Luisa Prieto After Series 1 After Dark

AFTER DARK

L.M. Prieto

www.loose-id.com

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This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some

readers may find objectionable (homoerotic sex, violence).

After Dark

L.M. Prieto

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or
existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter One

The wind tugged at Andrew Sutter’s umbrella, making the handle tremble and

allowing the rain to stab him. A blanket of clouds darkened the cemetery, turning the

afternoon into dusk.

Around the casket, three black umbrellas shifted, moving to hide their owners from

the storm.

Andrew tightened his grip on the handle. The rain created a bitterly cold barrier

between him and the others. In spite of how many people he had called a couple days before,

it was a small service. Julia and Sean, Tyler’s wife and thirteen-year-old son; him; and --

The wind yanked Andrew’s umbrella forward. The black shape tugged at his hand,

trying to both draw him toward the casket and to escape.

Movement, out of the corner of his eyes, and then Devon was there, grabbing the

umbrella’s nylon fabric and steadying it.

The wind jerked Devon’s own umbrella out of his hand. The black shape tumbled over

the casket, past a startled Julia, and then disappeared into a cluster of oaks.

“That worked a lot better in my mind,” Devon said. There was a trace of an English

accent in his voice, drawing out the vowels in his words.

L.M. Prieto

Andrew braced his umbrella against the wind and then stepped up behind Devon to

shield him from the rain.

Devon glanced at him. His pale blond hair was damp and half hid his green eyes.

Andrew suspected that Devon kept his hair that long because he wanted to hide an

embarrassing truth: he was beautiful. Across an oval-shaped canvas were long lashes, almost

full lips, and a nose that he’d yet to find the description for. It was not quite aquiline and not

quite button. Andrew didn’t know if he’d ever find it, just like he didn’t know where Tyler

had buried the body of Andrew’s first love. For now, that was all right. Andrew intended to

keep looking.

“How are you doing?” Devon asked.

Andrew shrugged. He’d killed his brother. He felt better than he probably should.

“Thanks for coming.”

“I wish there was more I could do.”

“You’re here.” It was a gift. Andrew hadn’t asked him, but Devon had silently

volunteered, had driven them there, stopping once along the way to pick up a dozen yellow

roses. Sean now held the flowers. They were a bright and trembling splash of color against

the darkness of his clothes.

A quiet sob drew Andrew’s attention to Julia, who stood beside her son. Her dark,

almond-shaped eyes stared at her husband’s casket.

Andrew pressed his umbrella into Devon’s hand. “I’m going to talk to her.”

One step out from beneath the umbrella and his hair was plastered to his head. The

rain stabbed at him, driving cold into his skin. Andrew walked around the casket.

Ironically, Andrew had known Julia first. She’d been in his study group in college. Like

Andrew, she’d studied computer sciences. Unlike him, she’d remained in the field. She and

Tyler had met when Tyler transferred to their school.

After Dark

Julia’s body trembled, and her long, dark hair escaped her barrette and curtained her

face from him.

“Julia --”

“I’m fine.”

A whisper. Three days before, she’d been unable to speak, certain that a mistake had

been made. Andrew had been afraid she’d be the same today. Now, though, this broken

sound worried him. “If there’s anything I can do --”

Julia laughed softly. “Go back in time?”

Andrew looked away. His superpowers were limited to making a great cup of coffee. If

there was anything he could do ... no. It was a lie. If she asked, he’d sell his coffee shop and

give her the money, but he didn’t want to have Tyler back.

Lightning flashed across the sky. One beat of silence, and then thunder crackled

somewhere to the left.

Andrew touched Julia’s shoulder. Tyler would have loved this weather. The lightning

was a subtle threat, not quite there and yet close. They couldn’t ignore it, but when it struck,

it would surprise them.

“We should go,” Andrew said. “Tyler wouldn’t have wanted any of us to get hit by

lightning.”

Julia laughed. The sound was quiet, more like a sob than anything cheerful. “It would

be the perfect end to a beautiful day.”

“Julia ...”

“I know.” Julia drew away from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s go, Sean.”

Andrew watched them until they disappeared behind a copse of oak trees. He’d never

been very good with goodbyes. No one had given him the chance.

Wet footfalls drew closer. He turned.

L.M. Prieto

“Maybe we should drive them home,” Devon said.

Andrew shook his head. “I don’t think Julia wants the company.”

“They shouldn’t be alone tonight. Tyler --”

“Wouldn’t have wanted me there.” Andrew drew him close. Devon was warm and soft

and alive, so vulnerably alive. Flesh could bruise. Bleed. A childhood with Tyler had shown

Andrew too many things. The four pale brown coffee-bean shapes on his left arm? Boiling

oil. The scar beneath his left nipple? Fish hook.

Devon’s fingers whispered over Andrew’s. “Andrew?”

“It’s going to be all right.” Tyler was dead now. Cold, lifeless, and unable to hurt

anyone again. “Let’s go home.”

* * * * *

“Can I get you something to drink?” Devon asked, shrugging out of his coat.

Throughout the entire silent drive home, he’d been trying to think of something comforting

to say, something that wasn’t a cliché or empty words, and all he could come up with was

that.

Andrew shrugged.

“Tea, perhaps,” Devon said. Andrew’s careless gesture was a gift, an interest where

none had been before. “Or coffee. Kylie dropped off a casserole earlier. If you’re hungry --”

“No,” Andrew said. “Thanks, though.”

Devon frowned. He had pushed it by mentioning food too soon.

“I’m going to see if I can catch up on some paperwork for the Coffee Bean.” Andrew

shrugged out of his coat and offered it to Devon. “Would you mind?”

“No.” Devon hung up his coat, and then Andrew’s, in the closet.

Footsteps patted away, and when Devon closed the closet and turned, Andrew was at

the far end of the hall.

After Dark

Devon gnawed on his bottom lip. The funeral had been awkward. Devon had expected

that -- Tyler hadn’t been comfortable with Andrew’s sexual orientation, and Andrew hadn’t

had much patience for him -- and now Devon wondered if Andrew felt ... not regret, but

bad. That he and Tyler would never be able to move past their problems and get to know one

another. No one was right. No one was wrong. Well, maybe Tyler, but he was just human.

Perhaps if they had tried to talk ... “Andrew.”

Andrew turned, and now Devon knew that he had to say something.

“I don’t think he would have wanted things to have always been distant between you,”

Devon said. He closed the distance between them. “He was just --”

“Human. Afraid. A product of his times.” Andrew laughed. The quiet, rumbling sound

cut into Devon, making him wish that he had something else to offer. Something comforting,

something more than

’m sorry

was

sorry, though. When he had lost his parents, the loss had taken him years to

work through. Although he’d loved them, they’d had a couple dumb arguments that haunted

him. Devon couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have actual anger against the deceased.

Andrew’s laughter died. “I’ll be fine.”

“But --”

“I’ll be fine.” Andrew turned. His profile was visible for a moment -- short black hair,

glasses, thin lips -- and then he disappeared through a doorway.

Devon stopped. No point in following him. Andrew was in his office, and when in his

office, the rest of the world waited.

Devon turned and headed for the stairs at the other end of the kitchen. He could go

upstairs to his own loft office, turn on his computer, and ...

No. The things he worked on up there gave him nightmares. Tonight, he didn’t want to

have to think about them.

L.M. Prieto

Devon returned to the living room. He picked up his college-ruled notebook and blue

ink pen from the coffee table and then slumped onto the black leather couch and opened the

notebook to an empty page. He wanted to lose himself in his next term paper for school, but

right now all he could think was:

He blames himself

The clock on the wall click-clicked the passing of a minute and then another. The

sound annoyed Devon, reminding him of growing up at his grandparents’ house. He picked

up the remote control to the CD player and hit Play.

Silence, and then Enya began. It was a burned CD, comprising his favorite songs. The

first song was “Orinoco Flow.” Devon’s lips twitched. That song had been playing when they

had driven up to Castle Rock the weekend before. The state park up in the Santa Cruz

Mountains was where Tyler’s body had been found.

Devon lightly tapped the Fast-Forward button on the remote. Should he ... no. It

wasn’t the song’s fault. It hadn’t killed Tyler. A fall had.

The police investigation had been brief. While hiking, Tyler had slipped and tumbled

off the side of a steep hill, slamming his head into one of the large white rocks that Castle

Rock was named for. Hidden by underbrush, Tyler died of a massive concussion hours before

Devon and Andrew went hiking.

Devon set the remote down. The police had told Julia first and, at her request, Andrew

second. When Andrew learned when Tyler had died, he’d been stunned.

“Are you sure?”

he’d asked.

“Yes”

, the policewoman said.

“But ... I’d talked to him Friday afternoon. On the phone.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

And so they went in verbal circles for a few minutes, and Devon had thought,

blames himself.

After Dark

They had been in the area. If they’d seen Tyler, perhaps they could have helped him.

They could have kept him warm, called for help, or at least made it so that he wasn’t alone in

his final moments.

It was a helpless, frustrating thought. The truth, though, was that on the day that Tyler

died, Devon and Andrew had not stayed at the park long. They had been hiking for fifteen

minutes when Devon realized he’d forgotten his water bottle. He’d left Andrew sitting on a

rock, reading a mystery novel, and gone back to the car.

The walk had been lovely. The heavy scent of the redwoods surrounded him, making

him feel ... he didn’t know. Primordial. Earthy. Magical.

Once at the car, Devon took a sip from his plastic bottle, enjoying the half-frozen,

lemon-edged water, and then headed back. He encountered Andrew halfway along the trail.

“I’m feeling under the weather,” Andrew said. “Would you mind if we left early?”

“No. Not at all.” Chicken soup for dinner, a warm bath, and then Andrew had spooned

up behind him in bed and slowly thrust into him.

“If anything ever happens to me,” Andrew whispered, “the Bean’s yours. Yours and

Sean’s.”

“Andrew.” His name came out as a sigh. “I make bad coffee.”

Andrew chuckled, and the sound was soft, almost a sob. It made Andrew tremble.

“Andrew?”

“Things happen,” Andrew had said, lips ghosting along Devon’s neck.

Yes. Things did. He was not a journalist anymore, though, and Andrew worked with

coffee. They should be safe. “I don’t want --”

Andrew shifted, and his next thrust had sent a delicious tingly feeling throughout

Devon. He didn’t want to imagine Andrew gone. He wanted Andrew there -- yes, right

there, please -- and he would fight whatever tried to take him away.

L.M. Prieto

Who did he have to fight, though, when it was Andrew himself who kept moving

away?

* * * * *

Andrew dropped into his black leather office chair and turned his computer on. Rain

tapped the window behind his desk. It had lightened from earlier so that now it sounded

soothing instead of like an aerial assault.

The computer hummed, making the sound of rain fade. He glanced at the chaos of

papers to the left of his computer, looking for the telltale red ink he used for the schedule

blueprint. Nothing red was visible.

He picked up a handful of papers and skimmed through them. Usually he kept his desk

pretty neat. This week, though, had been a blur, and that blur had left track marks over his

office: his desk was hidden beneath clutter, crumpled papers lay scattered around his

wastebasket in the corner, and his to-be-read tower of books had collapsed across his faded

brown couch.

There was a method to his chaos: he’d obsessed over sorting his paperwork that week

in lieu of his upcoming arrest.

It hadn’t happened, though. Tyler’s death was declared an accident, and now Andrew

was free to stare at paper. He felt surreal.

The schedule wasn’t in his stack. He neatened the pile and, looking around for a clear

space, set it on the floor, then picked up another handful of papers.

Eyes stared at him from beneath the remaining pile on his desk. Andrew set the papers

down and cleared the rest. After a moment, three photos became visible.

One photo was of Devon and Kylie at the Coffee Bean; one was of Devon and Sean

dressed like Jedi at the opening of

Revenge of the Sith

; and the last was Sean, Julia, a lime-

green Post-It, and the bottom of Tyler’s legs in front of the Bean.

After Dark

Andrew picked at the edge of the green paper. Tyler’s death had been labeled an

accident. It was a mistake, a very generous mistake, but Andrew still intended to take

responsibility for his actions. He would put Sean through college, help Julia around the

house, perhaps even box up Tyler’s things.

Those things, though, were monetary and physical. They weren’t emotional, and that

was the currency that Tyler most preferred. Andrew peeled the Post-It off the photo.

Tyler smiled at him.

He was dressed in a green turtleneck, and his hands were slipped into the pockets of a

pair of black pants. Shiny-edged black shoes connected him to a thin shadow drawn across

the sidewalk. Black hair crept towards his shoulders but refrained from touching. A hint of

stubble lined his jaw and upper lip, and though Andrew thought it made him look unkempt,

others had told him that Tyler looked delicious.

Delicious. Andrew made a face. Physically, all the right lines met in all the right places,

he supposed, but there was something off about his brother. The eyes, perhaps. Narrow,

making the camera twist the brown to gold.

Andrew studied Tyler. He wanted to say ... something to his brother. Something

meaningful, something that would offer his memory some closure. He couldn’t, though. It

seemed hypocritical to offer affection to someone who’d never liked him.

We can’t choose who we’re related to. I’m sorry I wasn’t who you needed me to be ...

and I’m sorry you didn’t die sooner.

Andrew returned the Post-It to the photo. Like secrets, it had become a part of the

family. Perhaps one day he’d be able to leave it off, but for now he wanted its bright

company.

He picked up the stack of papers and carefully went through them. The schedule was

six sheets down and already complete.

L.M. Prieto

Andrew’s lips quirked. Someone had been there. A pink Post-It from his manager,

Kylie, solved the mystery:

Thank you for taking care of things. Now I’ll take care of things

for a couple weeks.

When had she -- ah. Thursday.

This week had been chaotic, and he hadn’t seen her for a couple of days, since he and

Julia had gone to pick a coffin. They’d left Sean at the Bean with Devon and Kylie. Andrew

imagined that they’d discussed him and, obviously, what they could do to help.

Andrew scanned the paper. With half their employees in school and with finals around

the corner, scheduling was an ongoing project. Kylie, though, hated doing it even when

there weren’t any events to plan around. Andrew was touched that she had done this for

him.

Tomorrow he would call her and thank her. He’d tell her about his desire to help Julia

and ... perhaps it would be best if he had some time away from the Bean.

The idea stunned him. He’d wanted to own a coffeeshop since he’d worked for one in

college. He’d hated working there at first, but he’d loved making drinks. Double espressos.

