pet. "I don't think they will come back. They have abandoned me, so now I belong to you."
Could this be any more messed up?
Rick wasn't crazy. He had documented 20/20 eyesight, and he sure as shit didn't believe in spooks. He'd seen the kid walk smack into an invisible wall, and he'd seen enough movies and TV shows to know what a pentagram and salt meant. Either the teenagers had been getting high with Diego while role-playing some stupid horror fantasy or---
No. No fucking way.
He refused to believe Diego represented anything more than a fucked-up kid possessing a vivid imagination and some rudimentary acting skills.
Rick grabbed Diego by one arm and started hauling him out of the cemetery with long, irritated strides. "You can explain this crap to the booking sergeant at the station."
"I can take you to them." Diego's feet seemed to skim over the grass. "I know where Jonathan and the others hang out to party."
"Shut up and walk." Rick tugged Diego all the way to Roland Avenue in silence. After reaching his patrol car, he opened the rear passenger-side door. "Watch your head. If I can find your pals, I'll put in a good word for you for cooperating." Snorting a laugh, he added, "Maybe we'll find your clothes there, too."
"I don't think so." Diego looked around with obvious curiosity, tilting his head this way and that. Finding himself under arrest and handcuffed in the back of a police car seemed to concern him no more than a pleasant outing for ice cream. "Does my nudity offend you? I sensed your approach and reached out for your thoughts. I assumed this body would please you."
"Please me? I don't think so." Rick dismissed the comment with a sarcastic chuckle, ignoring the rush of heat rising from his neckline to his face. He shut the door on Diego, admitting to himself that under different circumstances . . . .
Yeah, Diego zoomed right up the middle of Rick's alley, no fucking question. Rick cleared his throat and tried to shake off a vivid mental image of Diego bent over the hood of the car.
He climbed into the driver's seat and closed the door. Glancing at the security mirror to catch Diego's reflection, he experienced a silly wave of relief over Diego indeed having a reflection. "Start talking."
"Head toward Roosevelt Park." Diego pressed his face against the clear partition segregating the driver's compartment, his breath fogging the Plexiglas. "I knew it---you are gay. You have a boner right now."
Rick slammed on the brakes, which in turn slammed Diego into the partition.
"Look," Rick said, turning around, barely able to contain his anger. "You tell me where to turn and when to stop, but otherwise don't say another fucking word. Got it? Good."
He turned back to the wheel, took a deep breath, and proceeded down Roland to 36th Street. He hung a right, and a few blocks later they crossed Falls Road. Roosevelt Park loomed on the left. Several street lamps lit the sidewalk, but otherwise the park---with multiple baseball diamonds, a huge public pool, playgrounds and walkways---remained mostly dark. The park closed from dusk to dawn, and there wasn't a living soul in sight. Rick stopped the car, gentler this time, at the curb in front of the fence near the first set of bleachers.
"Drive across the grass toward the back of the baseball diamond near the big pool. You know, where the kids hang out to drink alcohol and smoke marijuana?" Diego sounded amused. "Cut your engine by the pool house."
In the security mirror, Rick could see Diego's face still pressed to the partition, long, black eyelashes fluttering against Plexiglas. A mischievous little twitch tweaked the corner of Diego's mouth. Rick drove on as directed, taking the uneven ground faster than necessary for the sole purpose of jostling the handcuffed brat around uncomfortably in the back seat.
He cruised the car to a controlled stop in front of the pool house. Rick flicked his gaze to the mirror, expecting to see Diego glaring back at him. All he saw was his own aging image: dull blue eyes, tufts of reddish-blond hair in need of a trim peeking out from beneath his hat, and far, far too many crow's feet. He rolled his eyes. "All right, we're here. Sit the hell up and start talking."
Silence. Another more careful glance in the mirror revealed no occupant in the back seat. Fear replaced agitation, twisting his gut, ripping a cold streak down the center of his back. He turned to look over the back of his seat.
"Boo." Diego sat in the front passenger seat, grinning and looking just as pleased as punch. The handcuffs remained in place as far as Rick could tell, with Diego's hands trapped behind his back at an awkward angle. "Jonathan isn't back here and neither are his friends. They must have returned to their homes. Too bad."
The look in Diego's eyes radiated the very definition of sultry.
Rick reached for the handset mounted on the dashboard radio, keeping sharp eyes on Diego. The moment his fingertips touched the dash, the calm and steady chatter of the dispatch operator ceased. He moved his hand to his right hip on instinct.
Diego turned and put a slender hand on Rick's thigh. "How old are you, Officer Baker? I can make you look and feel half your age. There's much more to me than meets the eye."
"Oh, I have no doubt you're more than just some punk knocking over gravestones for kicks." Rick shifted his gaze from the inexplicably silenced radio to his unclothed passenger. His autumn jacket had fallen from Diego's shoulders, exposing every sinful inch of lean, sensuous flesh. Deep down he felt scared shitless, but Rick forced himself to look Diego in the eyes. "A little honesty might go a long way here."
"You are not ready to hear the truth. Soon, but not yet." Diego placed a hand over Rick's and patted, as if to say everything would be all right. With a wink, Diego lifted his other hand into view, the handcuffs dangling from one finger. "Besides . . . I think you already know."
This can't be happening, Rick thought in a panic. He inhaled then blew out a sharp breath to stave off sudden lightheadedness. "If you're going to kill me, at least do me the courtesy of first telling me who and what you are."
Diego rolled his eyes. "Foolish man, I have no intention of killing you. If I did, don't you think I would have by now?" He moved his hand with confidence up Rick's arm to the shoulder, and then tickled the lobe of Rick's ear. "Demons have gotten such a bad rap in horror movies. I blame The Exorcist, for starters---the hideous statue and disgusting pea soup. Not all of us are interested in making your head spin around. Pazuzu is a pussy, by the way."
An erotic shudder ripped through Rick and made a beeline for his groin, filling him with a horrifying sense of revulsion. Demons didn't exist, couldn't exist, his intellect told him, yet the coiled, painful knot in the pit of his stomach convinced him otherwise. He glanced at the graceful hand stroking his neck. "What do you want from me?"
"I want sex." Diego purred, literally purred, his mouth moving closer to Rick's. As their lips threatened to touch in a kiss, Diego diverted and sharp teeth bit down on Rick's ear. Hot breath, and a surprisingly gentle suck, eased the pain as Diego drew back and whispered. "Jonathan was supposed to let me fuck him, but he ran away. His loss is your gain."
Rick pressed back into the seat. No escape truly existed if Diego's claim held true, but so far Rick had only heard mumbo-jumbo and witnessed what any second-rate magician could pass off. With nothing of substance to lose anyway, he took a chance. "You say you're a demon---prove it. All I've really gotten so far is a slick-talking, naked stoner who's good at sleight-of-hand."
Diego jerked his head back, a look of surprise mixed with hurt feelings crossing his perfect features. He drew back his exploring hand. "Fine. Richard Dennis Baker, age forty-eight. Never married, no children. You became a law enforcement officer because you wanted to follow in Daddy's footsteps---or at least that's what you tell people. But in truth, you became a cop because you need to feel wanted and in control of your life, and as a bonus the job projects a masculine image. You've turned down promotion, year after year, because your foot patrol allows you to mingle with people without having to form close bonds. I could tell you your greatest fear, but I think you get the point." Diego crossed his arms over his bare chest. "Do you really need to see horns and a tail to believe?"
"No. Maybe I'm crazy, but I believe you." Rick shook his head and reached for the radio handset, undecided as to whether he should run for his life or strip. "Turn the radio back on so I can call in." He removed and set his hat on the ledge of the dashboard. "Then I'll do whatever you want. No tricks---I promise."
Diego glanced at the radio and the circuits blazed back to life. "This isn't about what I want. I get off on what humans want but are too scared to ask for." He rested back against the passenger door, his right foot flat on the car floor and his left propped on Rick's thigh. Legs spread, casual as anything, his circumcised cock lay flaccid against his groin. "Call in. Do not cause alarm or attempt to use a distress code."
Sweat beaded on Rick's brow. He pressed the call button on the handset and spoke into the microphone. "Car 6-1-3-6 going ten-seven for a paperwork and dinner break after a failed foot pursuit at St. Mary's Cemetery. Over."
Static came through the speaker followed by a man's voice. "What's your twenty, 6-1-3-6? Over."
Much as it made sense to do so, he couldn't lie about his location. The Baltimore Police Department had embraced new technology and replaced the old, shoulder-mounted, wireless radios with state-of-the-art "smartphones." Each officer's precise whereabouts could now be traced via satellite.
Rick had learned an important lesson during his early years of service---getting caught with your dick out of your pants beat getting caught in a lie. He pressed the call button and spoke in a calm voice. "Falls Road at 36th. All quiet. Over."
The radio crackled again. "Ten-four, 6-1-3-6. You're now on out-of-service status until you buzz us back. Over."
"Ten-four and out." Rick returned the handset to the dashboard cradle. He sank back into the seat and turned his head to look at Diego. "No one will bother us. Twenty-six years of spotless service buys you long breaks."
"Your heart is racing. Bump-thump-bump-thump." Diego smiled and moved his foot along Rick's thigh until his toes rubbed the outline of Rick's indecisive erection. "There . . . I can hear the tempo has increased. It's been a long, long time for you, but don't be afraid. I swear I won't turn into an ugly monster and eat you. Indulge yourself---you've worked hard tonight."
Rick sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're right; it has been a long time." He removed the utility belt from his waist, unsecured the wooden espantoon, and put the belt and remaining items---knife, flashlight, pepper spray, the Big Brother smartphone, and his gun---on the passenger-side floor. The espantoon he placed within handy reach in the gully between the bucket seats. He slid his seat back as far he could, which bought another few inches of leg room, and began unbuttoning his short-sleeved uniform shirt. "Do you do this often or am I just special?"
Diego watched intently, in no apparent rush. "I give my special blessings only to those who need them most, and particularly those who bear an unfair stigma, much like all demons. To know me---in the Biblical sense---is to have a second chance for happiness."
Rick inhaled a deep, steadying breath. Although he'd grown to love his work, his work was all he had. His life slipped away with every tick of the clock, and for what? To end up like Mr. Griffith, living out his life inside a three-bedroom closet with an impeccably tended garden his only companion?
With death inevitable---demon or no demon---he decided he'd rather go out on his own terms, and for once in his lonely, lackluster life do something entirely selfish. The thought of performing a licentious act while on duty, committing a cardinal sin, sent adrenaline shooting through his system again, but this time in a good way. He removed his shirt and slipped his sleeveless undershirt off, and then flung the garments to the passenger floor to join his belt. He'd never had an erection hurt like this before, and he had no doubt Diego possessed the necessary skills to relieve his discomfort.
Rick ran his gaze over Diego's sinfully gorgeous body. His cock flexed in response, a damp spot further darkening his midnight-blue uniform pants close to his right hip. He licked his lips. "Sounds to me like you're more angel than demon."
"Once, long ago, I was an angel." Diego moved closer, one hand cupping the rising tent in the front of Rick's trousers. "I was good angel, and I served God well. Like you, I worked as a peacekeeper." He smiled. "But the endless days of toil went unnoticed and unrewarded, and when Man came along---well, you're a good Catholic boy."
"Former Catholic boy." Rick smiled.
Diego chuckled. "Then you know the rest. Imagine spending all your life giving to a cause, millennia after millennia, only to receive walking papers at your first complaint."
