Masters of Midnight: Erotic Tales of the Vampire

  “Accept the gift,” Trey whispered, moving his mouth down Ben’s neck.

  Ben felt the pressure of Trey’s teeth against his skin, a sharp prick of pain followed by a flood of heat. He was aware of a dimming of his senses, a dark embrace of calm that made him forget everything.

  And then, cutting through it all, came the smell of rot. It filled his nose, gagging him, and suddenly he was awake once more. He pushed against Trey, sending his lover stumbling backward. Trey looked up at him, his mouth bloodied. Ben put his hand to his neck and it came away wet and sticky.

  “Fool,” Trey hissed as his features collapsed into the corrupt patchwork of skin and bone that was Blackwood’s real countenance. “You could have had everything.”

  Ben grabbed the sheet from his bed, tearing off a strip and holding it to his bleeding neck. Watching him, Blackwood laughed cruelly.

  “That was your only chance for survival,” he said. “Now that you have refused me, you are as good as dead. When you’ve served my purposes, then I will come to finish you.”

  He stood up, backing away into the shadows. Ben watched him, his fingers trembling and fighting the urge to retch. The smell of Blackwood was all around him, choking him like smoke. His throat, filled with the taste of death, ached as he tried to breathe.

  And then it was gone. He choked as fresh air entered his lungs. When he was able to breathe freely again, he looked into the corner of the cell. Where Blackwood had been, there was only moonlight and shadow.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You’re free to go.”

  Harris Finch opened the door to the cell as Ben sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Somehow, despite the horror of the night before, he’d fallen asleep. Now it was daytime, and the shadows of the cell had been replaced by the clear light of a summer morning. Ben got up, stretched, and walked out of the cell, Finch standing aside to let him pass. He followed Ben to the end of the hall and through the station. At the front door, he stopped.

  “Don’t go too far, Mr. Hodge,” he said. “This isn’t over yet.”

  Ben nodded, not saying anything. Then he went to his car, started it, and drove with great relief out of the parking lot. He wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and the cell in which he’d spent the night. The memory of Blackwood’s kiss still lingered in his memory, the putrid smell threatening to envelop him at any moment.

  Had it all really happened? He wanted to believe that it hadn’t, that he’d dreamed up the creature that had visited him in the jail. But he knew that it had been all too real, that he’d come face-to-face with something that shouldn’t be possible, something that had been birthed in the darkest recesses of the world. A vampire. The word still made him cringe, conjuring up images of the goth kids who had roamed his New York neighborhood, their eyes heavily made up, their faces pale as snow. He and Trey had laughed at their earnestness, imagining them sitting in dreary clubs listening to the drone of electronica music while they longed to be more interesting than they really were. Pretenders they were, children playing at dress-up, creating new identities out of fishnet and velvet.

  But they had no idea how mistaken they were. The vampire he’d faced the night before had been nothing like them. Blackwood may have spoken with a human voice, but he was anything but human. He had been once, Ben knew, but now he was nothing but a shell, a crumbling cocoon of skin and bone filled with unnameable evil that animated his limbs. He promised life, but he lied.

  Was Titus like him? Ben wondered. Beneath his skin, was he nothing but blackness and rot and pain? Or had he really somehow escaped Blackwood’s fate, fighting the decay of his mind and soul? Ben remembered how it had felt in Titus’s arms, how he’d longed to stay in them forever. Had that been a trick of the mind, like Blackwood’s transformation into Trey? Had it been nothing more than his imagination?

  He didn’t believe it. Despite his recent doubts about Titus, he wanted to believe that he’d been wrong. It gave him some small hope that everything would turn out all right, that somehow what was happening to him could be stopped.

  He needed to go to him, he knew that. It was the only way. But would Titus turn him away? Knowing that Ben had betrayed him, would he now turn his back in turn? There was only one way for him to find out.

  He drove quickly through town, not wanting to stop or be seen in case word of his suspected involvement in the killings had gotten out. But the streets were empty, even in the bright light of day. They’re frightened, he thought as he passed by the houses with closed windows and doors. They’re afraid it’s happening again.