Mochas. Pumpkin chais at a time when pumpkins were simply a pie and not a beverage. He’d

been an awkward kid, with glasses and Band-Aids, but behind the counter he felt capable.

After college, he’d gone into computers. When the start-up boom hit a few years later,

he’d joined a new company. The money was unbelievable and the projects challenging.

Perhaps too challenging -- a year after he sold his stocks and left to open the Bean, the

company went under.

“You got out at a good time,”

Devon had told him when he’d shared the story. At the

time, Andrew had shrugged. Now he wanted to laugh. He did not have good timing. He’d

been lucky. He wasn’t always lucky, but he had been when he met Devon, when he left his

start-up company, and when Tyler ...

After Dark

Andrew returned the papers to his desk. He would give Kylie a raise. Yes. He would

thank her, give her more money, and then inform her that he was going to take an extended

absence from the Bean to work on some things. He didn’t like the idea, but he could use the

time to take care of his responsibilities.

It was a good plan. All he needed to do now was tell Devon.

Andrew frowned. While Kylie would assume that Tyler’s death had affected him,

Devon lived with him. He knew that they hadn’t been close. Devon, he realized, he would

have to tell something.

He turned his computer off. He’d never told any of his previous lovers about Tyler.

Most had been one-night stands and didn’t even know he had a brother. The only one he

had ever told about his problems with his brother was Garret, and after Garret died, he

hadn’t wanted to tell anyone else.

Pain pulsed in his stomach. Nothing physical, and yet it caught his breath. He wished

desperately that he and Garret had fought and that Garret had left him. He wished that

Garret was now living with someone wittier than him, more handsome --- more

anything

Just so that he’d be alive and Andrew would never have found that sixty-minute tape of

Garret suffocating to death.

Andrew rose. He’d loved Garret. Garret was the first boy he’d ever kissed, and that

simple touch had forever divided Andrew’s life. Before, he was alone, and after, no matter

what happened, he would always have that gentle touch.

He’d failed Garret, though. He hadn’t protected him. Tyler was gone; he would never

be able to hurt anyone else, but ... perhaps Andrew should tell Devon something about him.

Perhaps he could tell Devon what he’d been unable to tell anyone else.

Andrew left the room. Music crept down the hallway. It was Enya, whispering

something about a tree. Andrew smiled. Tyler had hated Enya.

L.M. Prieto

In the living room, Devon sat on the couch, scribbling something in his notebook.

Andrew paused in the entryway. He didn’t want to interrupt. He also wanted to talk to

Devon before he buried his secrets alongside Tyler.

Devon looked up. “Hi.”

“Hi. Am I interrupting?”

“No. I was just outlining my next paper.”

“Ah.” Usually that was something of a joke between them. Devon was a year younger

than him, and like half of Andrew’s employees at the Bean, he was going to San Jose State,

getting a degree in film. He’d once told Andrew that he hoped to write movie reviews and

scripts and wanted a better understanding of the medium. It meant going to free movies, so

Andrew was cool with it.

Andrew crossed the room. “What’s this one about?”

“Vampire movies and how different countries approach the subgenre.”

Devon and horror movies. Andrew had been surprised that he hadn’t dressed like a

monster for Halloween the month before. Instead, Devon had dressed like an adult Draco

Malfoy.

Mmm. That had been an interesting night.

Devon rose. “I could make some hot chocolate. Or if you’re hungry --”

“No. Thank you.”

“Andrew.” Devon looked thoughtful. His words had been careful the last few days,

coming and pausing as he tried to find the most inoffensive way of discussing Tyler’s death.

“Punishing yourself won’t bring him back.”

No, it wouldn’t. If it would, then Andrew would have eaten a lot more before now.

“I’ll eat something later.” He vaguely remembered eating throughout the week, but

nothing substantial. Avoiding food had been an accident, though. He had been so desperate

After Dark

to get the Bean’s financial papers in order that he had simply forgotten. “There’s something

you need to know.”

Andrew couldn’t tell him everything, but he wanted to give Devon something. A

glimpse, perhaps. A hint that the iceberg was in the water, but was distant enough to not

harm their ship. “Tyler didn’t like you. Or me.”

Devon tipped his head slightly to one side, green eyes thoughtful. Andrew wondered if

he was replaying past moments with Tyler, looking for different meanings, or if he thought

grief had made Andrew darkly introspective.

“Us?” Devon asked.

“Me.”

If Tyler had met Devon alone, Andrew honestly didn’t know if they would have gotten

along. Devon’s previous journalism experience gave him some eclectic conversation topics,

and Tyler would have liked that. Devon had left news-writing for entertainment, though,

and Tyler had loathed people who abandoned careers for things he considered frivolous.

“Did he say something to you?”

“I want Devon’s eyes.”

“Once.” Andrew unbuttoned his shirt. He was too used to keeping secrets and didn’t

know the words to unveil them.

This hurt; I was ten

sounded so ineffectual.

He drew his shirt back, letting it fall over his left shoulder. Cool air caressed his skin.

“You once asked me where I got this,” he said, touching the skin below his nipple. To him,

the scar looked like a broken smile. In the first-aid book he kept at the Bean, Andrew had

seen that the proper procedure for fishhook wounds was to push the curved needle through

the skin and let it break through the flesh. Tyler had just torn it out.

Devon stepped closer, studying his skin. “You said you didn’t remember.”

“For Christmas, Tyler gave you fishing supplies. He included a box of fishhooks. I think

he wanted to remind me of when he ...”

Say it

. “... put one into me.”

L.M. Prieto

Color bled from Devon’s face. “He ...”

“Yes.”

Tyler had watched Andrew as Devon unwrapped the gift. Andrew had silently gone

over the upcoming work schedule. Devon didn’t fish, but he’d thanked Tyler, and Tyler had

suggested that if Devon wanted to learn, he’d teach him, just like he’d taught Andrew.

Thankfully, Devon wasn’t interested, so Andrew never had to stop him.

Devon looked at Andrew’s chest. “When?”

“I was ten.” Andrew wished he could take the words back. The memory had haunted

him for years. Although Tyler had known about it, they’d never talked about it, and Andrew

had been able to at least pretend it was his alone. Now that someone he cared about knew,

he felt vulnerable. Devon might think he was weak for not having fought Tyler. Or he might

think that Andrew had done something to upset his brother and deserve this wound. Or --

Warm fingers traced over the scar, sending a pleasant feeling down Andrew’s stomach.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Andrew wished that he did. He wished that Tyler had given him any reason -- told

him that he was doing it because Andrew broke something of his or had tattled on him.

When he was older, Andrew had wondered if it was because he was gay, but at that age

Tyler couldn’t have known.

“That son of a bitch.” Devon spoke the words so softly, for a moment Andrew

wondered if he’d imagined them. “And you never told anyone.”

“I ...”

An ache grew in Andrew’s throat, trapping the words behind the pain.

No, Andrew thought. Tyler was gone; he couldn’t force Andrew to keep this secret.

After Dark

“I was afraid.” That the next person he told would disappear. That next time he would

be the one to disappear. That no one would believe him or, like his father had, would think

he was saying things to get attention. “I know it sounds foolish --”

“I would have done the same.” Devon moved his fingers, back and forth, over the scar.

Andrew knew the touch would never erase the stain on his memories, but it was

soothing. The next time he looked at that scar, he hoped he’d remember this moment, this

man, this tenderness.

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened a long time ago,” Andrew said.

“Yes, but ...” Devon bent his head, letting his breath whisper over Andrew’s nipple.

The ethereal caress sent a pleasant ache down Andrew’s body, making him hard. “I won’t

ever ask you to pretend that it didn’t happen.”

“Thank you.” Devon’s words had been whisper-soft, but they meant everything to

Andrew. Devon wasn’t asking him to forget what had happened and move on. He accepted

Andrew’s grim past, accepted the horrible knowledge that sometimes blood ties led to blood

loss. Perhaps he would understand why Andrew had killed --

No.

That might be too much. Andrew wasn’t willing to risk losing Devon when he didn’t

have to.

Andrew traced his fingers over Devon’s face, his neck. He leaned forward and traced

his tongue along the whorls of Devon’s ear. “It’s going to be all right.”

“Mmm.” Devon slipped his arms around Andrew. “I’m afraid my body doesn’t have

many stories to tell.”

“Tell me,” Andrew whispered, breathing the words along Devon’s ear.

L.M. Prieto

Devon released Andrew. Fabric rustled, and when he stepped back, Andrew saw that

he’d unbuttoned his top three shirt buttons. As his fingers moved down, the open fabric

teased Andrew with a hint of pale skin.

Andrew smiled. Devon had a lovely body. Slim, with a jogger’s grace and legs. Two

scars marred his body: a pale one beneath his right elbow, and a darker one along his left hip.

Andrew had been loath to discuss his own body’s wounds and had never asked Devon about

his. He’d hoped that Devon would see his silence as respect and not callousness, but he’d

always been worried about it.

Devon drew his shirttails out of his slacks. Andrew reached out and eased the shirt

away from Devon’s shoulders. The soft fabric pooled around his feet.

“I never wanted to press,” Andrew said.

Devon quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not afraid of a little force.”

A pleasure-pain weight pooled in Andrew’s cock.

Devon raised his arm and traced a finger over the pale scar beneath his elbow. “I fell off

my bike when I was six.”

Andrew drew Devon’s arm close and kissed the faint scar. “What were you doing?”

“Learning how to fall. I was a prodigy.”

“Ah.”

Devon took Andrew’s left arm. “And these?” he asked, ghosting his lips over the coffee-

bean shaped marks.

“Hot oil.” His parents had been in the room when it happened. That had frightened

Andrew more than the fishhooks. At least before he could have pretended that they would

have stopped Tyler. After the burns, though --

“Tyler?”

“Yes.”

After Dark

Devon laved Andrew’s arm. The gentle, wet suction sent a delicious shiver though

Andrew.

He unfastened Devon’s belt, his fingers grazing over the warm weight behind the

zipper. He tugged the zipper down, letting the fingers of his free hand follow the descending

metal, caressing the underwear beneath. Devon’s breath quickened.

Black slacks slid down, followed by briefs. Andrew stroked Devon’s cock. The velvet-

soft skin was a delicious weight in his hand. Hot, trembling, with a hint of a pulse.

Andrew traced his thumb over the uncircumcised hood. Back and forth, back and

forth, a slow caress that made Devon’s fingers dig into Andrew’s waistband. “What about

your other one?” Andrew murmured.

“Bullet.”

Andrew jerked back. “What?”

Devon traced the pale brown line over his left hip. “A bullet grazed me.”

Andrew studied the mark. It was a couple inches long. It began as a colorless line and

then grew pale brown. In the center, it darkened to a reddish-brown hue, then faded back to

pale brown. “What happened?”

“Someone didn’t want the story I was working on to be published.”

Surprise pulsed through Andrew. He’d heard of things like that happening, but he’d

never thought that it could happen to anyone he knew. “What did you do?”

“I’m still here.”

Andrew looked up at him. “You --”

“Weren’t a very good journalist.”

Soft words, offering him information about something he’d never worried about, but

should have. So Devon had left journalism. People left careers to pursue other things all of

the time. He had. His manager at work had. Why not Devon?

L.M. Prieto

Because ... when Devon read the

San Jose Mercury News

, he didn’t so much read it as

study it. Because he said “us” and “we” when talking about journalists. Because he loved

Kolchak the Night Stalker

and the Todd Mills mystery novels. Because he knew what year

the Gutenberg press came into existence. People who were only interested in journalism as a

hobby wouldn’t care about any of that.

“No,” Andrew said, fingertips tracing over the scar. “You were good.”

“I quit.”

“You --” Andrew didn’t want to get into a discussion about the romanticism of dying

for a story. Truth be told, he didn’t understand it. Dying to protect someone seemed

reasonable, even noble. Same for defending a country. A story, though, was just a collection

of words. Information. Let the creep have the story, his laptop -- hell, his car keys. They

could be replaced. “You had no choice,” Andrew said.

“No. Not a good one, anyway.” Devon stepped up to him. “It was a long time ago.”

No. It had only been two years. If Devon wanted to emotionally distance himself from

it, though, Andrew would not begrudge him.

Andrew slipped his fingers through Devon’s hair and kissed him. Devon’s soft lips

parted, and then his tongue caressed Andrew’s.

Devon’s fingers played across Andrew’s belt, unfastening it.

A hiss of metal against fabric, and then Andrew felt his slacks drop. A moment later,

his boxers followed. He stepped out of them.

Devon’s lips traced down Andrew’s body, weaving a wet trail along his chest, his

abdomen. “Do you miss working with computers?”

“No.” Andrew had known it was time to leave when he couldn’t stop dreaming of html

code. “Do you --”

There was a hint of breath over Andrew’s cock, and then warm, wet lips slipped over

the tip.

After Dark

Devon, he suspected, did miss journalism. He just didn’t want to discuss it right now.

We have time.

There were a handful of small papers around the Bay Area. Any of them

would probably love Devon’s -- ah, teeth -- company.

Andrew threaded his fingers through Devon’s hair again. The pale blond strands were

like silk, whispering against his skin. Andrew loved its length, not quite touching Devon’s

shoulders but long enough to twine around his fingers.

Gentle suction tugged at Andrew’s cock. Pressure grew in his balls, making his toes

curl.

Yes. Oh, yes

Devon drew back, releasing Andrew’s sensitized member into the cool air. “Shall I keep

going?” he asked, lips tracing over the tip of Andrew’s cock.

Andrew smiled. “No.” He offered Devon a hand and helped him up. Some men loved

feeling a mouth around their cock. Others liked games. Andrew liked one and occasionally

played with the other, but he loved sinking into a partner. For years, the physical act had

been the only intimacy he could share with a lover.

He nudged Devon back toward the bedroom. The couch was soft, but he wanted more

room to play on.

Fifteen feet later, Devon sat on a dark blue flannel comforter and inched back. Andrew

watched him, tempted to crawl after him. It would be so easy to just prop one of Devon’s legs

over his shoulder and --

Lube.

Andrew went to the nightstand and withdrew a small, clear plastic bottle of Astroglide

from the drawer. The bottle had a charming curved shape, making it look like it had an

attitude.

“What about the mark on your back?” Devon asked.

“Lighter.” Tyler had caught him smoking when he was fifteen and --

No. Tyler was dead and they weren’t.

L.M. Prieto

Devon took the Astroglide and opened it. “Your left calf?”