"Demons are fallen angels." Rick tumbled the thought around in his head for a moment. He had to admit the concept made sense, not unlike the fact corrupt cops often became the slickest criminals. Learning the rules so well from one side often made exploiting them from the other a tempting piece of cake.
He returned his attention to Diego. "What do you offer, and what do I have to sacrifice in order to accept?"
"Tell me this," Diego said. "Have you noticed how much religion has stopped flourishing in your world over the years? Once upon a time, families considered their children growing up to become clergy a great honor. Many people came to great power and wealth because their ordained offspring gained access to the ear of God." Diego straddled Rick's lap with fluid, graceful movements despite the close quarters and many obstacles. "In these trying times, churches are closing their doors in record numbers due to lack of funding and not enough clergy. No one wants to be a priest or nun anymore, and even the number of non-celibate priests and ministers dwindle each day."
Diego spoke the truth. Rick grew up in this neighborhood. He'd been baptized at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church, where his parents were married, and he attended the church's adjacent school. The number of active parishioners fell off so much over the years Rick was surprised they still remained open. Despite the fact he lost his faith shortly after witnessing his first murder scene, Rick continued to attend Mass from time to time even now. Earlier this year on a beautiful spring morning, he'd been one of only a dozen or so in pews that had once creaked under the weight of hundreds of worshippers on any given Sunday.
"Why did this happen?" A sudden, penetrating sadness gripped Rick's heart.
Diego loosened Rick's narrow leather belt. "God abandoned us in your favor, so we abandoned you. Without angels to keep God's name on your lips and guide you on a righteous path, your species faltered. You then abandoned God. The circle was completed, and we had our revenge."
Rick thought he should feel shock and incredulity at such a revelation, but he didn't. In fact, the explanation made more sense than anything he'd heard in years. With even less to lose now than he'd started the evening with, he brazenly put his hands on Diego's naked hips, the sensation resembling the touch of silk warmed by the summer sun.
"God help me," he muttered, realizing instantly such phrases were spoken purely out of habit and had been for a long time.
"Oh, no no no! Hush, little darling. No more talk about God, hmm?" A rip of leather against cloth filled the squad car as the belt came free, and Diego shimmied Rick's trousers down to the knees. "We learned fast how humans don't like to be forced into anything. Therefore, we decided to offer you gifts instead, to demonstrate we aren't the terrible creatures your new church, Hollywood, says we are."
Rick trembled, Diego's fingers creeping closer to a point of no return. "H-how's that working out for you?"
"I'll let you know in a few minutes."
Something invisible squeezed his cock and Rick couldn't contain a moan. His erection swelled to fullness underneath his thin, cotton boxers. He dug his fingernails into Diego's soft skin, gripping narrow hips. Looking into warm brown eyes, Rick had difficulty believing he was about to fuck something truly evil. Maybe Diego was right and people had it all wrong. He nodded. "I'm ready."
"Such a bad boy. So eager." The smile on Diego's face belayed the chastising words. "Mmm. Take down your boxers. Let me feel you."
With Diego's words caressing his ears like a sultry, lazy day, Rick wasn't sure he'd last long enough to make this worthwhile for either of them. Fuck, he was so damn hard he had to lift the elastic waistband of the boxers away from his body before he could lower them.
Then he ran into a more serious problem. Jostling in the cramped confines of the well-equipped police car, he began wondering how this could physically work. To his back sat the immovable Plexiglas partition. To his left, the car door. Within inches behind Diego, the steering wheel. Even with the laptop computer having been removed and replaced with the portable smartphone, the radio console still stuck out far enough to impede movement. Rick grunted with the effort of trying to shift under Diego enough to pull his damn underwear down.
Admitting the futility of the exercise, Rick grumbled. "There's not enough room in here to breathe much less fuck. Any suggestions?"
A dangerous chuckle came from Diego, his long fingers playing at Rick's collarbone. "There's always the hood of the car. Since I am under arrest, Officer Baker, you should frisk me."
As if on cue, the driver-side door popped open on its own.
Rick gave the door a wary glance. An on-duty cop, on his own beat, in his own neighborhood. If caught fucking another man in a public place, the ramifications would be nothing less than disastrous.
Screw it. Rick allowed his hormones to dictate his actions for a change instead of his guilt-ridden intellect. He stared into Diego's sexy eyes. "Get the fuck out of my car."
Diego's body tensed; the tone of Rick's voice must've caught him off guard. He moved in a decidedly cautious manner as he slid one foot out of the car and down to the ground. "No one can see us. You know how secluded this particular section of the park is."
"I know." Rick smiled. "But if we're going to do it out in the open and on my turf, we're going to do it my way. Now---get the fuck out of my car and stand in front of the hood."
Diego moved so fast Rick never saw him leave the car.
The next vision Rick had of Diego saw him bent over the front of the car, his hands placed flat on the hood, big brown eyes peering in through the windshield. Not a fleeting fantasy this time.
"Are you going to frisk me now?" Diego licked his lips.
Fuck, will you look at that?
At this point, Rick didn't care if the kid claimed to be a faerie prince and sprouted wings. He took a cursory glance around the premises. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary---other than the hot, naked, young demon splayed over the hood of his cruiser---he yanked up his pants. He didn't bother with his shirt, wanting to feel at least a bit of skin on skin, and got out of the car. He hadn't taken more than a few steps before he returned, reaching across the seat to grab his espantoon. With a grin on his face and an erection in his pants hard enough to chisel marble, he swung the baton by the loop and moved to the front of the car.
"You're under arrest," he said in a low, dark tone, "for having the finest-looking ass I've ever seen. Spread your feet farther apart."
Diego sucked in a sharp breath and moved his feet wider. "That's a mighty big stick you have there, Officer. Makes me want to consider resisting arrest."
"I wouldn't advise it." Rick stood behind Diego, close enough to put one hand on the small of Diego's back. He ran the length of the baton along the crack of Diego's gorgeous ass. "I think you'll enjoy the way I use my stick a lot better if you don't struggle. Reach around and spread your ass. I want a get a closer look before I fuck you through the hood of my car."
"Getting off on this, are you? Being in control, knowing you can do anything to me and not get into trouble?" Diego reached around and pulled his ass cheeks wide, showing off his little pink hole. "I should warn you---sex like this becomes addictive."
Rick's pulse rate shot up exponentially. "I don't care. It's not like I'm saving myself for Mr. Right at this juncture." Unable to wait another second to feel how warm and tight Diego might be, Rick tossed the baton to the ground, undid his belt, and unzipped his pants. He gripped his cock and pressed against Diego, sliding the slick head against the inviting, puckered asshole. A sudden rush of pre-cum spurted from him as if on command. Fuck, this was going to feel good, and he teased himself by hesitating. He ran a hand over the plump, muscled cheeks of Diego's soft, sweet ass. "Am I going to go to hell for this?"
"Sweetheart, the life you're leading is hell. Now, stop playing around and fuck me."
Rick snagged Diego's delicate wrists in his hands and pressed them hard against the hood of the car. He laughed and said, "Be careful what you wish for," and drove his stiff cock deep into Diego's tight hole with a single thrust.
The abrupt yelp from Diego gratified Rick. Nothing had ever felt so damn wrong or so good, so fucking hot and satisfying.
Diego squirmed. "Fucker! You come off like the neighborhood saint, but inside you're nothing but a monster like everyone else."
Rick gripped Diego's wrists tighter and fucked him, sawing his dick in and out of that snug, perfect hole. He angled his hips, bent his knees, and thrust not only in but also up, fucking into him so hard Diego's feet lifted clean off the leaf-strewn grass. Sweat ran down Rick's back, his blood boiled in his veins, and at the moment nothing else mattered but fucking the living daylights out of this kid, this demon. He clamped his jaw tight against the pleasure flowing through him in frantic waves. "Maybe it's because of you, fucker."
"Devil making you do me?" Diego laughed. His body, soaked with sweat, made loud squawks on the hood of the car as Rick plowed in, every violent thrust wresting another vulgar groan out of him. Diego arched his back. "Your dick is liking this tight little ass, isn't it? Jesus, you're fucking me like a madman."
"Oh, no no no." Rick chuckled. "No talking about Jesus. Fuck, fuck, never felt anything so incredible."
He moaned and fell forward, his weight crashing down on Diego's back, and he released the tight grip on Diego's wrists. His balls tightened into firm, aching knots, and his cock swelled harder inside the demon's scorching hot ass. He pushed in with a final, burying thrust and came like a fucking wild beast, biting as hard as he could on the crook of Diego's beautiful neck.
Diego wailed in pain. His fingernails dug into the polished surface of the hood with an unearthly screech, bare metal showing through gouges in the bright white paint. "I knew it! Fucking animal!"
Barely able to breathe, Rick disengaged himself and grabbed Diego by one arm, pulling him to the ground as he stumbled and fell backward on rubbery legs. Fearing Diego would scamper away or disappear in a smoky haze, he clutched at the demon's waist and pulled him close, on top and face-to-face.
"Need to finish this." Rick's voice sounded foreign, distant, hoarse and more than a little scary to his own ears. He jammed his hand between their bodies and grasped Diego's cock, the erection as hard as Rick's wooden baton and just as smooth.
"Bite me again." Diego's voice, thick and labored, took on a commanding tone. "Do it."
Fighting to recover from an orgasm that had rendered him stupid, Rick shook his head and gathered his wits. He began stroking Diego's gorgeous cock, slim and smooth and perfect, with as gentle a touch as he could muster. With slow, sure movements, he nestled his face into the juncture of Diego's neck and shoulder, and lapped at the nearly healed wound he'd inflicted moments ago.
"Amazing," Rick whispered. As dangerous, carnal thoughts flooded his mind, he moved a few inches to the right and licked a spot directly over Diego's jugular. "Here?"
Diego froze, his pulse beating strong and fast under Rick's flicking tongue, matching the throb of his cock in Rick's hand. "Yes, God damn it, yes!"
"Fucking hypocrite." Rick laughed softly and took another quick lick of tan skin. "There you go, mentioning God again."
Rick had to admit he was enjoying this more than any sexual encounter he'd ever had, and the admission frightened him. Not that he had any prospects of finding sustainable love or even sex with a regular partner, but what would this leave him with, other than an experience he could never hope to duplicate and by which all else would pale in comparison?
A blanketing sadness covered him, but he needed to finish what he'd started. He tugged more energetically on Diego's dick, gave the indicated spot on Diego's throat another tender lick and bit down hard.
Diego screamed, the sound a primitive, unearthly cry. He put both hands in Rick's hair and pulled tight. Hips pumping, he ejaculated bountiful amounts of cum all over Rick's hand.
Rick sucked blood from the new wound on Diego's neck in great gulps, and words he'd heard a thousand times before rang out in his mind with gruesome clarity.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life.
He swallowed the last mouthful of blood. Backing away, he released his grip on Diego's cock and a surge of fear jolted through him. The enormity of the situation and the insanity of this night came crashing down hard. He looked at the gaping bite mark, the torn flesh of Diego's ruined throat, and brought his clean hand to his own mouth. The blood still felt warm on his lips and chin, even in the chill of the autumn evening, the sharp tang of salt and metal assaulting his tongue. Revulsion lurched his stomach, and concern for what he'd done sent his adrenaline level shooting off the charts again.