  Turning onto the dirt road, he sped past Drowned Girl Pond, averting his eyes from its dark gaze. A minute later he pulled into the driveway of Titus’s house. He turned off the engine and sat, looking at the windows. Was Titus watching him from behind them? He resisted the urge to turn the car around, opening the door and stepping out before he could change his mind.

  As he approached the house, the door opened and Titus stepped out onto the porch. Ben stopped, waiting for him to say something. Titus watched him, not speaking.

  “I saw him,” Ben said finally. “Blackwood. He came to me last night.”

  Titus nodded. “I smell him on you.”

  Ben shivered at the thought. He recalled the effect that Blackwood’s stench had had on him. Was that how Titus felt now, repulsed by his presence?

  “I’m sorry,” said Ben. “For not believing you.”

  “You don’t need to be sorry,” Titus replied. “Come in.”

  He turned and walked into the house, leaving the door open. Ben followed, entering the coolness of the house as if entering a sanctuary. Already he felt safer, as if Blackwood could not touch him as long as he was in the house with Titus. He shut the door behind him with relief.

  Titus was standing near the stairs. He motioned for Ben to follow him. “Come,” he said. “We’ll wash his smell from you.”

  They went upstairs to Titus’s bedroom. Titus left Ben there for a moment while he went into the bathroom. He returned with a white metal basin and several towels, all of which he set on the floor.

  Standing, he slowly unbuttoned Ben’s shirt, slipping it from his shoulders and dropping it on the floor. Then he undid his belt and the buttons of his pants, sliding them down. Ben stepped out of his shoes and allowed Titus to remove the rest.

  When Ben was naked, Titus knelt and placed a cake of soap in the basin of water. He worked it into a lather, releasing the scent of lavender into the air. Then he dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out.

  Without speaking, he stood and began to wash Ben, beginning with his neck and shoulders. His strong fingers worked the soapy water into Ben’s skin, kneading firmly as he moved over Ben’s back. Then he refreshed the cloth and started washing Ben’s chest. The water turned the hair on Ben’s body into wet whorls as Titus scrubbed away the odor of decay, replacing it with the soothing scent of lavender. Ben felt himself relaxing as he was cleaned, the feelings of anxiety turning into ones of peace. He lifted his arms, and Titus washed beneath them. The soap trickled down Ben’s sides, and Titus followed it with his hands, running them over Ben’s body as he chased the water with the cloth.

  He continued down, washing Ben’s legs and feet. Then Ben felt the warm cloth pressed into the crack of his ass. Titus’s fingers worked their way in, parting Ben’s cheeks and teasing his hole for a moment before retreating. A moment later, his cock and balls were surrounded by warmth as Titus cupped them in his hand and washed them too.

  Ben felt himself becoming hard as Titus washed his dick, the soapy water sliding easily over the length of his rapidly-growing shaft. Then the cloth was gone, replaced by the softness of Titus’s mouth. Ben groaned as Titus took him in. His hands moved to Titus’s head, guiding him.

  Titus’s fingers pulled at Ben’s balls as he sucked, his tongue teasing the head of Ben’s cock. Ben thrust against him, sliding deep into Titus’s throat for a moment before pulling out. He fucked Ti
tus’s mouth slowly, savoring the long, warm pull that surrounded him each time he moved in and out.

  Ben was close, but before the first small quakes of release could grow stronger and carry him over the edge, Titus stood up. Turning Ben around, he pushed him over the foot of the bed, so that Ben landed on his stomach. Behind him, he heard the sounds of Titus removing his clothes. Then Titus was between his legs, urging him forward.

  Ben got on his knees, turning to see Titus climbing onto the bed behind him. Titus’s hands gripped the mounds of his ass, spreading them, and then Ben felt a drizzle of warmth as Titus spit. A single finger plunged into Ben’s hole, working it open. Ben shut his eyes, readying himself for what he knew would come next, and when Titus entered him in one fierce thrust, he let out a small cry of pain that quickly turned to a whimper of joy.