“Fell off my bike.” Andrew removed his glasses and set them on the table. He was

nearsighted, but in a mostly dark room, that didn’t matter. “I’m afraid --” Devon stroked

warm liquid over Andrew’s cock. “-- falling didn’t come easy to me.”

Devon’s touch sent a delicious sensation through Andrew, making his breath quicken.

It had been ten months since they’d begun going at this condomless, and the trust involved

still touched Andrew. The first time, he’d almost been afraid to sink into Devon. He was a

child of the eighties, and he’d been taught to be careful. Of the two of them, he’d had more

lovers and needed to be considerate.

Devon was the only one he’d ever wanted to live with, though. Just as his straight

friends settled down and stopped using condoms, Andrew wanted the same commitment. His

friends hoped for pregnancy. He hoped for forever.

“Maybe you just needed to practice more,” Devon said, offering him the small bottle.

“Maybe.” Andrew turned the bottle upside down, coating his fingers with the cool,

silky-feeling liquid. He set it on the nightstand and then rubbed his fingers against one

another, warming the lubricant.

Andrew lay beside Devon, trailing slick fingers along Devon’s inner thigh. There was a

semi-pleasant ache in his cock, a desire to sink itself into warm flesh and find ... something.

Release, certainly, but more. Resolution, perhaps. It had begun with another boy’s kiss. Let it

end --

Devon kissed him.

-- with this.

Andrew traced over Devon’s cock, his balls, and then moved down. Fingertips

whispered over Devon’s rim, caressing the opening.

Devon broke the kiss. He shifted, one leg crooking up to give Andrew more access.

“Ah ... Andrew.”

After Dark

God, Andrew loved that breathy tone, the way Devon’s English accent turned his name

into a verbal caress. He slipped a fingertip in. Inside, Devon was silk and heat and, God, so

tight. Andrew crooked his finger up --

“Ah.” Fingernails dug into Andrew’s shoulder, sending an erotic almost-pain through

him.

Andrew smiled. Prostate found. He repeated the movement once, twice, and then

added another finger.

In everyday life he tried to be nice. Play fair, be helpful, Boy Scout’s honor from

someone who’d earned most of the badges and then left because he couldn’t -- wouldn’t --

belong. Here, between them, he wasn’t nice. He moved his fingers in and --

“Andrew ...”

-- out, deeper, shallow, caress the rim, and then back. They had tonight, and

tomorrow, late afternoons, moments stolen during lunch breaks and weekends. Release

would come too soon, but this ... oh, this ... Andrew would draw out.

“Andrew ... Andrew, please.”

Mmm. The magic word. Andrew had to respect that.

Andrew curved his fingers up --

“Oh.”

-- and then drew them out slowly.

He crept over Devon. Devon snaked his fingernails over Andrew’s shoulders, leaving a

pleasant ache in their wake. Andrew positioned himself and then pushed into Devon.

There was a hint of resistance; then hot, delicious pressure wrapped around him.

Devon’s breath tumbled over his shoulder. “I’m going to ask Kylie to spike your coffee

with several shots of espresso again.”

L.M. Prieto

Andrew withdrew. The last time his manager had done that, he’d had enough energy

to clean the house, wash both their cars, and then do Devon over his desk. “You could’ve

made me coffee.”

“I didn’t want to --”

Andrew stroked back in. Devon’s breath hitched. “Mmm?”

“-- kill you.”

Andrew chuckled. Devin’s coffee was bland, not deadly. Andrew had teased him about

it once and now would never live it down.

Devon’s ankles hooked behind him, drawing him closer. Andrew nuzzled his lips over

Devon’s and continued to gently thrust into him.

Andrew reached down and stroked Devon’s cock. There was a hint of a pulse there,

quickening when Andrew stroked the tip.

“Oh,” Devon whispered. “Yes, yes.”

Andrew thrust into him. Over and over, warm flesh clutching him, drawing him in

deep. Tension crept into his balls, making them tighten. Andrew nuzzled the side of Devon’s

face, nipping an earlobe.

Devon’s fingers bit into Andrew’s shoulders. His cock twitched, and then, gasping, he

came. Wet warmth dotted Andrew’s stomach.

“Andrew.”

Yes. Beautiful voice. Beautiful man.

“Andrew ... ah --”

Pleasure exploded through Andrew, making him tremble. He came and came, and his

head felt so light that for a moment he feared this was a dream. When it settled, he might be

in prison, or Tyler might be alive. No, please, not alive. He would rather serve life in prison

than --

After Dark

“I want Devon’s eyes.”

-- discover that Tyler was alive.

Warm fingers crept over his shoulders, centering him. This was real. He was here, with

Devon. They were safe.

Devon ran his hands over Andrew’s arms. “You’re shaking.”

“I ...” Andrew traced his lips over Devon’s. His lover had come so close to dying.

Andrew was glad Devon would never know. “I love you.”

L.M. Prieto

Chapter Two

Sunlight bled though the woods, painting the area in a gauzy dream. Andrew sat on a

broken log and rifled through his backpack for a book. Devon had forgotten his water, and

although Andrew had offered to go with him, he’d opted to go retrieve it alone. Andrew

hadn’t minded. He’d waited months for this book to come out and wanted to see what was

going to happen next.

“Hello, Andrew.”

The sound of Tyler’s voice jerked Andrew out of his book. He turned.

His older b other stood a few feet away, where the path curved and disappeared into

the woods.

A smile played across Tyler’s face. “Where’s Devon?”

“Nearby.” It had been a few years since Tyler had actually touched him, but Andrew

wished he would. Cut him, burn him, anything, as long as Tyler focused on him and left

other people alone.

Tyler closed the distance between them. Andrew watched him. Had he mentioned this

trip to anyone? No. “I thought you were having a barbecue today.”

Leaves crunched under Tyler’s feet. “I changed my mind.”

After Dark

Unease snaked through Andrew. The last time Tyler had said those words, Garret had

disappeared.

Andrew slipped his book into his backpack and rose. “What do you want?”

“I want Devon’s eyes.”

Rrrng.

Andrew jerked awake. He was lying in bed, half covered by a flannel comforter, beside

a warm body that -- fingers discovered -- had the rest of the blanket. The air in the room was

comfortable, though, so he didn’t know what had woken him.

Rrrng.

Ah. The phone.

Devon shifted beside him. “What time is it?”

“It’s --”

Rrrng.

“-- late. I’ll take care of this.” Andrew picked up the phone. He glanced at the digital

clock -- it was almost two in the morning. Who would call at that hour?

“Hello?” Andrew said.

“Andrew?”

The voice was quiet. It took Andrew a moment to identify the speaker. “Sean?”

Andrew rose. He should have expected his nephew to call. “How are you doing?” he asked,

crossing the room.

“It’s my dad,” Sean said. “He --”

Another voice murmured in the background. Andrew stepped into the hallway. Silence

wrapped around him, making the conversation on the other end of the line sound distant.

The scene at Sean’s home was easy to imagine: Sean wanted to talk to him; Julia didn’t want

L.M. Prieto

him to. At best, Sean would be grounded. At worse, he’d probably still be grounded, and

there’d be some faraway private school in his future.

“It’s going to be all right,” Andrew said. He didn’t want to create any problems

between Sean and his mother, but he also didn’t want to let his nephew feel alone. “I’ll come

by in the morning and --”

The voices on the other side died.

“Hello?” Andrew said. Julia must have cut the call.

A frown crept across his forehead. It was late, and though he could appreciate Julia’s

annoyance at her son waking someone at this hour, Andrew wished she had at least let him

say goodbye to Sean.

Andrew lowered the phone and moved his thumb over the Talk button. He might not

have been able to tell Sean that he’d come see them, but it didn’t change his plans. In the

morning he would --

“Andrew.”

The voice sounded startled. Andrew brought the phone back to his ear. “Sean?”

“No,” Julia said. She took several quick breaths. “Sean wanted you to know that

Tyler ...”

“What about him?”

“He’s -- he’s --” Quick breath, quick breath, the soft sounds tripping over one another.

“Julia?”

“Here.”

Surprise spasmed in Andrew’s stomach. It was sharp and cold, and it sent bile up his

throat. He slumped against the wall. No. Tyler couldn’t be there. He had to have misheard

her. “What?”

“He --”

After Dark

Her voice dropped into a wet choking noise. The wounded sound snaked through

Andrew, making him tremble. Garret had sounded like that. Garret --

No. Tyler was dead. He couldn’t hurt anyone else. He ...

What if he’d hurt someone else? Someone who now wanted to hurt his family in

retaliation?

“Julia,” Andrew said, “If someone else is there, put them on the phone.”

Julia’s breathing grew sharp. Uneven.

Call the police

. Andrew headed into his office.

Get your cell phone, call the police, get

someone over there, and --

“No,” she gasped. “Andrew ...”

“Shhh,” a new voice said over the line.

“Stop,” Andrew said. “Please. I have money. If you stop --”

A faint liquid bubble ... and then ...

Silence.

“Julia,” Andrew whispered.

Let her have passed out. Or lost the phone. Or been sent to

sit with Sean. Stalling so Sean could run. Please, anything --

“Julia,” he said, louder now, so that whoever was there would hear him. “I’m on my

way.”

Laughter crept over the line. It was a smooth, rumbling sound, like thunder at a

distance. “Don’t bother, Andrew. I’m not done yet.”

That voice.

No.

Footsteps patted behind him. Andrew turned. Devon stood in the doorway, wearing a

black silk robe. “Who is it?”

“Sean.”

It’s Tyler.

L.M. Prieto

“Oh.” Devon smiled. “I’ll go make some tea. Tell him --”

“Ah,” Tyler said. “Devon.”

“-- I said hi.”

Andrew nodded.

Yes, go make tea. Leave the room. Get out of the way.

It’s Tyler.

Devon left. His footsteps whispered across the faded hallway carpet, slowly growing

distant.

“I hope we didn’t wake you,” Tyler said.

Andrew clenched his fist, feeling the nails digging into the skin of his hand. He wanted

to deny what was happening, but he couldn’t. The blood trickling out from beneath his

fingertips assured him that he wasn’t dreaming. “Where are Julia and Sean?”

“They’re here.” There was a wet ripping sound. “I don’t know if you were aware of this,

Andrew, but being buried hurts. I needed to replace the blood that the mortician took out.

The organs. I would have liked to use you, but to be practical, my house was closer. I still

need you. You ... or Sean.”

Devon dropped a couple teaspoons of loose tea leaves into the diffuser. The preference

for strongly brewed tea and loose leaves was a small indulgence he permitted himself from

his time at his grandparents’. He had actually first gone into Andrew’s coffeehouse because

someone had told him that they used loose tea. They had and --

Keys jingled nearby, making an almost pleasant sound. Devon turned the kettle’s

burner off and headed into the hallway.

Andrew stood in the living room. He was dressed for the gym: dark green t-shirt and

black sweats.

“Andrew?”

After Dark

Andrew glanced back at him. “I need to go to Julia’s,” he said, pulling on one green

sneaker and then the other. He used sharp, efficient movements that, when he was done, left

his hands trembling.

“What’s wrong?” Devon had imagined nothing more than Sean having trouble

sleeping. At his age, Devon had dreamed that his parents had been accidentally buried alive

and were screaming for him to come help them. Ghastly dreams, made worse because he’d

seen the condition their bodies were in after the wolves had --

No. This wasn’t about him.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Andrew opened the hall closet and patted the pockets of the coat

he had worn earlier. After a moment, he withdrew his wallet. “Sean just needs to get out of

the house.”

“Does Julia know?”

“Yes. I think she’s all right with it. I -- I talked to her.”

Julia was all right with her son leaving the house at two in the morning?

Maybe they got into an argument.

Funerals tended to bring out everything in people. It

was as if the loss of life somehow concentrated everyone it touched, making them sharper,

kinder, meaner, aware.

“I won’t be gone long,” Andrew said. “When I leave, just ... just lock the doors and --”

“Has something else happened?” Something was wrong. Devon didn’t know what, but

the way Andrew’s words tumbled on and his hands -- with their long fingers that could play

across a keyboard, creating code or a new budget -- were shaking. Devon stepped up to him

and threaded his fingers through Andrew’s.

“No.” Andrew’s skin was cold.

“Why are you acting --”

Lukewarm lips caressed Devon’s. Andrew trembled against him. Devon released one

hand and rubbed it over Andrew’s arm, his shoulder. His skin warmed beneath Devon’s.

L.M. Prieto

Andrew stepped away. Cold air stole the brief heat of his touch. “I love you,” Andrew

said. “I don’t say it often, and God, I think if I keep repeating it until I die, it’ll never be

enough.”

“Won’t be gone long. Until I die.”

Unease pooled in Devon’s stomach. Maybe nothing was wrong and Andrew was just

feeling mortal after his brother’s funeral. Maybe he was just worried about Sean. Devon

didn’t know but --

“Won’t be gone long. Until I die.”

He snatched the keys from Andrew’s hand. “I’ll drive.”

Devon reached past him and grabbed his leather trench coat from the closet. A coat

over a robe and slippers seemed a little too casual for an evening out, but he doubted Andrew

would give him time to dress.

Andrew frowned. “Devon --”

“You’re shaking.” Devon shrugged into his coat. He’d meant to keep that observation

quiet in hopes of not making Andrew feel vulnerable, but the truth was that he was

trembling and Devon was afraid. “I’d feel better if I drove.”

After Dark

Chapter Three

Andrew stared out the car window. Patches of night sky broke through the clouds, and

a peeking full moon painted the empty streets in an ethereal silver light. They would get to

Julia and Sean’s house in a few minutes, and Andrew hadn’t figured out a way to convince

Devon to wait in the car for him.

I need to talk to Julia alone for a few minutes

, he imagined saying.

Why don’t you just

take Sean home and ...

And what if something had happened to Sean? Andrew wanted to hope that Julia was

alive, but he was afraid she wasn’t. Sean probably wouldn’t leave his mother behind. What if

they were both dead? What If Tyler killed him and then waited for Devon to come in and

investigate?

The car slowed. A look revealed Devon pulling to a stop in front of a red light.

“Thank you for coming,” Andrew said. He didn’t mean it. He would rather Devon have

stayed at home and --

What if Tyler had gone there?

-- been safe.

L.M. Prieto

Devon glanced at him. “You know my penchant for night drives.” Devon’s voice was

soft, trying to tease a smile from him.

Andrew’s hands trembled. He hadn’t considered that Tyler might have gone to his

house next. He had been so intent on getting out of the house that he’d ignored everything

else. That was a stupid mistake, and it could have gotten Devon hurt.