"Diego. Oh, fuck." Rick sat up and pulled Diego across his lap, cradling him like an injured child, and he brushed shiny black hair away from Diego's face. To Rick's astonishment, the ghastly wound had already healed, with nothing but a faint red mark and mild bruise to indicate where he had bitten. He let out a long sigh of relief, and unsure of the strange feelings coalescing inside his chest, he stroked Diego's beautiful face with a gentle hand. "Are you all right?"
Diego inhaled a deep breath, his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth where a drop of his own blood had splashed. Ecstasy all but glowed from his face. "I am so much better than all right." He touched Rick's cheek. "Mmm. I see it agreed with you, too."
Nodding, Rick consulted his watch. Already close to half past six, the skies would brighten with morning twilight in less than thirty minutes. They needed to get out of view, and Rick had to craft a good story to explain being incommunicado for the past few hours. Dinner and paperwork wouldn't wash as an excuse for such an enormous span of time.
"Shit." Rick nudged Diego off his lap. "Put on my jacket and get in the car. We're going to my place."
"Why, Officer, I'm touched!" Diego hopped off the ground and went to the car. He put on the jacket, but before sliding into the seat, he looked at Rick. "Does this mean we're going steady?"
Rick zipped his pants and grinned over the roof of the car. "Are you always such a brat?"
"Only when I really like someone." Diego climbed into the car.
After settling into the vehicle and starting the engine, Rick turned to look at Diego. "I need your help with covering my tracks. Can you disable my radio completely?"
Diego raised one eyebrow, and then he reached for a Styrofoam cup of cold Dunkin' Donuts coffee in the holder sticking out from the dash. He held the cup threateningly over the radio. "Simple enough."
Rick grabbed his wrist. "Hey, I could've done that! There can't be any sign of tampering."
"What about evidence of stereotyping? I'll bet there's a bag of donut crumbs in here somewhere, too." Diego grinned. "Right. Lucky for you, electronics and demons don't play well together." After putting the coffee cup back in the holder, Diego placed the tip of a single finger on the radio console. For a moment, static, and then the white noise grew into a high-pitched whine until the radio began to smoke. Diego made a trilling purr of a sound. The radio sputtered and died. "Better?"
"You have some handy talents," Rick said, smirking. He put the car in gear and slowly headed out of the park. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."
Diego smiled. "Just don't try to put me back in the box, Officer, and we'll get along fine."
Chapter Three
The short ride progressed in silence. Rick drove back to the cemetery, thinking ahead to the explanation for his absence during his shift. He pulled the car up to the old wrought-iron gate on the Hickory Avenue side of the property and jumped out. After making sure no one looked on from the nearby houses, he took a decent windup and pitched the phone into the cemetery as far as he could throw.
Back on Falls Road, he drove another quarter mile until reaching Medfield, a small neighborhood a mile or so north of Roosevelt Park. He made a left onto Roland Heights followed by a right onto Buchanan Avenue, after which he passed the large elementary school and turned into his driveway.
In a community comprised largely of rowhouses, his street remained one of only a few with single-family homes. The two-story colonial, with white siding and a matching awning over the porch, had been his since his third year on the force. Rose bushes, long dormant from an early frost, crowded both sides of a narrow walk. Rick pictured himself sitting on the steps years from now, alone, looking over a small, well-tended garden. He shuddered and buried the thought.
Rick shut off the engine and leaned past Diego to gather his things from the floor. "This place isn't much---but it's all mine, and I like it here. No funny business. Keep covered as much as you can, and be quiet until we get inside. I don't want anyone to see you, so walk in front of me and stay close. Got it?"
With his utility belt in hand, Rick looked up and found he'd been talking to air. Rick's gut twisted into a sick knot. The porch light came on, and he let out a sigh of relief as the lamp near the picture window flickered on, too.
"Brat," he grumbled under his breath.
With his equipment tucked under one arm, he locked the car and climbed the steps to the porch. He jangled his ring of keys in one hand to fish out the correct one, but hesitated before inserting the key in the lock. On a hunch, he turned the doorknob. The door opened. Maybe he was starting to catch on.
He shut and locked the door behind him, but he didn't see Diego in the living room, or in the dining room or kitchen beyond. Frowning, he set his utility belt, the baton, and his hat on the lamp table in front of the window. He pulled his gun from the holster to stash the weapon in its usual place on his bedside table. After unpinning his badge from the dark blue outer shirt, he bundled the garments together to throw in the laundry and headed up the stairs. "Honey, I'm home!"
No response, but as he rounded the top of the staircase and faced the open door to his bedroom, he could see Diego had made himself comfortable.
Lying on his belly, Diego had his chin resting on crossed arms. "Wanting to try out another kink?" He nodded toward Rick's gun. "Better grab some lube for that bad boy."
"I think one new sexual experience is all I can handle tonight, thanks." Rick put the gun and badge on the small table at the head of the bed on the side where he slept. He made a show of running his eyes over Diego's nude body in a salacious manner. "The gun is off limits, by the way. I don't have many rules, but that's a biggie." He sat on the edge of the bed, giving Diego's pretty ass a playful slap, and then he took the cordless phone from the cradle on the table and dialed. As the phone rang, he covered the mouthpiece with one hand and whispered to Diego. "Be quiet while I take care of this."
Diego nodded.
The other end of the line clicked. "Northern District, Sergeant Livingston speaking."
"G'morning, Sergeant. Richard Baker, badge 6-1-3-6. Would you put me through to Captain DeLuca, please."
Another click, and then the irritated voice of his commanding officer started right in on him. "Where the fuck have you been, Baker? Been trying to get you on the radio and your cell phone for fucking hours! Are you all right?"
Rick feigned a cough and mucous-rich sniffle then spoke in a somewhat weak voice. "Sorry, sir, but I had a run of bad luck tonight. Lost my damn cell phone chasing those fucking kids in the cemetery, my radio shorted, and I've spent the last two hours puking my guts out." He sniffled hard again for effect. "I think I have the flu or something."
A long pause told Rick his boss was chewing on the information, and he held his breath waiting for a verdict. In his favor were certain facts: he rarely ever called out sick, most of the time he took pay in lieu of vacation, and he didn't have a wife or kids or any other built-in excuse cops tended to use to ditch work.
"Okay, son," Captain DeLuca said at last. "We've had three officers call out with swine flu this week. See a doctor, you hear me? I'll take care of getting your phone deactivated and another one ordered. And give me a holler when you're ready to come back---I'll make an appointment for you with Fleet Management so we can get your car radio repaired or replaced."
Rick looked at the ceiling and mouthed a silent thank you. "Thanks, sir. Hopefully this will pass quickly. See you soon."
He returned the phone to the cradle, looked at Diego, and gave a small shrug. "I guess being a good guy for so many years pays off. Dodged a big bullet there." With a sigh, he rose from the bed, giving Diego another smack on the bottom. "I need to get this blood and dirt off me. Don't do anything demonic while I'm gone."
"Don't worry." Diego sat up on the bed, as carefree and oblivious as if he were fully clothed. He traced a fingertip along his neck, over the fading pink blemish where Rick had bitten him. "No virgin sacrifices or smeared chicken blood. I promise."
"You look pretty grubby yourself." Rick opened a dresser drawer and selected a pair of clean boxers. "You can have the bathroom when I'm done. Unless, of course, becoming instantly clean is also in your bag of tricks."
"Maybe." Diego appeared at Rick's side out of nowhere. "But where's the fun in that?"
Rick walked into the hallway, heading toward the bathroom.
Diego followed like a puppy. "Tell me---was that your first time?"
Rick shook his head. "No, but it was the first time I wasn't hiding in some cheap no-tell motel to do it with someone I knew I'd never see again." He cracked a smile. "I guess I don't need to ask you the same question."
"As a matter of fact, it was my first time---in this body." Diego oozed into the bathroom, trailing his fingers over the tile wall. His curiosity seemed piqued by Rick's seashell-shaped sink and the array of toiletries scattered on the counter. He picked up Rick's battery-operated toothbrush and giggled as it vibrated in his hand. "You people have a lot more gadgets these days. What fun!" Diego returned the toothbrush to the counter. "At any rate, I wasn't referring to sex. I want to know if this was the first time you've ever bitten someone?"
"Oh. Yeah." Rick shucked off his remaining clothes and stuffed them into the hamper along with his shirts. "I'm sorry if I hurt you." He moved behind Diego at the sink and looked into the mirror. "I don't know what came over me, but I'll be honest---I've never had anything make me so hot before. Never felt anything so . . . intimate."
He trickled the fingers of one hand down the length of Diego's spine---or whoever's spine this had been. One of the many questions Rick had about how this whole fallen-angel-slash-demon thing worked. He pulled Diego's silky, black hair aside and kissed the nape of his neck.
Diego made a soft, contented sound. "There's nothing you can do to cause me harm. But now that you've tasted my blood, your whole life is about to change." He met Rick's eyes in the mirror, the sweet innocence of before now replaced with something far more serious, darker. "I must confess I'm rather glad Jonathan fucked up tonight. You're much more interesting."
"And you're---" Something in his reflection caught Rick's attention and he paused, leaning forward over Diego's shoulder to take a closer look in the mirror. He ran the fingertips of his right hand along his temples and the corners of his eyes. The gray hairs peppering his temples and sideburns had disappeared, along with at least ten years' worth of crow's feet. The blood drained from his face as his adrenal gland again revved up production. "Diego, what have you done?"
Like the sun coming out from behind dark clouds, Diego's expression brightened. "Are you pleased? This is my gift to you." He spun around, his cock nestling against Rick's like a familiar friend. "I've spent lifetimes listening to humans and learning about them: their needs, their wants, their fears. Your heart was pounding so hard last night, and I detected an irregularity. Had we not met, you would've been dead inside of a year, two at the most."
Rick put his hands on Diego's hips. A flickering thought crossed his mind that this felt too damn comfortable too damn soon, forget the fact the man he caressed wasn't a man at all. He could just picture one of the guys in the locker room at work saying, "Man, I had the weirdest fucking thing happen this weekend," as they so often did, and himself almost dying from laughter.
Dying.
Diego had discovered an irregular heartbeat, the cause evidently a death sentence. Disappearing gray hair and crow's feet and Diego's statement about "a gift." Rick repeated his question, his fingers kneading hard into Diego's soft skin. "What have you done to me?"
"Angels are immortal beings of God---even the fallen angels. When you drank my blood into your body, my essence mingled with your own." Diego looked directly at Rick's chest with a studious expression, as if he could see the beating organ inside. Fingertips ghosted over Rick's skin near a nipple, caressing. "Our saliva heals, and sex with us invigorates. Our blood turns back the clock---we call that the Angel's Kiss." He smiled and shrugged. "Where do you think the concept of vampires came from?"
Unbelievable. If anyone had relayed a similar story to Rick twelve hours ago, he'd have told the person to make an immediate appointment to see a shrink. His brain started buzzing with the effort of trying to wrap his head around these increasingly bizarre ideas. He should be running for his life right now---any sane man would. But Rick had been alone and in the closet for so damn long, the thought of having Diego for a companion kept his feet planted firmly on the ground and his nerves steady. Fear simmered inside him without a doubt, but not fear of Diego or what this all meant.
The thought of Diego vanishing into thin air and never returning scared him to death. How could he return to a mundane life and have normal relationships with people after something like this?
Jesus Christ.
Rick took a deep breath. "So . . . I'm a vampire?"
"No, silly." Diego tapped Rick on the end of the nose with his index finger. "There's no such thing as vampires."