  Titus fucked him hard, his thick tool repeatedly pounding Ben’s ass. Ben could feel his own cock slapping against his stomach with each thrust. He reached between his legs, grasping himself and matching the rhythm of Titus’s movements. Each time Titus entered him, Ben pushed down on his balls, driving Titus as deep as possible inside him.

  Soon, Titus began to moan, and Ben felt the dick inside him thicken. A moment later his ass was filled with a burst of heat. He closed his eyes as his own climax ripped through him, covering his hand with thick blasts of cum. He continued to jack off as Titus came again, still fucking him. He could feel Titus trembling as his muscles were seized with the force of the explosion. Then Titus fell forward, pushing himself even deeper into Ben as they both collapsed on the bed.

  They lay like that for some time, Ben relishing the feeling of Titus’s body pressed against his, Titus’s mouth gently kissing his neck. Then they turned on their sides. Titus slipped an arm around Ben, holding him close. And Ben, suddenly more tired than he’d been in a long time, surrendered to the warmth of the sun coming through the window, the softness of the bed, and the strength of Titus’s embrace.

  When he awoke again, it was night and he was alone. He reached for Titus, but the place where he’d been was empty. He noticed, too, that the air was filled with the smell of burning wood. Shadows danced wildly on the walls around him.

  Fire, he thought. Something is on fire.

  He sat up, suddenly very much awake. Looking toward the window, he saw Titus standing there. He was staring out into the yard. His face was illuminated by an ugly glow.

  “He’s burning them,” said Titus quietly.

  Ben got up and joined him at the window. In the yard, the hives were ablaze. Each one burned like a small pyre, the flames leaping up gleefully as they consumed the wooden boxes. Thick smoke swirled up to the sky, the tendrils from each fire joining together to form a black cloud that blotted out the stars.

  And in the midst of the inferno, Blackwood danced. His twisted figure whirled in the haze of ash and fire, celebrating his triumph. Ben and Titus watched him as he performed his fantastic ballet, his body moving to the music of destruction.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They let the hives burn. By the time Ben and Titus dressed and got into the backyard, they were mostly gone anyway. What remained was a smouldering mess of charred wood held together by melted wax in which the bodies of the bees had become fixed, drowned in their own honey. Titus walked from hive to hive, touching each one tenderly. There was no sign of Blackwood.

  “Where do you think he is?” Ben asked.

  “Gone,” Titus said. “Off to do more evil work.”

  Ben looked around at the ruined hives. “What will happen now?” he asked Titus.

  “Without the bees, the sickness will grow stronger in me,” he said.

  “Can’t we just get new bees?” Ben said.

  Titus shook his head. “It will take time,” he replied. “More time than we have. Than I have.”

  “Then what do we do?” asked Ben, fearful of hearing the answer.

  “I must find Blackwood,” Titus said. “Find him and end this.”

  Ben looked around helplessly. There had to be something that would help them. But with the bees gone, he knew that Titus would begin to grow hungry. And when he did, he would need blood. If only he had another hive, Ben thought miserably. Even a wild one would probably be enough. But where would they find such a thing? They needed to find an old hollow tree or a . . . barn. A thought came to him. He turned around, looking at the small shed that still stood, intact, beyond the blackened hives. He forgot about the shed, he thought happily.

  “Titus,” he said, pointing. “Are there still some bees in there?”

  Titus nodded. “Yes,” he answered. “A few in the jars.”

  The two of them exchanged glances, then ran toward the shed. Ben said a silent prayer that Blackwood had failed to notice the building, that they wouldn’t find the jars smashed and the floor littered with bits of glass and the dead bodies of bees.

  Titus flung open the door and turned on the lone bulb that hung in the center of the room. Ben glanced around. The jars were still on the shelves. “They’re safe,” he said.

  Titus went to the shelves and took down two jars, which he brought back to the workbench. The bees inside were moving. Ben could hear their humming, more frantic than usual.

  “They know what happened,” said Titus. “They can smell the deaths of their brethren and of their queens.”