The light turned green, and Devon continued down the road. Andrew studied him. He

couldn’t let Devon go into the house. What could he have Devon do, though? Asking him to

keep the engine running sounded strange, but ...

Novelty: Devon could call the police.

Andrew frowned.

Now

that occurred to him.

He studied the idea. Would calling the police really help? Would Tyler kill them, too,

or would he disappear at the first sight of a flashing light and come back later? And what

would Andrew tell the police? Parts of the truth sounded reasonable. Andrew could just stick

to them and hope the police would figure something out.

Problem was, as the police worked on the case, they would ignore Tyler. In the

meantime, Tyler --

“I still need you. You ... or Sean.”

No. Andrew couldn’t afford the police coming over. Not until Sean was safe and he and

Devon were out of Tyler’s range.

“Are you cold?” Devon asked.

“What?”

“Are you cold? Your hands are trembling.”

Shit. “Yes.”

Devon turned the heater on. Warmth spilled out of the dashboard.

After Dark

“Thanks,” Andrew said. Devon had tried starting a discussion a few moments before.

Something about night drives ... “Maybe we could go for a drive after we get Sean.”

“Where would you like to go?” Devon asked.

Alaska. “I don’t know.” Andrew rubbed his hands over one another. He wasn’t cold.

Wasn’t anything, actually, but he needed to do something. “How far are you willing to go?”

“Hmm. If it clears up a little more and Sean isn’t tired, maybe Santa Cruz. I like seeing

the ocean at night. If it stays like this, maybe just a drive along Highway Nine.”

Andrew nodded. The first drive would last three, maybe four hours and would get

them out of the city. The second would last maybe half an hour and was close to Julia’s

house. “I like the idea of Santa Cruz. If Julia wants to talk --” Yes, yes, he had a plan! “-- why

don’t you and Sean go for a drive?”

Devon’s brow creased. “But ... we wouldn’t get back until five in the morning.”

“I’ll just stay over.”

“Sean may not want to leave his mother.”

“I think he really wants to get out of the house right now.” It was something Andrew

had always been afraid of. That Tyler would hurt his wife or child the same as he’d hurt

Andrew.

Quiet conversations with Julia had led to quiet laughter, a hand squeezing his shoulder,

and assurances that things were fine. Similar conversations with Sean revealed the same

relationship Andrew had enjoyed with his own father: affection for a man who was busy and

lectures on things that he didn’t care about. Andrew was relieved and uncertain. Tyler was a

gentleman with his wife, a devoted though dull father to his son. Whatever had drawn Tyler

into imprinting on Andrew’s skin and mind had not inspired him to do the same to his

family.

The car turned down a tree shrouded side street. In a moment they would pull into

Julia’s driveway.

L.M. Prieto

Shit.

“I’ll just go in and send Sean out,” Andrew said. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”

Devon shook his head. “I’d like to go in and say hello to Julia.”

No. Tyler would hurt him. What could he say -- ”Devon, you look well fucked.”

The words felt off to Andrew. There was a hint of shadows under Devon’s eyes, and his

lips were bruised from kissing, but he looked good. Loved.

“Charming.” Devon’s tone was sharp, making the word sound edged. He slowed the car

and then pulled in front of a two-story brick house. “What exactly did Sean say?”

“He didn’t say anything.” Andrew unfastened his seatbelt. He couldn’t let Devon go

into the house. What could he tell him, though? That Julia couldn’t bear to see him? That

she’d asked Andrew to come alone? “I just ...”

He didn’t have any reason to keep Devon in the car. The longer he sat there trying to

come up with something, the longer Sean was in the house with Tyler.

“I’ll wait in the entryway,” Devon said. “Julia can drop you off in the morning.”

Partial success, with the added bonus of Devon being annoyed at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. This wasn’t the way he wanted to leave Devon. It might be the last

time Andrew saw him. “I didn’t mean -- I know I’m being an asshole. I’m just so worried,

and I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

Yes. It not only sounded good, but it was also true. Andrew could probably explain a

lot of odd behavior over ...

Unease crept through Andrew, forming a fist in his throat. Lying away Tyler’s actions

had always been second nature to him. He hated how easy it was for him to do it now.

Devon’s eyes clenched shut. “No. I’m sorry. I imagine that Julia is upset and ... we

shouldn’t make her wait.”

After Dark

“Yeah.” Andrew got out of the car and looked around. Devon had parked behind

Tyler’s two-door car. Though it looked black now, in light it looked like dried blood.

Andrew glanced at the house. A single light was on in one of the downstairs rooms. It

had been a while since he’d been inside, but if he remembered correctly, the light was in the

den.

He headed for the door, eyes scanning the area. Past the ankle-high grass, a series of

skeletal rosebushes marked the property’s border on the left side. On the right was a cluster

of oak trees. Andrew looked from one side to the other. He felt vulnerable walking up to the

house. He wished --

“Why isn’t the porch light on?” Devon asked.

-- that Devon had stayed home. “The bulb might’ve died.”

Andrew’s heart thumped faster as he approached the porch, creating an almost-pain in

his chest.

Don’t hurt Sean

, he thought, glancing back. Devon was a step behind him, looking pale

in silk and shadow.

I’m here. Take i out on me and leave them alone.

Andrew raised a hand. It felt surreal to go through the motions of etiquette when he

didn’t know if anyone inside the house was even alive. He knocked --

The door crept open.

The entryway was dark. Andrew stepped inside. A cool breeze whispered by. Around

the room, the gauzy ghosts of curtains fluttered.

“Julia,” Andrew called out. “Sean?”

Silence.

Andrew tapped the wall along the door and, when his fingers touched cold plastic,

flipped a couple light switches. Sharp light flooded the area, stinging his eyes. He blinked,

once, twice, and then looked around.

L.M. Prieto

The entryway opened into a living room. A three-person couch, a two-person loveseat,

and a glass coffee table faced a large television. To his right, a wide hall started beneath a

dark wood staircase and moved towards the kitchen. To his left were the den and a

bathroom.

“Do you smell something?” Devon asked.

Andrew took a deep breath. The air in the room smelled like rain and ... flowers. Hint

of something sweetness and floral. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Why?”

“I thought I smelled something unpleasant.” Devon raised one foot and glanced at the

bottom of one black slipper, then the other. “I didn’t see Julia’s car on our way in. Do you

think they went for a drive?”

Her car was gone?

Andrew looked out the front window. His car was parked on the street, behind Tyler’s.

Past the dead rosebushes was one half of the driveway and then shadows.

“I don’t know,” Andrew said. Julia had sounded like she was dying. He wanted to think

that Sean had had a chance to run, but if he had, would he? Andrew didn’t know if he would

have been willing to leave someone he cared about behind.

“Hello,” Devon called out. His voice sounded further away.

Andrew turned and, seeing Devon approaching the den, hurried after him. Tyler

wanted Andrew. Tyler’d said that he needed him because being buried hurt and the

mortician took things that he needed. If Tyler got a hold of Devon, though, Andrew was

afraid that he would use him instead.

It would be a good revenge, Andrew thought. Tyler had killed Garret for the hell of it.

If he got a chance at Devon ...

“Julia!” It was subtle, this raising of his voice. He hoped to capture Tyler’s attention and

keep it. “Sean!”

After Dark

Devon stepped into the den and disappeared around the doorway. Andrew ran after

him.

Inside, he found Devon approaching a Hummer-shaped CD player across the room.

Andrew scanned the area in four quick looks.

To his left, a small desk and laptop. Ahead, a wall of bookshelves and the CD player. To

his right, more bookshelves and the entrance to the basement. Behind him, the living room.

No one was behind him.

“I’m beginning to think they decided to go for a drive on their own,” Devon said.

Andrew moved towards him. He wished he could think the same thing.

Music murmured from the CD player in the corner. Devon stepped up to it and, tipping

his head toward the speaker, turned it off.

Silence wrapped around them. It was still, with a faint ticking from a clock on the wall

knocking against it.

“What was it?” Andrew asked.

“Beatles, the early years.”

“Ah.” They were Tyler’s favorite band. Andrew wondered who’d listened to it. Sean,

mourning his father? Julia, mourning her husband? Tyler, waiting for him to come over?

“Normally I’d suggest leaving them a note and going home, but they did leave the door

open,” Devon said. “Maybe we should see if they left us a note.”

“All right.” A note. Shit. Andrew doubted there would be a note. And while Devon

looked for it, Tyler would be preparing to do something. Separate them. Kill Devon. Let

Andrew find the body.

Andrew headed into the living room. There was no note on the coffee table. He hadn’t

expected there to be, but he still had to look.

“I’m going to check the kitchen,” he said, looking back. Devon was a few feet behind

him, green eyes studying the room.

L.M. Prieto

Devon nodded. Andrew’s stomach twisted. He needed to do something to keep Devon

there. Tyler could be anywhere in the house, but he wasn’t right

there.

There wasn’t much in the den to keep Devon busy, though. Just some books, the

computer -- “I saw Tyler’s computer in the den,” Andrew said. “Why don’t you check e-mail

and see if Sean sent us anything.”

“Oh.” Devon turned and headed back to the den. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Relief eased a little of the ache inside Andrew’s stomach. He would rather send Devon

home, but at least he was close to the front door. If Devon heard him scream --

He would want to help me.

-- he’d have a chance to escape.

Andrew turned and headed across the living room toward the hallway. He had to move

quickly, while Devon was safe and near an exit.

“Julia,” he called out, stepping past the bottom of the stairs and flicking a light switch.

Darkness faded, revealing a hallway. Dirt- and blood-spotted clothes lay in a folded pile on a

small table in the center of the hall. The fabric was dark and soft-looking, reminding Andrew

of ...

Of the leather blazer Sean had gotten for his father the year before. He’d worked at the

Bean for the entire summer, saving up for it, and Tyler had loved it. Julia had suggested that

they bury Tyler in it.

Andrew stepped into the hallway. His body felt stiff, as if he was walking through

something. It reminded him of a horror movie, when a character moved slowly and he

wanted to snap at them to move faster. Now he understood: the speed was the body’s attempt

to get somewhere in conflict with a mind that wanted to go in the opposite direction. “Se--”

Something cold dripped onto his face.

What ...?

It snaked languidly down his face. He touched it --

Cold liquid hit the back of his hand. The bright red color caught his eye.

After Dark

Oh, no.

He drew back to look up the stairs.

Please, no.

Blood pooled between the second and third banister from the left and --

Drip.

-- then plummeted to the hallway. One drop lay on the dusty hardwood floor, followed

by another, and then another.

“Sean,” Andrew whispered. He flipped the upstairs hallway lights on and took the steps

two at a time.

Four steps from the top, he saw a shape lying on the upstairs hallway. The figure

developed details with every step: long dark hair, a red robe, bone-white fingers reaching for

a black cordless phone.

Julia

. Andrew dropped down beside her.

He brushed her hair aside. His fingers trembled, making him scratch cold skin as he

took her shoulder and turned her over. The fabric of her robe was soft, and as he moved her,

he noticed that on her right side the robe was white, but on the left --

Pulpy meat, blood, and bone shards plopped onto the floor. The smell of blood and shit

wafted over him.

Julia’s head fell back, lolling over his lap. Five dark impressions stood out against the

white canvas of her neck: one oval shape on the left, four close half-circles on the right.

Beneath them, her chest was broken open. Ribs glinted through a collage of torn flesh and

blood.

Bile lapped the back of Andrew’s throat. It was almost sweet and noxiously bitter.

Andrew breathed out through his mouth. There was a subtle flavor in the air, of bad

meat and excrement. He took slow breaths, pushing the vomit back.

Footfalls erupted behind him. Andrew glanced back and found Devon halfway up the

steps.

No. Don’t let him see --

L.M. Prieto

You can’t protect him.

“There weren’t any e-mails,” Devon said. “Have you found ... oh. Oh, no.”

Andrew gently lay Julia down. She was so cold. He hoped that dying hadn’t hurt, but

he was afraid that it must have.

“She ...” Devon whispered and then stopped. “What about Sean?”

“I don’t know.” He hated that. He’d hoped that Julia had only been injured. Instead she

was horribly mutilated. He wanted Sean to be all right, wanted him to be either hiding or

not there, but ... “Call an ambulance.”

Devon nodded. “I -- I want to --” He unbuttoned his trench coat. The soft leather made

sshhing

sound as he slipped it off, leaving him in his black silk robe. “Let me cover her. If

Sean is here, I don’t want him to see his mother like that.”

Kindness in the face of violence. Andrew hated that it wasn’t in him to think of such

things, but he could appreciate them. He held out a hand. “I’ll cover her.”

Devon gave him the coat, then turned and headed back down.

Andrew draped the still-warm fabric over Julia’s body. Warmth and softness for

someone who deserved more than this, but at the moment that was all he had for her.

I’m so sorry. I just wanted to stop Tyler from hurting anyone else.

“Someone has been injured,” Devon said. His voice was soft. Distant. He could have

been in another house, in someone else’s life, for how close he sounded.

Andrew rose and studied the living room below him. Devon stood by the door,

cradling a phone to his ear. His black robe hugged him.

Ask him to wait outside for the ambulance

, Andrew thought.

Then you’ll be able to

look for Sean and --

“It pains me to say this,” Tyler said, “but it looks like he has a better ass than Julia did.”

After Dark

A maelstrom of thoughts and emotions flooded Andrew. Surprise, because he had been

afraid that Tyler would approach Devon and not him. Relief, because his brother had come

to him. Fear, so familiar that it was almost comforting.

He turned.

Tyler stood two feet away, wearing a black cardinal sweater over a white shirt and dark

slacks. His light brown eyes glimmered.

He smiled. Red pinpricks appeared across his thin lips, beaded, and then blood crept

down his pale face.

“Where’s Sean?” Andrew asked. The question surprised him, as did his tone: quiet,

cool, poised. He felt like none of those things, but he was glad his voice could lie.

Tyler tipped his head down the hall. His short, dark hair was damp and clung to his

head. “This way.” He walked down the hall. Tyler wore no shoes, and when he stopped and

looked back at Andrew, light glinted off curved, yellow-white toenails.

Andrew followed. The collage of feelings twisted in his stomach. There was something

else there now. Anger.

The feeling was sharp and made him more aware of little things. There was a draft in

the hall. Devon’s voice, seductive and thoughtful, whispered in the distance. A clicking

sound, of nails against hardwood floor, followed Tyler into the room and then faded.