Rick went to the shower stall and turned on the water, twisting to look over his shoulder at Diego across the room. "Shower with me. I need to feel clean again, and I want to feel you close to me." Steam billowed around him and he almost lost Diego in the fog, sending a panicked rush through his heart. "I have so many questions."
"And I have all the time in the world to answer them." Diego emerged from the mist and walked toward Rick, looking far too angelic to represent the other end of the spectrum. "Ask me something, if it will set your mind at ease." He stepped into the shower and held the door open for Rick. "There's nothing I won't answer for you, if I possess the knowledge."
Rick climbed in and shut the door. He closed his eyes and sighed as the dirt of the day and Diego's dried, caked blood rinsed away under the force of the blissful hot water. Turning around to face him, he put his hands on Diego's shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. He mentally prioritized his concerns before he spoke, and boy, the first question was a doozy.
He swallowed hard. "Since you've given me your gift, do you have to go away now? I don't want you to leave."
Diego shushed Rick's lips with two warm fingers, replacing them a moment later with his mouth, his tongue dipping in to make silent promises. They parted, Diego's eyelashes fluttered, and Rick could've sworn the demon looked happy.
"You feel panicked and lost," Diego said, "like a ship broken lose from the shore and tossed about on the open sea. You drank more of my blood than I thought." He placed the palms of both his hands over Rick's heart. "We are connected forever. What you're experiencing is your mind reacting to potential loss. The feeling will pass, and you'll become more at ease and less anxious each time you drink from me. Soon enough, your fear will dissolve completely, never to return."
More questions tumbled through Rick's brain, but for the moment he had no words. He pulled Diego into a fierce embrace, holding on like he planned never to let go. As the water cascaded over them, Rick had the sensation of being baptized, of his old life being washed away and cleansed with rebirth. His eyes blurred, and not from the shower. He hugged Diego tighter. "When you say 'forever' are you being metaphorical?"
"No, not at all." Diego didn't move to extract himself from Rick's hold, seeming pleased with the growing attachment. "I am functionally immortal, which means I can be killed, but I can't get sick and I'll never age or die of natural causes. My life force now flows through your veins, and as long as you refresh our bond with my blood every few days, you'll be as I am. All the cells of your body will become younger. Your heart will repair itself naturally, and you'll never be panting for breath again." Diego grinned. "Well, except for when we have sex."
Rick released Diego to grab a bottle of shampoo. He squirted a generous amount into one hand and began washing his hair. "How young will I get? I mean, I wouldn't mind cutting off a decade or two, but I have no desire to be a teenager again. Wasn't what I call a fun time."
"You won't become a teenager." Diego grabbed a bar of soap, lathered his hands, and then massaged the suds over Rick's cock. "Your body's building blocks are becoming younger, but your chronological age won't change. Cuts will heal almost instantly, and while I wouldn't recommend jumping in front of a car, most injuries won't be quite as threatening. Oh, and your metabolism will speed up, too. You'll be able to eat again like you could when you were twenty-five and not worry."
Diego's hands on Rick's cock felt so good the remaining questions seemed unimportant by comparison. Stepping under the spray of the shower, Rick rinsed his hair. "We can continue this in my bed, if you like."
"You're not going to faint on me, are you? You look like maybe this is hitting you too fast." Diego shut off the shower and wrapped his arms around Rick. "Take things slow. I know how you humans tend to overindulge once you succumb to temptation."
After parting from Diego's strong embrace, Rick grabbed a towel from a rack outside the shower and began mopping Diego dry. "I still have a ton of questions, but I'm dead on my feet. If I don't lay down soon, I'm going to fall down."
Diego lifted his arms for Rick to dry him and looked toward the window. "It's morning---how did that happen?" He smiled and eased away, peering outside and shielding his eyes from the brightness of the morning glare. "It's been so long since I saw daylight."
"How do you do that?" Rick dried off, smiling as he watched Diego once again morph into childlike innocence. A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
"Do what?" Diego opened the bathroom window and stuck his head outside for a deep breath.
Rick chuckled and shook his head, tossing the damp towels into the hamper. "Go from acting like you're older than dirt and wiser than Moses to behaving like an innocent child inside of two seconds. From one moment to the next, I don't know whether to bow down and worship you, or sit you on my knee and tell you a story."
Pulling his head back inside the bathroom, Diego beamed like the warm sun he'd spied on. The next moment he appeared at Rick's side, and he joined their hands together and led him back to the bedroom. "Things will become easier and fall into place as time passes. You'll feel more focused after some sleep."
"I have a few days to sort this out since my boss bought my flu story. That was a lucky break." At the queen-sized bed, Rick pulled the handmade, patchwork quilt and the top sheet down. He gestured for Diego to climb in. "You said earlier that tonight was the first time you . . . the first time you'd had sex in this body. What did you mean?"
Diego pressed his lips to Rick's neck and slipped into bed, patting the spot beside him. "I'm immortal, but sometimes bodies are damaged beyond repair. There are people in your world who don't like demons, Rick. Some of them put their money where their mouths are, and they know how to send me packing. The last time I came topside was in 1645."
Needing the comfort of something familiar in the midst of chaotic nonsense, Rick crawled into the bed and pulled the cool sheets under his chin. His bed had never felt so good. "How did you get this body, and"---he paused, needing to know but not sure he wanted to know---"what do you really look like?"
Diego sat up, resting his back on a pillow against the headboard, and he let out a sigh filled with regret. Looking at his hands laying above the covers in his lap, he alternately caressed the inside of both wrists with gentle fingers. "This one took his own life. Theologians are only half right about those committing suicide not going to heaven. Their souls are admitted, but their bodies aren't considered sacred and are therefore open to my kind. The same holds true for those never baptized. I didn't hurt him or kill him, I swear. He slit his own wrists in the bathtub of his girlfriend's house. As for what I look like . . . ." Diego grunted and put a hand on Rick's shoulder. "Do you ever feel like you're being watched, but when you turn around no one is there? Have you ever felt a phantom touch upon your cheek, or seen something out of the corner of your eye only to look and find nothing?"
Rick wouldn't admit the fact in most company, but he had experienced those sensations many times in the course of his lengthy career. A soft tap on the shoulder, only to find no one was there. A faint shadow moving in a corner when the surrounding light sources were not. Small hairs standing up on the back of his neck for no apparent reason. "Spider-sense," folks of his movie generation called the perception. Yes, he'd felt those sensations many times---especially when entering crime scenes where a corpse presented in a fashion simply screaming "self-inflicted." Now, those things made sense.
"Do you know why he killed himself?" Rick stared, as bravely as he could, into those dark, haunting eyes. "And---" And this was the hardest question of all, the one Rick didn't want to ask but had no choice. Natural, supernatural, everything hinged on this. "Fuck . . . what am I falling for, Diego? You or this body you occupy?"
""Both?" Diego smiled, his expression so truly angelic Rick thought for a split second he saw wings. "I'm incorporeal to humans when I'm without a host body. Your eyes don't operate on a wavelength capable of seeing us properly. The spectrum we reside in appears only as shadows and shimmers of heat waves in the air to you."
Diego lay down on his side next to Rick, facing him, and ran a hand over the sheet covering Rick's chest. "This boy's story is a sad one, and probably not something you should think too much about before falling asleep. Suffice it to say, this is now my body. What makes me a unique individual now dwells underneath this skin, and my blood flows through these veins. I'm not a walking corpse." He grinned. "There's no such thing as zombies, either. Think of us as the original recyclers. Like a hermit crab, putting an abandoned shell to good use."
With an exhausted sigh, Rick turned on his side away from Diego and spooned back into him, and Diego put his arms around Rick like a safe, secure seatbelt.
"Fair enough," Rick said, and then paused for a yawn. "I guess this is my big chance to prove that it really is what's on the inside that counts."
Chapter Four
Rick slept like the dead.
He awoke to the doorbell chiming, and his eyes went immediately to the alarm clock on his bedside table. He blinked away the sticky blurriness of sleep and focused on the digital numbers declaring the time as 8:13. A quick glance toward the windows showed no light peering around the edges of the blinds and curtains, so he knew he'd slept the entire day away. A violent surge of panic shot through his core, but a quick peek over his shoulder belayed his fears at the pleasant sight of Diego peacefully sleeping. He let out a hushed whistle of relief then got out of bed to grab pants and a shirt.
The doorbell rang again, and Rick hurried down the stairs. He fastened his jeans with one hand and pulled the front door open with the other to find his best friend and fellow cop, Steve Wren, on the porch in uniform.
Steve stood the same height as Rick at six-feet-one. Movie star handsome, Steve had wavy black hair peppered with gray, and bright eyes as blue as a robin's egg. He also had a decided flair for stating the obvious.
"Man, you look like shit." Steve clucked his tongue. "I hope you don't mind me paying you a house call, but when I heard you were out with the flu . . . well, it's just not like you to ever call out sick, so I figured you must be in bad shape."
Crap. In hindsight, Rick realized he should've called Steve first before phoning the station. Hard enough to fake sickness over the phone, but another matter entirely to manage in person, and Rick felt certain he didn't possess the acting chops to handle the job.
Besides, Steve wasn't only a brother in blue; he'd been Rick's best friend for close to thirty years.
They went through the academy together and, as luck would have it, they were both assigned to the Northern District and remained there to this day. Rick had helped Steve through a nasty divorce not long after they met, and he served as Best Man at Steve's second wedding a few years later. Steve had always been there for him, too, and was one of the people Rick could tally on one hand who knew for a fact he was gay. Lying to Steve now---even about something as undeniably secret-worthy as this---felt wrong on a gut level.
Rick stepped aside and held the door. "Come on in. I'm not contagious."
"You're sure I'm not bugging you?" Steve took his hat off as he crossed the threshold, and Rick noticed Steve do a quick scan of the house, restless fingers twisting the hat around by the brim. Old habits never died. "Is everything okay? I heard those kids at the cemetery gave you a rough time."
"Understatement of the year." Rick led Steve into the kitchen, the subtle jangle of equipment on Steve's utility belt a familiar and comforting sound. "I'd offer you a beer, but---"
"Sold. I'm done for the night. When I heard you were under the weather, I decided to cash in a couple hours of PTO. I told Cap I was coming here to check on you, so I didn't have to twist his arm too hard. What the hell's going on, anyway?" Steve gave Rick a quick and obvious head-to-toe assessment. "You look exhausted or like you just woke up, but you don't really look sick with the flu. Except for the raccoon rings under your eyes, you look pretty fuckin' healthy, as a matter of fact. And when did you start coloring your hair? You meet some guy you're trying to impress or something? Never knew you to be the vain type."
"Christ almighty, Steve---I don't even know where to fucking begin. Have a seat." While Steve pulled up a chair at the cheerful dinette table, Rick grabbed two bottles of Bud from the fridge, and then took the seat opposite. He slid one of the beers across the table. "You've been in a lot of strange places in your day, a lot of freaky situations. Ever see something you couldn't explain? Something really weird?"
"Depends. Are we talking regular weird or little green men from outer space weird?" Steve tipped back his bottle and took a drink.
Quit stalling and just come out with it, you big pansy. Rick twisted the cap off his beer and took several long, soothing swallows of the crisp, cold brew. "The kids at St. Mary's weren't vandalizing the cemetery for kicks. They were performing a ritual to summon a demon."