  “How many do you have in here?” Ben asked.

  Titus surveyed the shelves. “Enough for several days,” he said. “But I have to establish new hives soon. These few will not last.”

  “We need to leave here,” Ben said. “We need to get someplace safe. We have to—”

  He stopped speaking as he saw Titus shake his head.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I can’t just leave,” Titus said. “Not until Blackwood is destroyed. If he’s allowed to survive, he will keep on killing.”

  Ben began to protest, but stopped himself before he spoke. He knew Titus was right. They could run as far from Downing as was possible, but Blackwood would still be there, waiting in the darkness to take the lives of anyone he chose.

  “He must be found,” said Titus. “It’s time for this to be over.”

  “How do we find him?” Ben asked.

  “He will need to feed soon,” said Titus. “He needs blood to grow stronger.”

  “He could find victims anywhere,” Ben said helplessly. “Anyone in town would do for his purposes.”

  “He prefers the blood of the grieving,” said Titus. “It’s like wine to him.”

  “Darren Settles,” Ben said. “He’ll go after Steven’s brother. We have to get to him first.”

  The two men left the shed and hurried to Ben’s car. Within minutes they were pulling up to the Settles house. Getting out, they ran to the front door and knocked on it. When a moment later it opened to reveal the distraught face of Mrs. Settles, Ben began speaking.

  “Is Darren here?” he asked.

  Mrs. Settles nodded. “Yes,” she said anxiously. “Why?”

  “He’s in danger,” Ben explained. “From the man who killed Steven.”

  “Stevie?” Mrs. Settles said, her brow knit up in confusion. “You know who killed Stevie?”

  “Yes,” Ben said. “Can we speak to Darren?”

  “He’s in his room,” Mrs. Settles said. “Upstairs.”

  Ben and Titus entered the house and went up the stairs. Mrs. Settles followed them. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Which room is it?” asked Titus when they came to the second floor.

  “At the end,” said Mrs. Settles.

  Ben reached the closed door to Darren’s room and knocked. There was no answer. Trying the handle, he pushed the door open. Immediately, the overwhelming smell of blood filled his nose. He gagged, turning to retch as Titus entered the room behind him.

  Darren Settles was on his bed, stretched out as if in sleep. His hands were folded on his stomach. Where his heart should have been, a gaping hole yawned in his c
hest. The ribs, splintered and shiny with blood and muscle, stuck up from the ripped flesh like fingers. His innards stained the bedsheets, great chunks of meat spread out on the blood-soaked quilt. The walls, too, were spattered with blood, wet roses covering the paper with their grisly pattern.

  “Don’t come in here,” Ben said, suddenly remembering Mrs. Settles. “Don’t look at it.”

  “Oh, I’ve already seen it,” Mrs. Settles said softly.

  Ben looked up at her as Titus turned around, his fingers red with blood from where he’d touched the boy’s mutilated body. Mrs. Settles regarded them with amused detachment, a small smile playing across her face. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

  “Blackwood,” Titus said, his voice harsh.

  Mrs. Settles laughed. “You’ve grown weak,” she said as her features morphed into those of Wallace Blackwood. “I remember when a simple trick like that would never have worked on you.”

  Ben staggered back, away from the walking corpse that now stood in Darren Settles’s bedroom doorway. In his haste, he tripped on the bed, falling against the boy’s body. When he righted himself, he found he was covered in blood and bits of Darren’s flesh. He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to get rid of the stuff.

  Blackwood, watching him, laughed happily. “What wonderful evidence those stains will make,” he said.

  Ben looked at him, not understanding.

  “The police,” Titus said. “They’re coming.”

  As proof of his statement, Ben heard the sound of sirens outside the house. Blackwood smiled, his lips cracking obscenely. “I think soon you will have company,” he said. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to see what transpires.”

  He disappeared into the hallway. Ben glanced at Titus, looking for direction.

  “Let him go,” said Titus.

  The sound of the sirens grew louder. Then they heard the sound of voices at the door.