It’s a trap

, Andrew thought, but kept walking. He had to find out what had happened

to Sean.

Andrew stepped into the dark room.

A chill, rain-scented breeze lapped against Andrew. Over in the left corner, the

wraithlike curtains fluttered.

The clicking sound grew louder, and then Tyler was beside him. “If you look out the

window --”

L.M. Prieto

Andrew ran to the window. Had Sean tried to jump? Or was he pushed? Sean. Oh,

God, Sean.

The window overlooked the redwood deck in the backyard. A wooden trellis lay

broken on the ground floor.

Andrew studied the yard. Sean wasn’t there.

He turned. Tyler stood behind him. His eyes shone yellow-white. Jack-o’-lantern eyes.

“What did you do?” Andrew asked. An ambulance -- and probably the police -- were

on their way. No matter what Tyler did to him, he would not have much time to go after

Devon. Or, Andrew hoped, Sean.

“I took a little blood. Enough so that I could have a connection to Julia and --” Tyler

grabbed Andrew’s head, fingers digging into his temples. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m

afraid that I’m still a little fuzzy and for a moment thought that answering questions was

reasonable.”

Andrew latched his fingers around Tyler’s wrists and tugged. Tyler’s hands remained in

place. “I want ... to know ... what happened.”

“All right. Towards the end --” Pain erupted beneath Tyler’s fingers. “-- Garret hated

you.”

Wet warmth crept down Andrew’s face. “You bastard.”

Tyler chuckled. The cool sound shook him, making his clawed fingertips stab into

Andrew’s head. “He said that he’d just been curious. It was just a kiss, nothing he hadn’t

done before, with girls. He liked girls better, though.”

No. Garret would never have done that. Tyler was lying. He --

Tyler doesn’t lie.

This was the irony of their relationship. However Tyler twisted Andrew’s skin and life,

he never altered the truth.

Andrew twisted, digging his nails into Tyler’s hands and kicking him.

After Dark

“He said that you liked it more than him,” Tyler said. “It creeped him out, and he told

me he had no intention of seeing you again.”

Pain lanced Andrew. It was sharp, sending threads throughout both his body and his

mind.

Garret ... oh, God, Garret, I’m sorry.

Warmth pulsed around Tyler’s fingers, casting gold and red flickers of light over his

hands.

“I peeled his lips off with a knife,” Tyler said. “No loyalty. It was embarrassing. Pray

tell, do you think Devon will do better?”

Devon -- Tyler’s doing something. He ...

Dizziness swept over Andrew. The fingers pressed against his head shifted, almost

massaging his temples.

Stop

, Andrew thought.

Stop him. Stop --

Andrew released his hold on Tyler’s wrists and dug his fingers into his brother’s face.

The skin split under his nails, and lukewarm blood trailed over his hands.

Pain blossomed in Andrew’s head. He held on to Tyler. Two ... two could play at this

game. If he could destroy Tyler before he died, then ...

Images darted through Andrew’s mind. The woods. The feel of loose dirt and leaves.

Falling and falling and ...

then he was still. Dizzy. Footsteps crunched closer, and an older

man knelt beside him. It was a warm day, and the man -- Grandfather -- had pushed his

black sleeves up. An

was tattooed on his upper left forearm and was followed by six

numbers. The letter meant

der Magier,

or magician.

“I was thinking you could simply roll in the dirt and then tell your parents you fell,”

Grandfather said. There was a trace of a German accent in his voice.

L.M. Prieto

“I wanted to make sure it looked real.” Tyler looked down. Dirt clung to a long gash in

his arm. Pain pulsed along the wound, making him frown. The scar mirrored his brother’s,

and though he’d expected it to hurt, it hurt a lot. “When will it start to heal?”

“As soon as you’re in Andrew’s pre ence,” Grandfather said. “It’s a dark magic, but its

beauty is that it’s easy to hide. You’ll be able to take his strength and no one will know. The

scar will be with you even after he dies, though.”

Tyler glanced at the marks on his Grandfather’s arm. Both their scars were chameleons,

forcing people to think that they were wounded. His scar wouldn’t make people sympathize

with him once the blood had been washed away, but that was all right. Tyler didn’t want a

mark that would always draw attention.

Grandfather helped him up. “Let’s go show it to you parents while it still bleeds.” A

smile played across his thin lips. “I bet there will be an ice-cream cone for you after you

mother has cleaned the wound and --”

Hands shoved him back. He stumbled.

Who am I?

He fell and something ... clicked.

He was Andrew. His brother, Tyler, was standing over him, eyes glowing yellow-

white. His brother, who’d scarred himself and used him and killed Garret and Julia and --

Andrew’s legs shot under him. He threw himself at Tyler, knocking him back. His

fingers felt cold, but Tyler was hot, almost burning his fingers.

“You bastard!” Andrew dug his fingers into Tyler’s throat. “You fucking --”

Tyler’s hands slammed into his head, knocking him back.

Andrew’s glasses broke away from him and fell. Pain throbbed in his temples. His

stomach swayed, and bile crawled into his mouth.

“You’re a quick study,” Tyler said. He click-clicked closer, a hazy figure in a hazy

room.

After Dark

Andrew blinked. He was shortsighted, but Tyler was close. If Andrew could grab him,

he wouldn’t need to see Tyler in order to rip his eyes out.

Another blink, and then shapes slammed into focus. The dresser crouched against the

wall to his left. The unmade bed to his right. The weave of the floor, a stack of books under

the bed, a Pringles container on the nightstand.

Holy fuck. I can see in the dark.

It was an insane thought, but he could see, and --

Click. Click.

Tyler stepped in front of him. Blood seeped down his face. Blue-violet veins spider-

webbed their way across his face, his throat. “No time for play, then,” Tyler said. “At least I’ll

still have --”

“Andrew?”

“-- Devon.”

No!

Devon sounded distant. Still downstairs, perhaps, or on the stairs themselves.

Andrew grabbed Tyler’s leg and pulled. Tyler stumbled, and his clawed toes came up,

darting across Andrew’s neck.

Pain snaked across the toes’ wake. Andrew jerked back. His neck throbbed, making

him dizzy.

“Andrew,” Devon called out. Closer. He sounded closer. Down the hall, maybe, or

outside the room.

Tyler grabbed Andrew’s head, digging clawed fingertips into him. “Call him. I want

him to see --”

“The police are here.”

The fingers left Andrew’s head.

L.M. Prieto

“Damn it,” Tyler whispered.

Andrew inched back. The room shifted around him, a montage of shadows and shapes.

Devon

. Devon was coming. He had to pull his legs under him and throw himself at

Tyler. His body hurt, but if he could simply use himself as a shield --

Claws click-clicked away.

Andrew pulled himself up. The room steadied. He looked around and found Tyler at

the window.

Tyler glanced at him. His yellow-white eyes narrowed. “Soon.”

“No.” Andrew rose. His legs trembled. Judging by the torn and bloody clothes

downstairs, Tyler had broken out of his casket. Andrew doubted a fall from a second-story

window would do much to him.

Tyler leapt out the window.

“No.” Andrew half ran, half stumbled after him. “N--”

Pain pulsed throughout his body. His legs shook and then gave out, dropping him a

foot away from the window. The shadows in the room wrapped around him.

Footfalls drew closer and then stopped. Warm hands touched his face, brushing over

the blood. “Andrew,” Devon said.

“Devon.” Andrew didn’t know if he said the name aloud or only in his mind. He was

glad Devon was there, though. Glad he’d been able to at least protect him for a little while.

“Yes.” Soft, trembling fingers brushed his hair back.

Andrew blinked, trying to focus on the man beside him.

“I found your glasses,” Devon said. His shape was hazy, as if out of focus. “When you

want them, just tell me and --”

“Tyler,” Andrew said.

“What?”

After Dark

“Tyler.” Andrew had to tell him, in case his wounds were fatal. “It was Tyler.”

“Andrew --”

“Tyler killed her.” It sounded insane, Andrew knew that, but he had to make Devon

believe it before Tyler returned. “It was Tyler, Devon. Tyler.”

“Andrew.” Devon’s head moved. Side to side, a subtle movement that made Andrew

dizzy. “He’s dead.”

“His clothes are downstairs. In the hallway. He --” The room solidified around him. “--

killed Julia. He grabbed my head and tried to --”

Devon’s face trembled.

“To ...”

Pale fur crept out of Devon’s pores. His jaw ebbed forward, forming a wolf snout. “I’m

sorry,” Devon said, flashing a glint of teeth. His ears grew, tapering into points. “Tyler is

dead. He couldn’t have attacked --”

Andrew jerked away from him. Tyler was dead; Andrew expected him to not be

human. But Devon ... “What are you?”

Elegant wolf brows furrowed. “Andrew?” Devon’s voice was scratchy-sounding but still

enthralling, still that verbal caress Andrew loved.

Andrew inched back. No. Devon was human. Andrew’s sight was just off. He couldn’t

be seeing

this

But ... when he’d grabbed Tyler’s head the same way his brother had latched on to his,

it had given him a glimpse into Tyler’s mind. Perhaps that touch had done more than let him

see into his brother’s past. Perhaps it had given him back some of the power that Tyler had

been taking from him, and now that power allowed him to see things.

“Andrew, what’s --”

“I can’t see well.”

L.M. Prieto

A furred hand held out his glasses. Sharp claws clinked against the wire frames.

Not human

, Andrew thought.

Acts human, talks human, but ...

Andrew grabbed his glasses and slipped them on. The room shifted, making him feel

lightheaded.

In the hallway, a voice murmured something.

“We’re in the last room,” Devon called out. “Someone attacked him.”

Footfalls drew closer. Andrew glanced at the door. If it was Tyler --

A paramedic came into the room. He had no fur or odd veins snaking across his dark

skin.

“It was Tyler,” Andrew said, turning back to Devon. Whatever Devon was, Andrew

cared about him. He --

The fur was gone. Devon looked human.

After Dark

Chapter Four

Devon nursed a lukewarm cup of coffee. Hospital coffee had undergone a rehabilitation

since the last time he had tried it. There were flavors available, hazelnut and vanilla and

something else he couldn’t remember right now.

It still tasted off, though. It wasn’t the cigarette ash he remembered from his parents’

deaths, but bitter and sweet. It made him wish Andrew was there. Andrew, who could

dissect coffee, figure out what had gone wrong and if there was anything that could be done

for it. Coffee was such a little thing, but Andrew ...

“What are you?”

He’s going to be all right. Someone hit him in the head and he’s having trouble seeing

straight. At least he knew it was me. If he hadn’t been able to see me at all ... He’s going to be

all right.

It was a hope. A prayer. There had been so much blood, but wasn’t that the sanguine

beauty of flesh wounds, that they were more flash than substance?

Cuts heal, Devon thought, raising the cup to his lips. Bruises fade, blood clots and stops

flowing and --

It was Tyler.

L.M. Prieto

Devon set the coffee down on the seat beside him. Andrew was still conscious. He

wasn’t making much sense, but at least he could still talk.

Remember when you were

attacked? You could barely stay awake, let alone talk. You ...

It was night. Andrew had a neck wound and was positive that a dead man had attacked

him. What if he was right? What if --

No, no, this can’t happen again.

-- a dead man had attacked him?

Pain spasmed in Devon’s stomach. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here, in

California, and not to a coffeeshop owner. Those things belonged in New England, where the

woods hid secrets and vampires went after journalists and ...

Devon traced his fingers over his neck. His skin was smooth. Warm. The marks had

faded long ago, but sometimes he still expected to touch them.

If Tyler rose from the dead, it would leave marks. On Andrew’s throat. On Julia’s body.

On the grave he’d crawled out of.

Devon frowned, gnawing on the idea. Tyler had died in a hiking accident. If a vampire

had wanted to change him, it wouldn’t have left him in the woods. Tyler might have been

trying to escape it and then fallen, but the vampire would have retrieved him before the

mortician had a chance to drain his fluids.

More importantly, the mortician’s process would have destroyed any chance of Tyler

returning from the dead. Without the vampire’s blood -- without any blood -- there was

nothing in Tyler to revive. Also, Julia had been torn to pieces. A vampire wouldn’t have

wasted her blood.

“It was Tyler, Devon.”

His neck

, Devon thought.

If something bit Andrew, if he’s lost any blood, then I’ll

know. Then --

After Dark

Devon drew his silk robe up around neck. He felt vulnerable without his coat, though

the leather wouldn’t offer him any protection against his past. He’d hoped to never have to

worry about things like vampires again.

If he had to, though, he would face it like he would any problem. Explore various

angles, research it both online and through interviews, and then ...

He’d figure that out when he got there.

Devon eyed the coffee. It was half full, but he didn’t want any more. One of the police

officers had brought it to him, and though they were gone now, Devon felt guilty about

tossing it. He hadn’t had much information for them. Sean had called; Andrew had wanted

to go see him; they had found Julia’s body. Devon had called the police from Sean’s room.

Andrew had gone looking for Sean and encountered the murderer.

It was Tyler.

They had understood why Andrew thought the killer was his dead brother, and they’d

left a card with Devon in case Andrew remembered anything helpful. A gentle tone had

softened the words’ edge, but Devon still felt angry. Just because Andrew couldn’t explain

what had happened in a non-Twilight Zone way didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

Besides a vampire, what else would come back from the dead? Also -- though Devon

hated to think this -- if Andrew’s head wound made him see things, who had killed Julia?

Why had they attacked Andrew? And where was Sean?

Quiet footfalls tapped closer. Devon looked up and saw an older, dark-skinned woman

approaching. She focused on him.

“Mr. Forsythe?”

Devon rose. “Is he all right?”

“Yes.” She smiled, and Devon felt something inside him ... not relax, but ease. Hospital

people did not smile when there was bad news.

L.M. Prieto

She introduced herself as Dr. something and told him about the scratches, which were

more blood than wounds, as they’d discovered when they washed them. “Because of where

he got the wounds,” she said, “we would like to keep him overnight. He’s insisting on

leaving, though.”

“His nephew is missing. He probably wants to be home in case he calls.” Devon

frowned. He wanted to tell Andrew to stay and assure him that he’d look for Sean. After

what they’d found at Julia’s house, though, Devon could understand why Andrew wanted to

be more active. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I understand.” She gave him her card and told him to call if

Andrew acted strange. “Head wounds can be subtly dangerous,” she said.

“What are you?”

“Would it affect what he sees?”