Steve ran a thumb along his lower lip. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time for something like that in this neighborhood. I don't know why, but it seems like being a sixteen-year-old, middle-class American white boy comes with a standard-issue trench coat and no fuckin' sense these days. All it takes is a couple of these idiots to order some devil's handbook over the Internet, and they think they're the next Aleister Crowley."
Rick gave a noncommittal shrug.
The bottle halfway to his lips, Steve froze and set it down with a thud. "Oh, come on. You don't actually believe that shit, do you?"
"I didn't twenty-four hours ago." Rick kept his gaze locked on Steve's wary eyes and took another long pull on his beer before setting the bottle on the table. "I do now."
"Jesus, man." Steve leaned back in the chair. "What did you run into out there? I've known you long enough to know you aren't pulling my leg. Something out there scared the shit out of you, didn't it?"
A small, sleepy voice came from behind Steve before Rick could reply. "Can I have one of those, please?"
Steve spun around, knocking over the chair and his beer as he reached for his sidearm. "Shit, kid! Where the hell did you come from?"
Diego had materialized out of nowhere, but at least he was clothed. He'd borrowed a pair of Rick's black jogging pants and a Police Walk The Beat for Cancer T-shirt. He appeared oblivious to Steve's reaction.
Steve turned back to Rick with a shocked and accusing stare, his hand easing back from the weapon. He righted the overturned chair and picked up the fallen bottle. "What exactly have you gotten yourself into, Rick?"
You're looking at him, Rick thought wryly. He looked from one man to the other as he made introductions. "Steve, this Diego. Diego, this is my best friend, Steve Wren. He's a police officer like me, so be nice." Rick stood and went to the refrigerator, and he returned with three more beers. He set two on the table and unscrewed the cap on the third, and then handed the bottle to Diego. Turning to Steve, he said, "He's not one of the kids vandalizing the graveyard, if that's what you're thinking."
"No?" Steve popped the cap off the fresh bottle and took a swig. "So then you've been holding out on me?" With the threat apparently diminished now that he was on more even footing with Diego, Steve reached out a greeting hand. "Nice to meet you."
Diego accepted the handshake, smiling but silent. He walked around Steve and passed behind Rick on his way to the other side of the table.
Steve lowered himself to the chair, watching Diego like a hawk. "Sorry about the outburst. Rick is always warning me about my hair-trigger temper and foul mouth. I'm glad to meet anyone who makes him happy."
Steve slipped a look at Rick and raised one eyebrow, Rick knew full well what that particular expression meant: You are boning this guy, right?
Rick snorted a short laugh. "I met him last night"---he paused, hoping Steve would catch on---"in the cemetery."
"And there's nothing weird about that? Right." Steve grunted and settled back into the chair, opening a new beer then taking a swig. "What proof do you have he wasn't involved? Don't go soft over a pair of pretty eyes, Rick." He looked from Rick to Diego. "Where are you from, kid, and what the hell were you doing in a cemetery in the middle of the night?"
Diego cast a panicked glance at Rick. "I was . . . lost."
"It's okay," Rick said to Diego, and then he looked at Steve and blurted out the words he could hardly believe himself. "Diego is the demon."
"Pffft, right." Steve rolled his eyes. "Are you on crack?"
Rick turned to Diego and jerked his head in the direction of the ceiling. "How about you pop back upstairs and let us talk?" He gave Steve a mischievous smile. "Don't blink this time."
Diego vanished.
Steve's jaw came loose on its hinges and his mouth dropped open. Gulping for air, he shot to his feet, nearly knocking over another beer. "What the fuck? What the hell was that?"
From long experience, Rick knew the best way to deal with an upset Steve was to exhibit utter calm and control. He took another bottle of beer, popped the cap, and drank a slow sip. "Sit down, Steve. Everything's going to be all right."
Steve swept back his hair with nervous fingers and complied. "Jesus. Okay, but at least tell me this much---is he here because you want him here, or because he hasn't given you a choice? If you want him gone, say the word."
Fear returned and stabbed at Rick's heart like a dull, rusty knife. He stared Steve down with the stoic, unflinching expression he reserved for the most serious of occasions. "I'm not possessed, and I didn't summon him. But now that he's here"---Rick shrugged---"I want him to stay. It's not like you think, Steve. He's not evil."
The muscles in Steve's jaw worked, his teeth likely grinding. "Prove to me you're in control and not him. Call him back here."
Rick's thoughts had only started to gather in that direction and Diego appeared, wearing a soft and somber expression.
"He's telling the truth." Diego moved to stand behind Rick and slid both arms around his neck in a loose, comfortable hug. "Those boys last night summoned me. They ran away when Rick arrived, and they abandoned me and left me lying in the dirt. Rick brought me home, fed me, and cleaned me up. He's shown me nothing but kindness. I have no reason to harm him."
Steve opened his mouth as if to talk, but Rick interjected.
"I know this all sounds crazy," Rick said to Steve, "but please promise me you won't do anything rash? I won't let anything bad happen, not to anyone---including myself." He looked over his shoulder at Diego and smiled, and then returned his focus to Steve. "And is it really so crazy? The majority of people on this planet believe in a god no one can see, and that there's some sort of afterlife no one can prove exists. He's a fallen angel, Steve. He's proof your God is real. You should be happy."
Steve rubbed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "Do you have any idea how many times I've taken vicious pit bulls away from owners who had promised me they'd keep the monster on a leash? Rick, if he is what you claim---"
Diego narrowed his eyes, his expression sour. "Please don't talk about me like I'm not here."
Steve returned the hard gaze. "Fine. If you're not a threat, then why have demons been labeled evil since the beginning of time?"
Diego calmly took a seat. "Because Daddy has a temper, and he doesn't like his humans finding out he abused his first set of children and abandoned them. Oh, but wait! He's abandoned you now, too, hasn't he? Color me not surprised."
With Steve and his family being devout churchgoers, Rick knew those words had to hurt. He stood and took a protective position between Diego and Steve, leaning back against the table. Folding his arms over his chest, he looked down at Steve. "Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Cut me some slack here, Steve---when have you ever known my instincts to be wrong? You're my best friend and I love you, but I won't let you hurt him. Come back in a few days and you'll see everything is fine."
The tension in the air gathered thick enough to cut. Steve closed his eyes, visibly attempting to restrain himself. Diego sipped his beer like he hadn't a care in the world.
"Okay." Steve opened his eyes and trained them on Rick. "You get one week, but only because I care about you, because you've always had my back, and we've seen some fucked up shit together." Steve rose from his chair and walked toward Diego, who didn't flinch one bit as Steve crowded personal space. "You give me one excuse to send you hurtling back to Hades and I'll take it. Understand?"
Diego nodded.
"I won't say anything about your lies down at the station." Steve glared at Rick, put on his hat, and then headed for the front door. "Get better. Fast."
Rick started to follow Steve but reined himself back. Not much left to be said, considering, and Rick didn't want to risk making things worse. He gathered the collection of empty beer bottles and chucked them into the garbage can in the cabinet under the sink. In silence, he wiped the spilled beer from the table with a damp rag. Once finished, he turned and leaned back against the counter, rolling his head in a circle to crack the tendons in his tense neck. "That could've gone better."
"He's frightened." Diego shrugged. "His heart raced harder then yours did last night."
"Not every day a man finds out the boogeyman is for real." Rick gave Diego a warm smile. "Don't hold it against him. He's a good guy. He'll come around."
"He has good energy around him. I know he means well." Diego went to Rick and melted against his body the way a child might a parent. "But the vibrations he gives off seem almost too pure---enough to worry me. People like him are often driven blindly by their convictions."
Rick put his arms around Diego as if he'd being doing so for years. He carried a niggling concern that somehow Diego had influenced him, as Steve had alluded, into accepting this shocking situation with relative ease. He swept the thought under a mental rug and moved on, feeling a measure of personal happiness for the first time in his adult life. "You know what I want to do right now?"
"I'm trying hard not to invade your private thoughts." Diego smiled. "I could, but to do so can cause problems. I learned that the last time I came up."
Rick took Diego by the hand, leading him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "I hardly know anything about you. Can you tell me about your last time here?"
"My banishment came from a man very much like your friend. He sent me back to hell almost five hundred years ago." Diego shucked off the T-shirt and pants before sitting on the edge of the bed.
Rick ran his gaze over him and chuckled.
"Do you mind?" Diego looked down at himself then back to Rick. "I'm so much more comfortable like this."
"I don't mind at all. Make yourself at home."
Diego flopped back on the bed, lounging like a cat. "How good is your history? What do you know about 1645, England? Suffolk and Essex, specifically."
"Well, let me think." Rick made a point of looking deep in thought as he settled into his well-worn reading chair next to Diego's side of the bed. He put his bare feet on the mattress, crossing his legs at the ankles. "The full sum of my knowledge about 1645 is that it was immediately followed by 1646. History wasn't exactly my favorite subject in school."
Diego smiled. "The year 1645 was right in the heart of the witch burnings in England. In that year alone, over a hundred people were condemned to death as supposed witches. One man, Matthew Hopkins, claimed responsibility for twenty-nine executions on his own." Diego patted a spot on the mattress beside him. Rick rose from his chair and sat on the bed, and Diego crawled onto his lap. "Some witches conjure demons. Raise your arms."
"But for what purpose?" Rick lifted his arms, and Diego pulled his shirt off. "You have some abilities I don't understand, and the word demon is admittedly scary. But so far you seem mostly non-threatening."
"Only because I happen to like you, and you aren't trying to bind and use me. I can be quite nasty if you piss me off." Diego licked along the top of Rick's shoulder. "During the Burning Times, most of the witches hung or burned were normal, ordinary people. Most of them were poor souls someone wanted to get rid of---but not all. Anne Cobbler was the real thing. She had summoned me a few years earlier to do her bidding. When they caught her and put her to death, I should've been set free on the world as Anne's binding dissolved with her last breath, but damn if Matthew Hopkins wasn't already wise to my existence. When he threw Anne into the fire, he had his assistant recite the exorcism rite and sent me back to hell."
Rick winced at the pain he saw in Diego's eyes. "Since this body is---for lack of a better term---borrowed, I'm guessing Diego isn't your name."
"No," Diego said. "And no offense, but I'm not going to tell you my real name. Knowing my true name gives a person too much power over me." Once again, he had the look of ancients in his eyes, far from innocent and childlike. "I took Diego from a T-shirt one of the teenagers in the cemetery wore. Which reminds me---you do realize they'll try again, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know." Rick scooted back on the bed and pulled Diego along with him. "I think I should probably stake out---hey! Wait a minute. I have a demon in my house like it's the most natural thing in the world, the best friend I've ever had looked at me as if I'm suddenly his mortal enemy because I defended you, and you don't trust me?"
Diego placed the palms of his hands on Rick's chest. "I'm sorry. You're not the one I don't trust, but if you slip and someone like Steve learns my true name, I could find myself back in the pit. Maybe one day we'll come to a point in our relationship where I'll feel comfortable enough to share, but not now. We've only just met."
Feeling suddenly vulnerable, Rick's heart began to pound, his pulse racing. He looked into Diego's eyes. "Are you capable of feeling love?"
Diego furrowed his brow while considering the question. "I don't know for certain. I've never personally experienced the emotion, but I know others like me who have. I know I would be upset were I to be parted from you. I would destroy anyone who tried to come between us."
Rick smiled and wormed his way out of his jeans beneath Diego. "Then I guess that'll have to do for now."