“After it happened, yes. He should be able to focus on things better in the morning. Do

you have any other questions?”

“About his neck wound.”

Ask her. Ask her. If you don’t ask --

“Did it look like he’d

been cut, or had something bitten him?”

“It looked like a minor scratch.”

“So nothing took blood from him?”

“No.” Her brow creased. “When he was brought in, I was more worried about tissue

damage than anything else. Why would you think something took blood from him?”

“I phrased it badly. I meant that there was just so much blood all over him.” A health

professional thought he was odd. Charming. That brought back pleasant memories of --

No. He would bring Andrew home first, then see if he could remember anything that

might prove relevant. “Thank you,” Devon said. “Is he ready?”

* * * * *

After Dark

“What did you tell the police?” Andrew asked.

Devon glanced at him. Andrew stared out the car window, his body partially turned

away. He hadn’t needed stitches. In place of sutures, white gauze clung to his temple,

shielding his cuts. He had another strip on the other side of his face.

“I told them that Sean called you,” Devon said. “We went to pick him up to take him

for a drive, but when we got there, we found Julia.”

“Did they find Sean?”

“No.” Devon’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He wanted to think that

Sean was all right.

“Do they think I’m insane?”

“No. I told them Tyler’s funeral had been today, and they thought the stress --”

Andrew laughed. It was a quiet, broken sound. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.” It was a partial truth. Devon’s first inclination was to

think -- hope -- that Andrew had imagined it. After that came fear that he hadn’t. “Did he

try to drink your blood?”

Silence.

Ahead, a light turned red. Devon slowed the car. “Did he --”

“No.” Andrew’s tone was cool. He was either tired or getting annoyed.

“Did his eyes glow?”

“This isn’t a joke, Devon.”

Getting annoyed. “I’m not joking,” Devon said. “I’m trying to understand --”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

Devon clenched and then relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. Maybe Andrew had

imagined seeing Tyler. Maybe he felt foolish for it and wanted to move on.

And maybe Andrew hadn’t imagined it and just didn’t know how to talk about it.

L.M. Prieto

That had been Devon’s problem. It had surprised him; he had a bachelor’s degree in

journalism and an associate in philosophy, and yet he’d still been unable to find the words to

make his own attack make sense.

“The light’s green,” Andrew said.

Devon continued down the road. Andrew’s attack had begun with a phone call. His

had begun with his mother’s poetry ...

Devon pulled into the visitor parking lot five minutes before the library closed. It had

taken him three hours to drive up from Salem, but once he’d gotten the call, he couldn’t

wait. The main librarian, an acquaintance turned f iend through e-mails, had found an old

chapbook of student poems. Devon’s mother had edited it and had a few poems in the book.

He couldn’t wait to see it.

He ran across the lot, past the student union, and made it into the library, panting.

Two libra ians, a young man and an older woman, looked up at him from behind the

counter.

“Hi,” Devon said, slumping against the counter. “I got a call from -- from --”

“You’re Mr. Forsythe,” the woman said.

Devon nodded.

“Jared has left for the day, but he left a book for you.” She reached under the counter

and brought out a small book.

“Thank you.” Devon studied the small shape as he left. It was loosely bound and the

paper was faded. The cover was thick, though, protecting the book’s secrets.

Jared had offered to mail it to him, but the thought of waiting more than a few hours

had seemed impossible. He wanted to hold this remnant of his mother, to look at the words

she used to whisper to him after he had a nightmare. He ... hmm, had forgotten to ask Jared

where he found it.

After Dark

Chuckling, Devon reached into his jeans pocket for his keys. He couldn’t believe he’d

forgotten to ask. Tomorrow, when he called to thank Jared for the book, he’d ask.

Devon was glad that he had come. He liked night drives. With the almost full moon

chasing after him for the last hour, this trip had felt more like an adven ure than a chore.

The wind whispered through the trees lining the walkway, making him wish he’d

worn more than a black cotton shirt and jeans.

Tea, he thought, imagining holding a warm plastic cup. There was a little coffee place

down the road, open late on Thursdays for the jazz crowd. He could stop by, read some

poems, and have a drink. Mmm. Warm jasmine tea. Two sugars. No, three, because he still

had to drive back. Traffic would lighten up, though, so it probably wouldn’t take him as long

to --

Cold fingers bit into his arm and yanked him back.

“Hey --”

His body thumped against a cold b ick wall. Pain echoed through him. When it faded,

he found himself frowning at a tall, dark-haired man. He had short hair and was attractive in

a silent-movie hero way: classical nose, pale skin, somber dark eyes.

The man smiled. “I thought the book would draw you out,” he said.

If this wasn’ about money ... “I’m not revealing my source.”

His last story had kept him up many nights. A child in need of a kidney, parents who

couldn’t afford to wait for an organ donor, a fa al mugging. Devon didn’t know if the ends

justified the means, but his paper had gotten letters from people who wanted to know who’d

broken the silence on something they would rather not have known about.

Cold fingers grabbed Devon’s collar and tore the fabric. “ don’t really care, Mr.

Forsythe.”

L.M. Prieto

Devon e upted in a chaos of thought and motion. The man didn’t want money, didn’t

want to get information from him. He slammed a knee into his assailant’s stomach, and pain

flared through his leg.

The man grabbed Devon’s hair and shoved him against the wall. He chuckled. It was a

thick, wet sound, like a current that kept sweeping over someone until they drowned. His

eyes shimmered and the black iris bled out, devouring the whites.

“So passionate,” he said. Light glinted off a pair of lengthening incisors. “Pity.”

This can’t be happening.

Devon stared at the man’s teeth.

This can’t --

It was.

Devon’s leg trembled and then gave out. Pain stabbed his head, fading into a dull ache

as Devon hit the ground, minus some hair strands.

He scrambled away, half crawling, half running. He needed a weapon. Something to

fight with, something that would make noise, something at all.

There. Two feet away. A pencil.

Devon leapt for the pencil. The thin shape felt fragile. Its point was dull, but it was

wood, and every single Hammer horror movie Devon had ever seen testified than wood

hurt --

Cold fingers grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up. Devon fell back against the

man.

Needle-sharp teeth grazed over his neck. The teeth pressed and then slipped into his

neck. Pain lanced through him, sending threads throughout him ... and then shifted,

becoming a caress.

No. I don’t want this. No.

He trembled. The vampire released one shoulder and ran edged fingernails down his

arm, his chest.

After Dark

Something spasmed in Devon’s stomach. He didn’t want this. His fingers twitched,

sending an almost-ache into his fingertips, as if his hands had been asleep and were waking

up. Devon twisted, and the feeling crept over his arms, his body.

Pain returned, so sharp it made him lightheaded. He stilled.

The ache faded, replaced by a rhythmic pulse in his neck. Cool fingers traced over his

nipple, sending a shiver through him. It pooled in his cock, creating a pleasant ache.

No!

Another time, another place, and with someone he trusted, this could happen.

Here, it might happen despite him, but it was also killing him. The vampire wanted him to

enjoy his own murder.

Devon turned the pencil so that its almost-sharp end was pointed down. One strike, he

would probably only get one strike, but the man -- the vampire -- held him and was blocking

his own heart. What else would hurt him? What --

A hard weight pressed up against Devon’s ass.

Bastard!

Devon twisted, stabbing at the weight.

Pain erupted in his neck. Blackness tugged at him, making him dizzy

. No, stay awake.

The fangs withdrew, cutting the pain off. The vampire jerked back.

Cold air stung Devon’s neck. He pressed his hand over the wound, but warm blood

seeped around his fingers.

Get help.

He half ran, half stumbled toward the library. If he was lucky, the vampire

had a wood allergy.

Footsteps thudded behind him. He glanced back. The vampire was three steps behind

him.

Bloody hell.

Ahead, the library lights died.

No!

He reached the ent yway

. Please be unlocked.

L.M. Prieto

The automatic doors opened, and he ran in. “Someone call campus police!”

A sibilant growl erupted from the doorway. Devon turned.

The vampire stood in the entryway, clawing at space. The air shimmered, and then

smoke rose from his hands. He stepped back and threw himself at the doorway.

The air trembled, sending green-brown sparks off the vampire. Letter-like shapes

appeared in the entryway, shining green, and then faded.

The vampire pulled himself away from the doorway.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Forsythe?” the libra ian asked.

”

Devon turned. The librarian was on the other side of the counter. Devon motioned at

the entrance. “He attacked me.”

The woman walked around the counter. She glanced outside. “I don’t see anyone.

Devon looked. No one was there.

He stepped up to the window and searched the area. The vampire was gone. He might

have turned into a bat or mist or jus walked away, but he was gone. “He was there a

moment ago,” Devon said. “He ...”

His neck throbbed. The pain swept through him, making the room grow dark.

Warm fingers slipped around his elbow. “I’ll call the campus police,” the librarian said,

her voice g owing distant. “Please sit down and -- You’re bleeding ...”

Devon pulled the car into their driveway. They had an hour before sunrise. A vampire

wouldn’t risk being out so close to daylight, and Devon doubted the murderer, alive or dead,

knew where they lived.

“Sean got away,” Andrew said.

Devon glanced at him. He hadn’t seen any other bodies, but admittedly, he hadn’t

looked for them. “How do you know?”

After Dark

“He told me.”

He.

No name, just a pronoun. Andrew probably hoped that a pronoun wouldn’t make

people think he was insane.

Andrew got out of the car. Devon glanced at the car windows, making sure that they

were closed. They were, so he got out of the car and locked the doors. The small rituals gave

him something to focus on. Drive home, lock up the car, find a way to talk about Things

That Man Does Not Know How To Talk About. Life had become a series of connect-the-dots,

and though Devon couldn’t identify the picture, he knew it was there. He just had to figure

it out before it came after Andrew again.

L.M. Prieto

Chapter Five

Andrew locked the door behind him. The clock on the living room wall ticked quietly,

breaking the house’s silence. The sound was normal, offering him a hint of his familiar, safe

world, where people were not torn open, the dead did not rise, and lovers --

“Are you tired?”

-- were human.

“No,” Andrew said. He should be, really, but he felt awake. Aware.

He studied the living room. Right now, that awareness was a good thing. He didn’t

know where Tyler had gone after he’d jumped out the window. He could have gone back to

the graveyard. Or after Sean. Or ...

“Andrew.”

Devon was using his gentle tone. He was about to say something unpleasant.

“Yes?” Andrew walked around the living room. The windows were latched shut. If

anyone came into the house, it hadn’t been through here.

“Tyler may have angered a lot of people through the years.”

Andrew doubted it. From what he’d seen, other people had found Tyler charismatic.

“And?”

After Dark

“Maybe someone decided to take it out on his family.”

“Maybe.” Andrew stepped into their bedroom and turned on the lights. The windows

were locked. He went into the bathroom -- also locked -- and then out the connecting door

to his office.

The windows were locked.

He stepped up to his desk and checked his answering machine. Nothing.

He crossed the room and stepped out into the kitchen. The back door was closed, the

windows latched and screens drawn. He headed for a set of stairs in the corner.

Newcomers usually asked him if he should have put the stairs in the front room.

Depending on his mood, Andrew either told them that he’d been drunk when he designed

the house, or that the spirit of Sarah Winchester had come over from the Winchester House

down the street and suggested the design to him. The truth was that the bungalow had been

built in the 1950s, and whoever had put the stairs there hadn’t cared about practicality. If

they had, Andrew wouldn’t have had to add the second bathroom when Devon moved in.

Andrew had, though, as well as renovated the attic into a second office.

A small hallway led to the precious second bathroom and Devon’s office. Both doors

were open, and a quick inspection revealed nothing. Bathroom tiles gleamed dark blue.

Devon’s desk was neat, his fake-skull-with-vampire-teeth paperweight staring at him.

Maybe I injured Tyler

, Andrew thought, heading back downstairs.

Maybe he needs to

return to his grave and ...

He didn’t know.

Shit. He needed to learn more. Could Tyler come into a house if no one invited him in?

Would silver hurt him? Wooden stakes? Could he cross running water?

Grandfather taught him how to take power from me. Since the old bastard isn’t still

around, they can’t be vampires. Devon --

L.M. Prieto

Andrew scowled. He’d been surprised when Devon asked if Tyler had taken his blood.

After the surprise had come annoyance. Andrew’d said that a man had risen from the dead. It

made sense that people would think he’d gone insane, was seeing things, or had seen a

vampire. He just hadn’t expected it from Devon.

He’s not human.

Tyler. Right now Tyler was the threat. After Tyler came Grandfather, who thankfully

was dead, but who had given Tyler the education to become a threat.

Andrew knew very little about the man. He’d died of a heart attack a couple years after

Andrew had been born and had left everything to Tyler -- his house, his money, his

collection of German rocks. Tyler, in turn, had named Sean after him: Kisean, Sean for short.

Andrew hadn’t known about the marks on his grandfather’s arm, though. He hadn’t

known that his grandfather had a German accent or that he’d ever been in the woods. He

didn’t even know if the man had ever held him as a child.

He wished there was someone he could ask about his grandfather. Problem was, his

parents were dead and Tyler had gotten all of the man’s things. If Andrew wanted to go

through his possessions, he would need to go to Julia’s house and hope that he wasn’t

interfering with the police investigation.

The man had had a number on his arm. If Andrew could remember it ...

It started with a letter. A dark stain on pale skin, followed by a series of numbers. It

started with ... an M, for

der Magier

. He didn’t know any German, but from Tyler’s

memories he knew the word meant magician.

His mark was probably faked, just like Tyler’s. Since he was dead and Tyler was still

running around, maybe Grandfather’s magical battery had died. He’d told Tyler the scar

would be there even after Andrew died. Once Andrew was dead, Tyler couldn’t use him,

so ...

If I really want to stop Tyler, all I have to do i die.

After Dark

Andrew felt surreal, like he was there and yet not there. He wasn’t the one who was

supposed to live a quiet life with his loved ones. He was the one who was supposed to die,

and if he couldn’t manage that on his own, then Tyler had magic and would be able to

correct the mistake.

He wanted to live.

The thought -- the feeling -- surprised him. Although Andrew had never said it aloud,

he’d always wondered if he would outlive Tyler. There were always those little marks his

brother had made on his skin. Worse, there was the fear of losing someone else. If Andrew

lost anyone else he loved, he didn’t know if he would be able to live with himself.

His heart thumped, creating a tight, constricting pain in his chest. Grandfather may

have had power, but he wasn’t immortal. Perhaps Tyler could also be stopped.

The ache faded, leaving Andrew feeling excited and afraid and hopeful. He’d hurt

Tyler. Maybe he could stop him. Maybe he could take back whatever Tyler had taken from

him.

Sure. And then he would be able to fight someone who had years of training and

knowledge over him.

Shit. What would Harry Potter do?

The thought made his lips quirk. Tyler was bad, but he wasn’t He Who Must Not Be

Named bad.

Hmm. Actually, remembering the look on Devon’s face when he’d said Tyler’s name,

before Devon had turned into a wolf creature ...

Andrew’s amusement faded. He loved Devon. He was fairly certain Devon loved him.

Before today, though, he wouldn’t have felt hesitant about Devon’s feelings for him. Devon

loved, just like any other human being loved. Could wolf-things love?

Focus on Tyler. He has a tie to you.

L.M. Prieto

Andrew glanced at his left forearm. A three-inch yellow-white scar lay on the

underside.

He studied it. He’d had it for so long that he’d forgotten about it. Years before, his

mother had told him that when he was a baby, Tyler had tried to hold him. He was too

heavy, though, and Tyler had accidentally dropped him.

Tyler hadn’t tried to touch that scar. He’d said he needed organs, but he’d taken them

from Julia.

When he saw me, he went for --

Andrew touched his left temple. Pain flared around his fingers. Bile crept up his throat.

He took a deep breath and then another. Fuck.

If Tyler had just shuffled up to him and not talked, Andrew would have thought his

brother just wanted to eat his brain. There were more efficient ways of getting to it than just

pressing his fingers against Andrew’s forehead, though.

When I did it back to him, I saw his past. Maybe when he did it to me, he saw

something. Or he got power. All these years, his attacks, everything, were just to get close

enough to hurt me so that could harvest my magic. Physical, emotional, it was all good to

him.

The pain faded.

Andrew headed for the bathroom. He wanted to see the marks.

He flicked the switch on, and light glinted off the gold knobs.

Andrew leaned against the counter and brushed his hair back. Deep breath -- it had

hurt just touching the gauze before -- and then he peeled the tape away.

It clung to his skin, pulling at it and sending echo-pains through his head. He clenched

his eyes shut. He needed to see the marks. Tyler wouldn’t hesitate to rip the tape off. If

Andrew couldn’t learn about his own wounds ...

The tape left his skin.

Andrew sighed. One down. One more to go.

After Dark

The second side inched slowly off his forehead. When it was gone, he felt lightheaded

and relieved. He took another deep breath to steady himself and then opened his eyes.

The skin on either side of his eyes was a montage of colors: pale skin circling five

violet-blue patches. Each shape was no bigger than a dime, with a curved half-moon

indented near the center. The skin circling each crescent was yellow. There were three

marks hunched together on the top of his left temple, a single one below his left eye, and one

mark near the hairline on his right side. The bruises pulsed, sending a faint ache through

him.

Individually, they were so small. Just five ugly bruises that, in time, would heal.

Andrew removed his glasses.

The room trembled.

He set his glasses on top of the gauze. The room stilled.

In the mirror, pale light pulsed out of the wounds. The motion sent an ache through

his head.

He raised a hand to his right temple, not quite touching the mark. Warmth ebbed out

of the spot.

I wonder if I’m still feeding him.

His stomach twisted, sending bile back up his throat. He hated the idea. If that was

what the light meant, he had to stop it.

How, though?

He gingerly placed his fingers over the marks. When he’d mirrored Tyler’s hold, he

had been able to break through to his own power. If he pressed into his own marks, would

he be able to stop the pulses? Or would he make himself sick and pass out?

Deep breath, deep breath. Grandfather hadn’t said anything about stopping this. The

bastard had probably thought he would never catch on.

L.M. Prieto

Tyler had to mirror the scar on his arm to Andrew’s. What if he was right about

pushing into his own bruises? Would he be able to stop the flow?

Find something else to do. You don’t want to pass out.

Andrew pressed his fingers into his bruises.

Pain slammed into him. His fingers spasmed, losing their place. He --

-- pressed his fingers into Andrew’s head. It was cold out, but Julia’s blood warmed

Tyler. His skin had drunk in the liquid, and then heat had wrapped around him.

His fingertips slipped beneath skin, and Andrew gasped. Images ebbed against Tyler’s

mind: the funeral, talking to Julia, thinking about paying for Sean’s college, going home --

Black static, a mind fighting to censor.

Tyler sank his fingers in deeper. Andrew twitched. No sound, no scream, just his blood

slipping over Tyler’s fingers like silk gloves. The images returned, faster, sharper, clearer.

Andrew ...

... removing his shirt to show Devon his fishhook scar. Devon’s eyes flickered green

and ... something. Then, he’s kissing Devon, slipping lube-slicked fingers into him.

Hmm. There was something different about Devon, something Andrew was too dense

to notice. Perhaps that would allow Tyler to ansfer his spell to Devon. Grandfather had

never dared expand his power past one person, but Tyler thought it was possible. He’d just

need Andrew’s hand and --

Pain lanced into his head. Andrew. Andrew was. Andrew was mirroring him.

Andrew --

-- slumped to the ground.

The dark blue tiles were cool against his skin. His head throbbed. Andrew blinked,

easing the ache in his eyes. His body felt sluggish. He was tempted to lie down for a moment

and --

Devon

. Tyler was thinking of doing that ... that thing to Devon.

After Dark

Andrew pushed himself up. The pain in his head twitched and then settled into an

ache.

He took a deep breath. He needed to stay awake. Over the years, Tyler had done or said

odd things, and if Andrew could piece them together, he’d be able to protect Devon.

Devon, who wasn’t even human.

Andrew thought over what he knew of Devon. Until that night, he’d thought he knew

a lot.

There were the little things, like Devon’s favorite tea and that he was left-handed. He

thought Tolkien was boring, something Andrew’s inner nerd couldn’t understand. Devon

had had only one other lover in his life, something Andrew had been certain Devon was

making up.

“I was a late bloomer,”

Devon had said.

“It wasn’t until my second year in college

that things clicked.”

Devon had never said anything about wolves. His father’s family came from England,

his mother’s from New England. He --

Andrew’s head throbbed ... and then the pain faded.

Stunned, he traced his fingers over his temple. No pulse of magic.

Relief flooded him, making him feel boneless. He was free. His power, whatever

remained, was his. His weird sight, his brilliant gift for piecing things together ...

Tyler wanted to transfer the spell to Devon. Would this slow him down, or make it

easier?

Andrew stepped up to the counter. If he’d known what Tyler was thinking, he would

have left the bruises alone.

Too late. Take what you have, and find a way to stop him.

Andrew studied his forehead. The yellow centers had dulled to the same hazy blue as

the rest of the bruises.

A smile crept across his lips. They were healing quickly.

L.M. Prieto

“Andrew?” Devon sounded close.

Shit. Andrew picked up a bandage. He slipped it over the bruise on his right and then

picked up the other gauze strip. He was glad they were getting better so quickly, but he

didn’t want to explain why.

The door to his left crept open, allowing Devon to step into the doorway. He had

changed out of his silk robe into a black t-shirt and sweats. “I have the Vicodin the doctor

prescribed. I put it on the nightstand.”

“Thanks,” Andrew said. “I’m --”

Pale fur erupted out of Devon’s skin.

“-- okay right now.”

“I’m glad.” Devon’s voice was a verbal caress. He leaned against the doorframe. His jaw

crept forward, forming a muzzle.

“And you?” Andrew asked. “How are you doing?”

“Okay. I took a couple NoDoz pills a few minutes ago.”

“Those will tear up your stomach.”

Devon’s lips twitched, flashing a hint of tooth. This was another joke between them.

Andrew hated NoDoz and preferred that people ask him to make them something instead of

taking it. Sometimes, though, Devon didn’t want to bother him.

Andrew touched Devon’s face. The fur was soft. Warm. It felt real.

He clenched his eyes shut. Devon wasn’t human. He talked and smiled and laughed,

but ...

The fur faded, leaving skin.

Andrew opened his eyes. Devon was looking at him thoughtfully.

“Andrew?”

After Dark

“I’m okay.” Devon’s skin tingled under his fingers, and fur crept out. “I just ... like

touching you.”

Andrew studied him. As long as he was looking at Devon, it seemed he would be able

to touch the fur. If he closed his eyes, though, the fur would fade. Probably because Devon

was in his human shape.

“If you want to lie down, I can stay up in case Sean calls,” Devon said.

It was a kind offer. Andrew felt tired, but he loathed the idea of leaving Devon alone. If

Tyler attacked ...

“It’s going to be light soon,” Devon said. “The attacker needs to rest.”

Annoyance twitched inside Andrew. Not the vampire quips again.

The ride home had been frustrating. In retrospect, telling Devon that Tyler had risen

from the dead was a hard sell. No normal person would believe it.

But then, Devon wasn’t a normal person. He had fur. Was wolf-like. He liked rare meat

and horror movies. He didn’t get territorial, though he did respect that Andrew liked being

alone in his office. He’d also been able to smell something bad at Julia’s house. He ...

He’s really energetic during full moons.

He was a werewolf.

“Andrew?”

“Sorry. I’m not ready to go to bed yet. I appreciate the offer, though.” Andrew studied

him. Devon was a mystery to him. He didn’t know if Devon had faced anything supernatural

before, or if he was there to watch the humans. Maybe he protected people. Maybe he was

biding his time, waiting for the order to strike against humanity. Maybe he wasn’t like other

werewolves and had been exiled. Maybe ...

Andrew didn’t know. He wanted to, though. Wanted to know what it was like to grow

up a werewolf. Wanted to find out if werewolves hunted, and if they did, what did they

L.M. Prieto

hunt? He wanted to see Devon unclothed and see his familiar body in this form. Would he

be able to find his bicycle scar? Or his bullet wound --

“The bullet,” Andrew said. “Was it silver?”

Devon’s brows furrowed. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t seem important.”

Pain spasmed in Andrew’s stomach. Not important? Devon was a werewolf. Years of

horror movies had shown Andrew how deadly silver was to werewolves. He couldn’t believe

Devon would say that.

Oh.

Just as Andrew had been afraid to confide his past, Devon didn’t want to talk about his.

Andrew was annoyed. He’d told Devon about the fishhook. Devon could at least have told

him something more than

I lived with my grandparents after my parents died.

Maybe it was against the rules.

“There are worse things than bullet wounds,” Devon said.

Not to a werewolf. “You ...” How to phrase it? Perhaps blunt was best. “You have an

allergy to silver?”

Devon’s ears twitched. “I have an allergy to being shot.”

Good one. “I’ve discovered an allergy to head wounds,” Andrew said, motioning to his

head.

Green eyes flicked to his bandages. “The tape looks loose.”

“I wanted to see what they looked like.”

“Ah.” Behind Devon, something twitched near the bottom of his shirt. “I wish you’d

done that near me. If you’d passed out --”

“I didn’t. I just wanted ...”

Does he have a tail?

“You’re right.”

He might have a tail.

After Dark

Movement again.

The idea fascinated Andrew. Devon might have a tail. Movie werewolves had them,

but all they did was lie there. Devon’s moved.

Devon sighed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to lecture you.”

“You were just worried.”

Thoughts tumbled behind Devon’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was

teasing you,” he said.

Andrew raised and dropped one shoulder. “I imagine I must have sounded insane.”

“No. Just frightened. After I saw Julia --” Flicker of movement behind Devon again. “--

I was frightened, too.”

The movement was slow. Agitated. Andrew stepped closer.

There. Poking out from beneath Devon’s black shirt was the tip of a pale blond tail.

“If you think he’ll come after you, we could ask the police to --”

“No,” Andrew said. Tyler could do magic. The police would try to help, but Andrew

doubted they’d stand much of a chance against Tyler. He glanced back. Through the small

bathroom window, the sky was periwinkle. “It’s light now. Even serial killers have to rest.”

“Ah, thinking positively.”

“I try.” Andrew touched Devon’s face. His fur was soft, the texture something between

silk and wool. Thick and smooth and warm. “A few hours ago I thought I would never do

this again.”

Devon tipped his head, leaning into Andrew’s touch.

Andrew traced the fingers of his other hand down Devon’s arm, past his elbow, to his

back. If Devon wasn’t going to tell him about his werewolf nature, then Andrew wanted to

see it. “I miss the robe.”

L.M. Prieto

“It’s in the other room.” Devon caught his hand. Warm fur cradled Andrew’s skin.

“The doctor --”

“Cautioned against overly exciting me?” Andrew pressed his leg between Devon’s and

rubbed his knee against him. Devon’s eyes flickered green-gold.

“No. She --” Devon’s breath skipped. “-- wanted to keep you overnight.”

“I didn’t want to be with her overnight.” Andrew felt Devon harden against him. How

far could he go? He tugged his hand loose.

He knew Devon hadn’t really physically changed. Andrew could see teeth and fur, but

he knew Devon was human-shaped right now.

Touch him

. Maybe a little rubbing, just to get closer to the tail. What would it feel like?

Warmth pooled in his cock.

“I am tempted,” Devon said, tracing clawed fingers down Andrew’s chest. “This would

get you to sleep in an hour.”

“Hmm.” Andrew doubted he would have been able to stay up much past that anyway.

“Will you guard me?”

Devon’s eyes shimmered. “Yes.”

Andrew took Devon’s shirt and pulled it up, over his head.

Devon’s chest was lightly furred. Andrew ran his fingers over it, finding one nipple,

then the other.

Clawed fingertips took Andrew’s shirt and drew it up. Andrew slipped out of his shirt

and then reached for Devon’s sweats.

Devon chuckled. “Maybe we should move into the other room.”

“The --” No, he couldn’t tell Devon that the light was better here. “In a moment.”

Andrew hooked his thumbs into the elastic band on Devon’s sweats and pulled them

down. No underwear, just a lightly furred cock, half-hidden balls, and beautiful legs.

After Dark

Devon tugged Andrew’s sweats down. “If you start to feel dizzy or anything, tell me.”

“Okay. You, too.”

A pale shape twitched behind Devon. Back and forth, back and forth.

Andrew turned Devon around.

Devon’s back was soft. Warm. Furry. It narrowed slightly at the waist.

There, above the beautiful curve of his ass, was a tail.

It was a little over a foot long and thickly furred. It moved side to side, brushing past

Andrew’s thigh. A pleasant ache pooled in his cock, hardening it.