"I've upset you." Diego sank down, the crack of his ass settling directly over Rick's semi-erect cock. "Contrary to what most religions teach, demons cannot lie. We might not always tell you what you want to hear, but because we were once angels it's impossible for us to lie. Humans, unfortunately, like to believe in lies if the falsehood allows them to avoid distasteful emotions like sorrow and jealousy. I'm afraid I can't accommodate so-called little white lies. I'm sorry."
"Telling the truth is nothing to be sorry about. And you didn't upset me, but I'm glad you explained." Rick moved his hips with the slightest motion and rubbed his cock against Diego's ass, getting himself hard. "I guess it's only fair, then, for me to promise to never lie to you."
Diego chuckled. "Best not. I can tell when you're not speaking the truth---your heart rate and scent betray you." Arching his back, he reached behind and parted his cheeks, groaning as Rick's shifting efforts brought penetration closer. "But there are perquisites in having a partner who keeps you young and healthy, and never tires of sex."
"You really are a brat." Rick stretched and reached to the headboard to grab the bottle of lube normally reserved for jerking off. The thought made him chuckle. He squeezed out some lube and slipped his hand down between himself and Diego to give his cock a few slippery swipes. His erection felt as hard as the barrel of his gun, and entry came smooth and easy. "Yeah . . . there are those perks."
Diego gripped Rick by the hips, using the leverage to help fuck himself on Rick at a steady pace. His own cock, slender and rigid, slapped shamelessly against his flat belly. "Your dick certainly isn't complaining."
Leaning forward and smashing his mouth against Rick's, Diego growled through a kiss, his eager tongue giving Rick little choice but to participate.
Rick melted into the moment and pushed the complication of his current situation out of mind. He returned Diego's kiss with a fierce, possessive intensity that previously would've scared him. Bucking his hips off the bed, he slammed up into Diego, driving his cock in deep. He swore his blood tingled in his veins, and the force of one particularly rough upstroke felt especially good.
Diego's cock left a trail of sticky excitement on Rick's stomach, and dark eyes bore down, the fire behind them apparent. "Fuck me harder, Rick. I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk in the morning."
Whether the talent originated from the hot young body Diego occupied or from mojo spawned by the demon himself, the gripping undulations of the tight ass wrapped around Rick's cock felt fucking incredible. He moaned with abandon and fucked Diego harder. "Tight fucking ass. Show me what you got, fallen angel. Ride me."
Diego grabbed onto the metalwork of the bed's headboard and fucked Rick into the mattress. The air behind Diego seemed to suddenly take on form. Patterns swirled in the air like the waves off a sidewalk on a hot summer day, and the longer Rick watched the more their shape coalesced.
Wings. Outstretched and pumping as if providing balance.
Mesmerized, Rick stared at the shimmering, vaporous wings as Diego continued to fuck him senseless. He'd never seen anything so ethereal, so profoundly glorious in his life.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he said, and Diego slammed down on his cock again. Rick couldn't hold back a deep, roaring moan as Diego's ass---that perfect, otherworldly ass---felt as if it were trying to suck the cum right out of him. "Fuck, Diego, fuck, here it comes . . . ."
Diego clenched his ass muscles and cried out, spattering his load across Rick's chest and belly as Rick filled him.
Rick grabbed Diego's shoulders, pulling him down hard while the last surges of his cum spurted inside that fucking fantastic ass. Never had he experienced such a violent orgasm, and he worried for a moment whether he'd gone blind as everything in his field of vision flashed white. He closed his eyes against the brightness, not opening them again until the discomfort subsided and he could breathe again. He started to speak and stuttered, finally laughing and offering only a self-deprecating, "I got nothin'."
Diego answered with a tender kiss, the spectral wings dissolving from sight. "Before you fall asleep," he said, smiling, "you should have a little snack." He ran a fingertip down the length of his pretty neck, along his left carotid artery. "I promise you'll wake up feeling like a new man."
Chapter Five
Extreme sex and blood feeding kept him the prisoner of deep sleep until the sun climbed over the hump of the next day and traveled back down to the horizon. Rick struggled awake to the sound of clanking pipes from the shower shutting off in the bathroom down the hall.
A minute later, Diego strolled into the bedroom toweling off. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah, I am." Rick gave Diego an appreciative smile, rubbing a hand over the six-pack abs he'd somehow acquired during his daylong nap. "But I'm afraid to look in the mirror. I haven't had a stomach like this in fifteen years or so."
"As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, we should probably abstain from sex for the next twenty-four hours. That will give your body time to adapt to its new configuration." Diego opened the closet and flipped through the hanging clothes. "Get up. We have to return to the cemetery tonight."
Reluctantly, Rick climbed out of bed and joined Diego at the closet. "I'm curious---why do you want to stop them?"
A smile and an excited gasp announced a pair of black jeans to Diego's liking, and he grabbed them from the hanger and tugged them on. "Because this is my turf now. I have no idea who of my brethren stands next in line for a topside green card, and I don't want to risk the lucky winner being one who might mess with what I have here. I told you---not all demons are as sweet natured as I am. Consider yourself lucky."
"Are you this territorial about everything?" Rick reached into the closet and selected a pair of blue jeans.
Diego blushed. "Only things I care about. You should wear your uniform. I know you're not on duty, but they won't know that, and then you'll have the edge."
"I think they might not bolt as readily if they don't see the uniform coming." Rick shrugged.
"Ah . . . you want to capture them. I hadn't considered that as a possibility." Diego nodded. "Then yes, perhaps your idea is best."
"Of course I want to capture them. No one gets hurt unless it's absolutely necessary. As far as the authorities are concerned, these kids are nothing more than mischievous punks." Rick stepped into his jeans and zipped, and grabbed a black polo shirt from the closet. "We'll get there early. With all the huge statuary, it shouldn't be too hard to keep out of sight."
Diego's grin lit up the room. "Especially not when you have me around."
Chapter Six
With the headlights off, Rick steered his black Jeep Cherokee into the parking lot behind the old church building at St. Mary's shortly before the clock struck two. He pulled into a shadowed corner and cut the engine. Without a word, he and Diego climbed out and headed for the row of hedges bordering the cemetery.
St. Mary's wasn't the largest graveyard in Baltimore, but it also wasn't the smallest. With Diego possessing the originally intended body, Rick needed to know where the next most likely candidate would be buried. Before leaving the house, he placed a call to the office of the cemetery's funeral director, whose night clerk confirmed there'd been two burials during the past forty-eight hours. One had been Carol Bernice Vickers, age eighty-five. Not a desirable host for a demon.
The other decedent, a young man by the name of Benjamin Riley, sounded perfect. At twenty-six, leukemia had put him in the ground. Although his eternal soul had certainly gone to heaven, dying un-baptized put his body up for grabs.
Darkness and unkempt terrain remained the only obstacles. The man's gravesite lay in the northern quadrant of the cemetery, the oldest and least maintained section of the property.
"This way." Diego walked with a confident gait in a set direction.
Rick gave him a questioning look.
Diego shrugged. "I can smell fresh earth and rotting flesh strongest in this direction."
They walked the remaining distance in silence. Rick grabbed Diego by the arm and stopped him once he found the marker they sought.
"We can take cover on this side of the crying angel statue," Rick whispered. "Benjamin Riley's grave should be three plots down on the other side."
As they approached the reproduction of William Wetmore Story's Angel of Grief, Diego became visibly shaken. A stylized cube representing a sarcophagus formed the base of the statue, and behind the sarcophagus knelt an angel. Her wings drooped sadly behind her as she leaned forward over the top of the cube, weeping.
Diego went to the statue and touched one wing with trembling fingers. "Our wings are larger than this, but the shape is accurate," he said in a sad whisper.
A wave of crushing sorrow washed over and through Rick, as if Diego exuded a tangible form of grief. His eyes stung and his stomach twisted, and for a moment Rick thought he might vomit. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, half afraid to look at Diego's face. But he couldn't look away.
Tightly controlled pain, the sorrow of loss, and anger born of endless suffering emanated from Diego's eyes.
Compassion stabbed Rick's heart like a lance and he winced. "Maybe one day we can talk about what happened to you when you fell. I'm a pretty good listener."
Diego bit his bottom lip and nodded, and then he took his post behind the sorrowful stone. Rick went to his side and leaned against him, silently expressing support. The whole story, and any comfort Rick could offer, had to be postponed for another time.
They waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"Something's wrong," Diego said. "They should've been here by now. The opening of hell's gate has to happen precisely at three, and two minutes doesn't leave them long enough for preparations."
Rick glanced down at his wrist---2:58 a.m. exactly---and wondered how Diego knew the precise time since he wasn't wearing a watch. Looking around, squinting through the darkness, Rick saw nothing amiss and shook his head. "Maybe they're waiting a few days since I interrupted their last attempt."
"No, they can't wait." Diego walked to the anticipated grave. "The heavens are aligned correctly for only two days at a time. If they skip tonight, they'll have to wait another---Rick, look. This is the wrong grave."
Rick stepped forward and saw the name of Carol B. Vickers clearly carved into the modest headstone. "Fuck! Can't anyone perform a simple task anymore without screwing up? Come on."
He took Diego by the hand and started running. If he didn't trip over a broken headstone or sprain an ankle on the lumpy ground, they might arrive at the other grave on the opposite end of the cemetery by three o'clock. But even that hinged on the clerk having merely flip-flopped the locations and not having fucked up entirely.
Diego came to a sudden stop and nearly jerked Rick to the ground. The shimmer of ethereal wings returned, and Diego cocked his head as if listening for something. "Someone has opened the gate." He turned in a slow circle. Stopping, he fixed his gaze on a distant spot and pointed. "There. The site is there."
Rick started to comment, but Diego disappeared.
"Damn, I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Rick grumbled, taking off at top speed. At one minute after three he came to a halt, a freshly exhumed grave approximately thirty feet ahead. To Rick's surprise, he didn't feel at all winded, and despite the tense situation and potential for danger, he cracked a smile. Not bad for an old man. He parked himself behind a tall, obelisk-shaped gravestone and carefully peered around one corner.
Six boys---each bowed down on one knee---surrounded a seventh, who stood in the center of them tall and still, naked and splotched with dirt. The pentagram of candles had already snuffed out, and a canister of salt sat on the ground near a boy with short blond hair. In the faint moonlight, Rick could just make out the telltale white ring surrounding the re-animated, demon-possessed corpse of Benjamin Riley.
No visible sign of Diego, yet in his heart Rick knew he lurked nearby.
The demon turned to face the blond-haired boy, whispering in a tongue Rick didn't recognize.
"I'll distract the demon," Diego said, suddenly at Rick's back, his lips brushing erotically against Rick's ear as he spoke. "You need to get the mortals away from him. Their leader, Jonathan, is the blond boy."
A shuddering breath left Rick involuntarily as tiny hairs prickled along the length of his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed hard, took a deep breath and tried to reclaim his center. "There are six of them and one of me---any suggestions?"
"Most of them are probably going to chicken out and run the moment I appear. They'll recognize this body, and they know what a demon outside a salt circle means. They're reckless, not stupid."
Rick sensed the air behind him change, and then Diego materialized outside the circle of salt in the boys' midst.
Diego smiled at the captivated group. "You have no need for him, for I have returned to you. All is forgiven. Send this demon back."
Two boys spun away from Diego and knocked into each other, hard. One of them tripped, and he scrabbled at the ground in a panic and sent loose dirt flying---enough to cover a narrow strip of the salt ring.
The demon inside the circle cackled.
Diego cringed. "You boys had better get out of here, now!" He spun and looked at Rick. "This is about to get ugly! The circle is---"
Rick saw the impact coming but had no time to shout a warning. The other demon slammed full force into Diego, and although the body looked completely human, every slash the creature released on Diego left deep, horrific gouges. Operating solely on instinct, Rick reached inside his jacket and drew his gun. He took aim at the newly risen demon's chest and squeezed off three shots in rapid succession, hitting his mark dead on.
The force of the bullets knocked the demon off Diego and brought the focus of rage down on Rick. With Diego gasping on the ground, Rick was on his own. He stepped back and fired again and again, but this time the bullets had no effect. Teenagers scattered in all directions. The demon disappeared and immediately re-materialized in front of Rick, wrapping a hand around Rick's throat, lifting him off the ground with ease.
"You reek disgustingly of my little brother," the demon said, jerking its head toward Diego, the stench of rot still on the foul thing's breath. The demon---in the emaciated body of what had obviously been a handsome but sickly young man---cocked its head and studied Rick, like a disturbed child scrutinizing a bug before dismembering the poor creature alive. Rick struggled; the demon squeezed tighter, a dangerous smile curving parched, cracked lips.
Rick's neck throbbed, the flow of blood damming up at his jugular from the pressure of the demon's grip, and twinkling lights before his vision heralded impending unconsciousness.
"Raum! Release him!" Diego's voice drifted to Rick's ears, muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat.
"Step closer and I will end him," Raum growled. "You had your chance, brother. You aren't the only one tired of the eternal pit." Raum spat at Diego's feet and shook its prey, the force of the gripping hand collapsing Rick's windpipe.
As Rick sensed the world starting to close in around him, something collided with them hard and sent him falling to the ground, crumpling with no strength left in his legs. He watched, stunned and unable to move, hanging on to consciousness by a thread, cursing himself for having let this situation get so far out of hand.
The air around the demons wavered as diaphanous wings became raised to intimidate, and they circled each other like professional boxers in the ring. Diego kept looking toward Rick with worry, and Raum took full advantage of one glance to rip into him. Diego hit the ground hard, brought his feet up and kicked with sufficient force to send Raum reeling back. Scrambling backward on his hands and feet like a crab, Diego readied himself for another attack.
"Please, Raum! I've found happiness, and you're going to ruin it for me. I know you, and you wouldn't have served those kids. You would've toyed with them for a while then eaten them!"
"Only one or two," Raum said, leering. "Gluttony has never been one of my problems." He raked one hand through the air in front of him; the borrowed shirt Diego wore ripped open to reveal torn, bleeding skin. "Confinement, however, is. It's going to take more than your weak skills to send me back to hell, my brother. You're still more angel than demon---admit it!" Snarling, Raum circled again, moving closer to Diego. "You never embraced your fall, and now you want to live the life of the very ones who tore you from our Father? It sickens me to call you kin."
"The humans aren't responsible for Father's obsession with them. They're pawns on his chessboard, as much as we have always been." Diego flattened his palm and slashed his hand through the air, and a matching pattern of red appeared on Raum's throat. The wound began closing at once. Diego sliced the air again, but no cut appeared on Raum at all. "I might not have strength enough to best you, brother, but I have something even more powerful."
"What could you possibly use to defeat me? Come to me like a good little angel and make this easy on yourself." Raum laughed, the booming sound of pure evil bouncing off stonework and marble.
Through a hazy cloud of pain, Rick tried to call out to Diego in warning, but nothing emerged from his throat but a gurgling rush of blood. He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment and prayed for this nightmare to end. God had been silent in Rick's life for a long, long time and evidently chose to remain so.
An impish smile touched Diego's lips. "The one thing I have that you don't, Raum, is the experience of being bound by a true witch. She treated me well. I did my work for her without complaint, and I listened and learned." Diego curved two fingers and made a sharp cut in the air, but not in Raum's direction.
Rick followed the path of Diego's arm, to a tree trunk etched with some sort of complex sigil glowing white-hot.
Diego glanced at Rick then went back to glaring at Raum. "Tell our master below---I've decided I don't want to work for him anymore. I'm following my own path now."
An eerie silence seemed to blanket the world and then the ground began to rumble. Raum's eyes went wide. "Why, you sneaky little son of a---"
The white glow from the carved sigil surged out like a blinding laser, the end of the beam hitting Raum directly in the heart. Screaming, Raum started shaking violently as if having a massive seizure, its arms flailing, a putrid yellow foam gushing from its mouth. Rick watched in stunned amazement as the beam of light sucked back into the tree. The sigil disappeared, leaving behind unblemished bark on the trunk.
With a dead-weight thud, the body of Benjamin Riley collapsed to the dirt, once again lifeless.
Diego dropped to his knees and scrambled toward Rick, gathering the limp body, brushing dirt, blood and grass from Rick's face. "Please, please tell me he didn't break you!" Frantic, Diego looked around, and Rick numbly followed his gaze. A bobbing light in the distance approached. Diego gripped Rick tighter. "I have to get you out of here."
Rick tried to move but couldn't. He knew his throat bled internally---he'd been swallowing blood constantly since Raum had dropped him onto the ground. He felt so damn weak; miraculously, he hadn't lost consciousness, but he didn't have the strength to walk much less run. He pawed at Diego's already healed chest and mouthed the words, "Get out of here."
"No!" Diego shook his head, vehement disobedience in his eyes. "I'm not leaving you. Even if you make it to the hospital, their abilities are limited. I can heal you, but I need time and we can't do it here, and I can teleport only myself. Damn!"
The light came closer, accompanied by the familiar voice of Steve. "Get away from him, you demon bastard!"
Diego shielded Rick with his body in a protective stance and growled. "He's hurt! You must leave him to me!"
"I left him to you last night at his request, and now look at him! I should've finished you off when I had the chance." Steve seemed fearless, and he reached down and dragged Diego off Rick.
Diego gave Steve a shove then backed away. "I didn't do this!"
"No? Then who did? Him?" Steve pointed to the decaying corpse on the ground. "I know what happened. You were here feeding and Rick caught you!"
Rick moaned and tried to reach out with one hand but fell back exhausted. He needed to stop this, but he could do no more than helplessly watch.
"No!" Diego took another step back, knocking over a candle. "Another demon possessed the body you saw, and I banished it back to hell!"
Steve grinned and pressed forward, chest out, full of bravado, and he sneaked a downward glance. "You know what? I don't care, and I don't want to hear another fuckin' word out of you." He snatched the canister from the ground, upending the salt to restore the broken circle with Diego trapped inside. "Father Devon at the seminary in Roland Park gave me a crash course in demonology this morning. Very helpful."
In a panic, Rick dug for his last reserves and stretched out his right arm, grabbing Steve by the ankle. He groaned in pain from the effort and, unable to speak, he looked up and shook his head, attempting to implore Steve with his eyes. From the determined, angry look on Steve's face, Rick realized his friend remained unreachable to the notion Diego could be anything but wicked.
"I'll get you out of here and to the hospital." Steve pulled a small black book from his jacket pocket. "As soon as I take care of this abomination."
Diego pressed to the far side of the circle, fear unmistakable in his eyes.
If Steve knows about the salt, Rick thought, God only knows what else he learned from the priest. The look of unbridled fright on Diego's face pierced Rick's heart as surely as any sharp blade. He's afraid he's going back. And Raum will be waiting for him. Oh God, please . . . help me!
Summoning every shred of energy he had left, Rick lunged forward into Steve's shins. Caught unawares, Steve stumbled. To Rick, the world seemed to suddenly tilt on an odd angle, and the scene before him ran in slow motion. Before Steve's ass hit the ground, Rick managed to stretch out one finger and erased a narrow line through the circle of salt. He caught Diego's attention and silently screamed, "Go!"
Diego nodded once, his eyes full of regret, and vanished.
"No!" Steve clambered to his feet and stamped on the ground where Diego had stood.
Rick made a terrible, wet gasping noise and Steve rushed to him, dropping to his knees. He fished his phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for dispatch. "Wren, badge 6-1-0-9 requesting assistance for a 108 at St. Mary's Cemetery, southwest corner, Hickory at West 39th. I have an officer down!"
Chapter Seven
The surgeon at Sinai Hospital said Rick had been one lucky S.O.B., and Rick didn't disagree. Coming away from a demon attack with only a partially crushed trachea---leaving him with nothing more than a few stitches and a raspy voice---seemed pretty damn lucky to him, too. One of the nurses, a cute little thing in her early twenties who wore her white skirt a little too short, told him he must have a guardian angel.
Rick smiled. Neither the hospital nor the police department knew the truth of what happened at the cemetery. Despite Diego's apprehension regarding modern medicine, everything had turned out fine. Rick would be able to blow this Popsicle stand in two days and be back on the job in seven. According to the doctors, the only lasting effect of the trauma would be Rick having a husky, gravel voice for the rest of his life. Not an inordinately steep price, all things considered.
But what the doctors couldn't explain was how his cholesterol levels and blood pressure readings were well within normal limits after having been significantly elevated less than three months ago. They also marveled about how a man of forty-eight managed to look thirty-five when he drank a good bit, ate too much red meat, and rarely exercised. "Good Irish genes," Rick had told them with a wink.
Now, all he had to do was enjoy another two days of being waited on hand and foot by Short-Skirted Nurse and her equally attentive colleagues, and wonder where the hell Diego had gone. Rick winced at the poor choice of words. He looked toward the ceiling and sighed, his thoughts interrupted by a knock on the unlocked door. A familiar face peeked in.
"Hey, buddy! Sorry I didn't come to visit sooner." Steve closed the door behind him. "I've been working my ass off, straightening out the mess you made at the cemetery. I fudged the paperwork, and I paid a little visit to one Jonathan Munson and friends. They won't be causing any more trouble." Steve put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Man, you look fucking great for someone who almost checked out of the Hotel California."
"I can check out, but I can never leave? You're a riot." Rick snorted a sarcastic laugh and stuck out his right hand. "I would stand, but the regulation uniform around here is a little breezy in the backside."
"Keep your butt planted." Steve took Rick's hand in a warm shake. "You can show your ass off to the cute nurse after I'm gone. Figures, doesn't it? If I landed in here, I'd probably get the gay guy nurse, and here they stick you with the hot chick you won't even look at twice. What a waste."
Steve seemed jovial on the surface as he yammered on about the considerable attributes of Short-Skirted Nurse, but Rick noticed the man had dark rings under his eyes, and his hair bordered on needing a shampoo.
Finally, Steve ventured off the subject of tits and ass. "I feel terrible, but there's been no sign of your demon friend. I've looked high and low, but I'm pretty sure he's skipped town. I'm sorry, Rick."
Interesting phrasing. If Rick hadn't been a veteran cop himself, the subtleties might've escaped his notice.
Interrogation 101. Act friendly and sympathetic at first, and make the perp think you're looking out for his best interests.
Nice try, but Rick knew better. He raised his guard, believing Steve had been out looking, but not for the benevolent purpose of reuniting star-crossed lovers. Rick needed to tread with care from this point forward. He willed his pulse to calm and spoke quietly in his brand new, whiskey-and-cigarettes voice. "That's too bad. Where have you looked?"
Steve grabbed the plastic guest chair, swung it close to the bed and straddled the seat backward like a cowboy. He pursed his lips and sniffed. "Cemetery, of course. Went over the place with Bill Parker until I knew every blade of grass personally. The kids left their little black book of hocus-pocus behind. Interesting little missal." Steve rubbed his chin. "Then I went through your house. Had a couple off-duty pals on stakeout for the past two nights, but your boy is slick. Either that, or he really has hit the road."
Angry heat warmed Rick's face. "You searched my house? Under what kind of warrant?"
"Oh come on, Rick. I'm doing you a favor!" Steve smiled and patted Rick's knee through the bed sheet. "That monster almost killed you, so don't tell me you're still concerned about the fuckin' thing like it's a friend!"
In the re-group of the century, Rick pushed away his rage, grappling for an excuse. "No, of course not." He manufactured an embarrassed smile and waved a dismissive hand. "Just worried someone not as tolerant as yourself might've stumbled upon my gay porn collection."
"Oh hell, I wouldn't do that to you. I didn't let anyone else go inside." Steve sighed. "Big mistake, anyway. Captain found out, and I got myself put on suspension over this whole fucked-up mess."
Shit. "I'm sorry to hear that."
So, Steve hadn't told his superiors exactly who---or in this case, what---he'd been looking for at the cemetery, or the reason for the illegal search of Rick's house. Who would believe the man anyway, without having witnessed such a thing firsthand? Had Steve come to him and said, "Rick, by the way, my wife is a demon," Rick's instant reply would've been a snorting laugh followed by, "Yeah, and tell her I said to give my regards to Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny."
Rick locked eyes with Steve. "You need to let this go. Get rid of the book and forget about it. Nothing good will come of this, I promise you."
Steve gaze remained steady. "I'm not the only one, you know. I did some research. Got in touch with some good folks in Virginia---well organized and very well funded. There's a network of people who hunt these things, Rick, all over the world. I believe I've received a calling to join them. The corpse in the cemetery---I discovered those kids were trying to raise another one of those monsters."
"They did raise another one!" Rick put a hand to his throat, over the bandage covering his surgical incision. Using his voice much above a whisper hurt like a bitch, but damn it! He took a deep breath. "The thing attacked me, and Diego risked himself to send it back to hell. He saved my fucking life, Steve!"
"Easy there, buddy." Steve raised both hands. "Your little demon lover is what got you into this whole sordid mess in the first place. He's a loose end I need to tie up and chuck in the bay."
"Well, I guess that's that." Rick grabbed the remote off the tray beside the table and clicked on the television, dismissive. "Forgive me if I don't wish you good luck in your new career." He didn't want to look Steve in the eyes but he forced himself, only to find a fanatical zealot staring back instead of his old friend. Sadness covered him like a leaden blanket. "I'm sorry we have to end things like this. You're the best friend I've ever had, Steve, but I can't condone you killing someone I---" He paused long enough to swallow the catch in his throat, a painful endeavor. "Someone I care so much about. I think maybe you'd better leave."
Steve shook his head in obvious disappointment and rose from the plastic chair. "I feel for you, Rick, I really do. I know you've lived a lonely life, but you've had chances to connect with people that you didn't take. Yet when this . . . this violation comes waltzing in and shows you a speck of kindness, you welcome the thing into your heart with no questions asked." He shrugged, sliding the chair back in place. "You'll thank me one day. I know you will, but until then you'd be wise to keep Diego off my fuckin' radar."
With a heavy heart, Rick watched Steve cross the room. He couldn't change Steve's mind. He couldn't prevent him from pursuing this senseless, suicidal course of action. But he also couldn't let his friend walk through that door, out of his life and into danger, without offering a familiar prayer---the same inelegant yet powerful invocation their captain sent them out onto the streets of Baltimore with each day.
"Hey, Steve?"
With his hand grasping the doorknob, Steve craned his neck to look back.
Rick fought hard to keep his eyes dry and his crappy new voice from cracking. "Don't get dead."
Chapter Eight
The first day out of the hospital wasn't so bad, mainly because Rick had been so damn busy. Steve made a fucking wreck of the house during the needless searches, and Rick spent close to eighteen hours restoring his home to some reasonable semblance of order. Exhausted afterward, he slept fairly well, only jerking awake a few times. He thought he heard a floorboard creak in the attic soon after falling asleep, and in the middle of the night he could've sworn he heard the telltale squeal of the failing alternator belt of Steve's four-year-old sedan.
Rick had hounded Steve for months to take the car to the dealership to have the damn belt replaced, and Steve kept saying he'd get around to it "next weekend."
Next weekend never arrived, but this wasn't Rick's concern any longer, and lots of cars had squealing belts. He rolled over and dozed off again, managing to stay asleep until sunrise.
The second day home didn't pass as quickly. With the work necessary to tidy his trashed house done, there wasn't much else to do but watch TV, futz on the computer, read a book, or take a nap. He exhausted all four options by noon, leaving him with nothing to do but think.
He pushed Steve out his mind, choosing to grieve over the soured friendship at a later date when he felt more emotionally equipped. Now, the thought weighing on his heart like an anvil was Diego. Still no sign of his beautiful fallen angel. Nothing in the house, nothing in his head, nothing but an empty hole in his heart Rick feared would remain perpetually vacant.
Hours ticked by like days, and despite the doctor's warning not to mix the painkillers with booze, Rick succumbed to temptation. He'd skip the next dose of pills; it's not like they'd done fuck-all to kill the real pain, the pain eating away at him from the inside. He yanked a new bottle of tequila from the cupboard over the kitchen sink.
After four hours of putting a good hurting on the bottle, Rick decided to call it a night. He hauled himself off the sofa and flipped on the stairwell light.
Nothing happened.
Thinking he must've missed the button in his drunken state, he more carefully pushed the little switch upward.
Still nothing.
Then all the power in the house went dead.
"Fuck," he muttered, taking one more pull from the fifth before setting the bottle on a living room table. "Perfect time to blow the fuse box. Can hardly feel my feet at this point. Shit."
Feeling his way along the side of the staircase, he came to the buffet in the dining room and yanked open the top drawer. Muttering curses under his breath, he blindly rummaged for a flashlight so he wouldn't kill himself navigating the basement stairs.
"Finally." Rick flicked on the flashlight, and the beam fell on a grinning face directly in front of him. He yelped and dropped the light.
"Is that any way to greet a friend?" Diego scooped up the flashlight, putting the beam under his chin. He opened his eyes and mouth and made a scary face. "Spooky, huh?"
With a hand over his thumping heart, Rick bent over, lightheaded. "Fuck, Diego." His rasping voice sounded doubly croaky from the full day of tequila abuse. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"No, but I'm worried your Officer Steve might. He's an obnoxious prick, by the way." Diego crouched and peered up at Rick's down-turned face. "I'm sorry I made you wait for me. He lingered outside the house for days, so I didn't dare come too close. He might know how to off me by now."
Catching his breath, Rick stood and leaned back against the wall. "I thought I heard his car go down the street last night. Do you know where he is? And can you do something about the damn lights?"
"Oh. Sorry, but teleportation tends to overload the circuits in these old houses." Diego winked out, taking the only light with him, plunging Rick again into darkness. A moment later the stairwell light came on and Diego re-materialized. "Steve left for Virginia forty-six minutes ago."
Rick took the flashlight from Diego and stuck it back in the drawer, shaking his head. "I can't believe he's going through with this. Do you know if he talked his wife into joining him in this craziness?" The first smile in five days spread across Rick's face as he ran his eyes over Diego's totally naked body. "Nice outfit."
"I really hate clothes." Diego grinned. "And I know you don't honestly mind. Your friend told his wife he's taking up hunting while he has the time off from work---but she thinks he means deer and ducks, not demons."
Rick would deal with the mounting fallout of Steve's holier-than-thou crusade later. The hour grew late, his throat hurt and he felt dog-tired, and in front of him stood the greatest stark-naked temptation he'd ever known. He chuckled. "I thought you weren't coming back, so I got drunk. You wouldn't take advantage of a man in my condition, would you?"
"You do realize I fell from grace because of temptation, right?"
Rick snorted. "Don't we all?"
Diego hooked an arm around Rick's waist and led him up the stairs. "I can't stay here, you know. He'll be back. With friends."
"I know." Rick disengaged from Diego's arm and dropped back against the upstairs hallway wall. He looked at his beautiful lover and smiled.
So, maybe Diego hadn't been the warmest guy on the planet so far, but even so, he'd been a far cry from any of Rick's prior involvements. Diego had put his life on the line for Rick's sake and, damn it, the offer of such a sacrifice meant something.
Wasn't that very premise the fundamental basis of the Christian faith---that there is no greater love than a man willing to lay down his life for another?
Perhaps the movies, the songs, and the books had the whole damn thing dead wrong. Maybe there didn't need to be unrestrained, emotional outpourings when two people truly connected. No fluttering hearts, no coy romancing, no violins playing in the background. No need to utter those much sought after, frivolously repeated but increasingly empty three words.
Maybe---just maybe---a quiet and non-descript moment of peace, of feeling comfortable in one's own skin for the first time meant as much or more than those things.
Rick decided to follow Diego's example of taking a potentially life-altering risk. His buzz killed, his heart pounded in his chest with a fearsome determination. He reached out and grasped Diego's delicate jaw in his big, strong, callused hand. "Take me with you. Wherever you want to go, I'm there."
Diego's expression melted into one of a child on Christmas morning at the first sight of presents under the tree, but then he abruptly sobered. "Are you sure? You would abandon your life here for me? We might never be able to stop running, and Steve won't be the only one hunting me---hunting us. Now that the hunters know I have a human companion, they'll attempt to use you to get to me."
"Let them try." Rick nodded toward his bedroom with a boozy grin. "Want to have some dirty sex before we get the hell out of Dodge?"
Diego slipped his fingers through Rick's gray-peppered hair. "You do need a touchup. We can fuck, and you can drink from me until you look so young no one will recognize you."
Laughing, Rick tugged Diego into the bedroom, then spun and pushed him backward onto the bed. "Sounds like a lot more fun than dye jobs and plastic surgery."
Regardless of waning mojo, Rick felt younger than ever.
~ The End ~
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Reno MacLeod and partner Jaye Valentine live on the south coast of Massachusetts with their menagerie of cats, freshwater fish, and dust mice. They enjoy writing and watching movies together, and both are shamefully fond of competitive reality shows. In addition to writing, Reno designs and creates book cover art and logos, while Jaye also writes random fare under the pen name Acer Adamson. For more information on their writing, please visit Reno and Jaye at http://macleodvalentine.com.
Also By The Authors:
by Jaye Valentine & Reno MacLeodStarCrossed 1: Demon TailzStarCrossed 2: Opposite Ends of the SpectrumStarCrossed 2 ½: Sangria and SeraphimStarCrossed 3: Objects in the MirrorStarCrossed 3 ½: Angel Tears
StarCrossed 4: In the Blink of an EyeSoft FocusMessiah 1: The Three of CupsMessiah 2: The Page of WandsSins of the MessiahA Perfect GameLittle JapanPurple Hearts
Let Them Try
Let Them Try Harder
 by Jaye ValentineDamn GorgeousFirecrackerHappily Ever Before
by Acer AdamsonOnly Words (Max & Skyler 1)
Any Excuse (Max & Skyler 2)
Tinseltown Blues (#1): All That Glitters
Tinseltown Blues (#2): Hot Like Me!
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