Devon shifted, reaching back to run clawed fingertips along Andrew’s leg. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Andrew took Devon’s hands and, raising them above his head, pressed them to

the doorframe.

He nuzzled Devon’s neck. Devon had a fondness for having his neck kissed. Andrew

had always thought he was simply sensitive there. Now he wondered: werewolf thing?

Devon’s tail stroked his cock. The touch sent a fluttering pleasure through him. It was

touching him; it wasn’t. It was touching him; it wasn’t. It --

Fuck, it was surreal and hot.

“Tell me,” Andrew said.

“Yes?”

“Are pants ever --” Andrew nipped the juncture between Devon’s neck and his

shoulder. “-- uncomfortable?”

Devon trembled. “Only when you’re around.”

Andrew’s lips quirked. Flattering. And surprising. Although Andrew liked to think that

he’d bloomed after high school, he still thought of himself as a nerd.

The tail brushed against his cock, his balls.

Keeping one hand over Devon’s, Andrew reached down and touched the tail.

L.M. Prieto

The fur whispered against his skin, secret-soft. There was a subtle strength there,

beneath the weave of fur. Devon’s tail wouldn’t tear something apart, but Andrew figured it

could probably bruise someone.

He ran his fingertips over it, from the middle to its base, and massaged Devon’s skin.

When he’d begun, the most he’d imagined doing was masturbating Devon. Now ...

“Andrew.” Devon’s breath trembled. The tail rose, fur stroking over Andrew’s cock.

Andrew reached across the counter and opened the medicine cabinet. He picked up a

narrow black plastic bottle off the second shelf and flicked it open. He kept waterproof lube

there for shared showers. Glancing down, he hoped it wouldn’t be brushed away by the fur.

Devon’s hands twitched, lightly tugging at his grip.

“No,” Andrew said, leaning in to nip the back of Devon’s neck.

Devon’s breath skipped. “God, Andrew.”

Andrew set the bottle on its side on the counter and then pressed against it. The lube

crept out. He scooped the cool goo onto his fingertips and rubbed his fingers together,

warming it.

Devon’s tail stroked Andrew’s cock again. The brush of fur against skin sent a delicious

shiver through Andrew.

He reached past the tail and stroked one lube-slicked finger into Devon’s ass. Inside,

Devon felt the same: hot and tight and his.

Devon sighed. “If I was free right now --”

Andrew curled his finger, brushing it forward.

“Ah.” Devon trembled.

“I like being careful,” Andrew said, adding another finger. He meant about taking his

time and using lubricant to prepare his lover. He didn’t mean the claws, which he knew had

never hurt him, or the teeth, which had never drawn blood.

After Dark

And yet ... he wondered. He couldn’t forget that they were there. If he wasn’t that

threatened by them, why couldn’t he forget them?

“I won’t break,” Devon said.

No. Andrew supposed he wouldn’t. Werewolves might heal faster than humans.

Andrew removed his fingers. He slowly pushed into Devon and then inched out. Skin

or fur; Devon still felt good.

Devon’s tail twitched against Andrew’s abdomen.

He reached around and stroked Devon’s cock. The light dusting of fur altered the

familiar weight. It felt smooth going down, and then his fingers ran up against the grain and

the fur rippled against his skin.

“Andrew.” His name was an ethereal caress.

Andrew pushed into him. His balls brushed fur. He stilled. It felt comfortable and

warm and almost ticklish.

He drew out and then inched back in. Back and forth, back and forth, using the same

rhythm he used on Devon’s cock.

A sharp tightening grew in Andrew’s ball, making him feel lightheaded.

Don’t pass out.

You’ll never live it down.

Devon tugged at Andrew’s hold.

“No,” Andrew whispered, nipping Devon’s throat. The small movement centered him,

pushing the faint-headed feeling away.

“Ah.” Devon trembled against him.

Andrew laved his neck, nipping and then sucking on the furred skin. “Mmm?” He’d

had too many silent lovers, and he liked that Devon made sounds. Couldn’t seem, in fact, to

stop himself.

“Please ... harder.”

L.M. Prieto

Ah. He withdrew and then slammed back in. Out, in, out, in, out ...

“Ah!” Devon gasped. “Andrew, yes.”

Devon’s cock twitched in his hand and warm liquid erupted out of him, coating

Andrew’s palm.

Another thrust, and then there was a sudden tightening in his balls and he came.

Something pulsed out of him, sending warm energy around him, caressing everything it

touched.

“Ah.”

It was delicious; it made him tremble; it made him lightheaded. Another pulse, and

then it faded.

“That was ...” Devon sighed. “How long are you going to keep my hands?”

“How long can I?” Andrew rested his cheek against the warm, sweat-tinged fur on

Devon’s shoulder. That had been unbelievable. After he dealt with Tyler, he had to learn

how to do that on purpose.

After Dark

Chapter Six

Devon turned the bedroom phone’s ringer off. If Sean called, he would wake Andrew,

but if the

San Francisco Chronicle

made their weekly call to see if they wanted a

subscription, he wanted Andrew to sleep through it.

On the bed, Andrew lay partially covered by a flannel sheet. He snored, a quiet noise

that Devon had grown to find endearing.

Devon crept out of the room. Andrew had been ... God, he had just

been

. Devon still

felt pleasantly sore.

He stepped into the living room and picked up the black portable phone. A snore

echoed from the bedroom.

A smile played across Devon’s lips. After he’d gotten dressed in a pair of black jeans and

a long-sleeved cotton shirt, he’d wondered if he would have to make Andrew some warm

milk. Andrew, though, had just climbed into bed and gone to sleep.

Another snore came out of the room. Another, and then a softer one.

Devon picked up the morning edition of the

San Jose Mercury News

from the coffee

table. After he had left journalism, he hadn’t intended to date again. He was too wound up

for casual sex, and between typing and masturbating, his fingers got tired. Whimsically he

L.M. Prieto

had considered a career in the priesthood, where he would be left alone and could pursue the

noble calling of hunting pedophiles.

He had actually looked into becoming a priest, but was held up by one thing: faith. He

had an associates degree in philosophy and could appreciate the chicken-and-egg

relationship between people and a deity, whether it was called God, Allah, or the Goddess.

That openness might help him work with a diverse staff, but in a monotheistic setting

it would get him in trouble. “Father Forsythe,” he imagined being told, “the monsignor

would like to see you in his office. No, it’s not because you beat up Father Larsen for

unspoken reasons. It’s because you called the Lord a schizophrenic entity composed of both

good and evil in your sermon this morning.”

Despite his resolution, six months later he’d met Andrew and something just clicked.

Andrew was nice. He wore glasses instead of contacts, relying more on his personality than a

good tan to get someone’s attention. He was funny, and he was unbelievable in bed. He ...

Was almost taken from him.

Three hours later, Devon skimmed over the front page of the paper again. Julia’s attack

had happened too late to get into the morning edition.

There had, in fact, been no occult-style killings in the area for a while. It was one of

the reasons he’d chosen to stay in the Bay Area -- the last incidence was in the late 1800s.

People mining for mercury disappeared; professional hunters were called in; they were

decimated. One was mortally wounded, but a doctor -- who was politely referred to as

“eccentric” -- was called in and the hunter survived. The wolf attacks stopped.

Research had taught him that mercury was used to mine for silver, so reading into it,

Devon had thought that werewolves wanted to stop the mining.

He’d never seen a werewolf, but his previous lover, Prior, had been positive they

existed. There was no trace of a vampire in the story, though Devon did wonder about the

After Dark

doctor. From what he remembered normal wolves could do to a human body, no one should

have survived their attack. What had the doctor used -- magic?

It was a strong possibility. Devon knew little about magic, but from what he’d heard,

its wielders used it to protect people. He’d once been told that someone had cast a protective

spell over Salem, preventing vampires from --

A drawer opened and closed in the bedroom. Devon refolded the paper and set it on

the table. Although there had been a couple calls, no one had found Sean.

Andrew stepped out of the room. His dark hair was damp, and he’d changed into what

Devon thought of as classic Andrew: vibrant blue tie resting in the V of his white shirt, black

pants with a hint of gray stripes. It seemed like life could take Andrew out of the office, but

could never take the office out of Andrew.

“Hi,” Devon said.

“Hey. Have there been any calls?”

“Kylie. I told her about last night.”

“I’m surprised she’s not here,” Andrew said.

“I told her you were sleeping.”

Andrew stepped up to Devon. He tilted forward to brush warm lips over Devon’s

forehead. “Thanks.”

Devon smiled. “I was thinking ...” How to bring up the idea of visiting Tyler’s grave

without making Andrew think he was teasing him?

“Yes?”

“We could go for a drive later.”

“Maybe.” Andrew pulled away. His tone had been thoughtful, meaning maybe was

maybe. Andrew reached past the portable phone on the table and took a tissue from its

decorative green box.

L.M. Prieto

“How are you feeling?” Devon asked.

“Good.” Andrew removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “I didn’t wake up with

a headache. Also, when I got out of bed, I didn’t get dizzy. Obviously my plan of coming

home was sound.”

“Obviously.” Devon was bemused. Andrew felt good, and he wasn’t going to let Devon

forget it.

“How are you doing?” Andrew asked.

“Good.” However Andrew felt about NoDoz, it had always done its best by Devon.

“Are you ... hungry?”

Andrew’s brown eyes shimmered. “Yeah.”

Devon rose.

“You said something about a --”

Devon caught Andrew’s face in his hands and tilted his head to one side. His eyes.

There was something different about his eyes.

Andrew’s pale brown iris was larger, partially eclipsing the black pupil. Devon’s

reflection looked back at him, his outline a thin line surrounding a pale figure. His form

trembled.

“I think I’m due for an eye examination,” Andrew said, gently pulling away.

“Oh.” Devon frowned. The doctor had said that the attack might affect Andrew’s sight.

It made sense that his eyes would act strangely.

Andrew slipped his glasses on. “I seem to remember you said something last night

about casseroles.”

Lunch was a pleasant, microwave-heated tuna casserole affair. Afterward Andrew

made them raspberry mochas.

After Dark

“Did you grow up in the country?” Andrew asked, carrying two large mugs to the

kitchen table. He set the black one in front of Devon. “Maybe have some woods to run in, or

hunt, or --”

“No. The suburbs.” Devon picked up his mocha and took a sip. He’d had a pleasantly

dull upbringing. Born in England, lived in a suburb. Moved to be closer to mother’s dying

aunt in Connecticut, lived in a suburb.

After his parents died, he’d had to return to England to live with his paternal

grandparents. Large stone estate, bordered by woods and guarded by men in dark clothes.

“Half-breed” had been Grandfather’s pet name for him, and Devon had thought,

O-kay, Dad

married out ide the f mily.

Devon had spent the first six months trying to figure out what his grandparents did for

a living and the rest trying not to find out. If he didn’t know, they would have nothing to

keep him there with. So he kept quiet, saved his allowance, and studied whatever his private

tutors gave him. Five years and three attempts later, he finally succeeded in running away.

“Did both your parents come from England?” Andrew asked.

“Just my father.” Devon set his mug down. “Why the sudden questions?”

“Curiosity. I’ve been thinking about my own grandfather, and I realized that I know

nothing about him.” Andrew nursed his mocha. “Until recently, I’d forgotten I even had

one.”

“Ah.” Devon envied him that. “What do you know about him?”

“Tyler named Sean after him. Were you named after yours?”

“Yes.” Devon was his grandfather’s middle name. “We could research your grandfather

later.”

“I’d like that.” Andrew looked thoughtful. “If there was something different about me,

I would want to tell you. It might be hard, and I might be afraid you would think I was

crazy, but I would want to tell you.”

L.M. Prieto

He’s going to tell me that it was Tyler again.

“Yes?” Devon asked, keeping his tone soft.

Until they went to Tyler’s grave, Devon had to admit that Tyler might have really attacked

Andrew. It would be egotistical to think that only he could have something supernatural

attack him.

“As a child, were you ever ...” Andrew set his mug down. “... bitten by a wolf?”

Bitten by a --?

Devon laughed. “No. Why?” He sobered. “Do you think wolves attacked Julia? Their

house borders the Santa Cruz Mountains, but I don’t think there are any wolves in the area.”

“No. I don’t think that. How about your parents?”

“My ...” Devon frowned. There were months that went by without him thinking about

how his parents had died. “They were mauled to death by wild dogs.”

“Wild -- Are you sure? Do you think the dogs could have been wolves?”

“Maybe.” The animals had been too large to be wolves and too cunning to just be dogs.

Devon had to call them something, so he’d opted for wild dogs. Dogs could be trained.

Wolves, though, had hunted Little Red Riding Hood and were versatile. “It was dark. It was

hard to see.”

Andrew’s face grew bone-pale. “You saw it?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t ...” No. That wasn’t fair. Andrew had told him about the fishhook scar. “When

I was thirteen ...” Devon told Andrew about the last time he’d gone camping with his

parents.

They’d been in one tent, and after listening to them whisper sweetly to each other for

an hour, Devon had grabbed the car keys, griped that they weren’t teenagers, and headed to

the car to sleep. His parents had laughed and he’d felt goofy, but he went to the car anyway

and fell asleep.

After Dark

The screams woke him a couple of hours later. Sharp, startled, pained cries echoed in

the woods, but within two quick breaths they stopped.

It was dark, so Devon turned on the lights. Four dark, furry shapes turned toward him.

Blood, white ropes of intestines, and bits of flesh covered the earth.

The figures blinked and then moved toward the car. Devon stared at them, at the

chunks of meat littering the ground, and understood that there was nothing he could do. He

jammed the keys into the ignition, threw the car into reverse, and peeled away from the

advancing creatures.

“I’m sorry.” Andrew rose. He walked over to Devon and slipped his arms around him

from behind. “God, I’m sorry.”

Devon moved his mug, making the handle face one way and then another. “Why the

questions about wolves?”

“I was just curious.”

“People don’t generally ask someone if they’ve been bitten.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Andrew said.

Devon tipped his head, brushing his cheek over Andrew’s hand. “I don’t like

remembering it.”

“I can imagine. It’s just that ... sometimes odd things happen.”

Yes, and when they did, the people who were left behind had to find a way to explain

what had happened as well as defend themselves. “I’m not one of the odd things, Andrew.”

Andrew released him, leaving the skin he’d held cold. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Footfalls moved away from Devon. He turned and saw Andrew disappear into the

living room.

Devon rose. Wolves hadn’t killed Julia. Andrew seemed fairly positive it wasn’t a

vampire. What else --?

L.M. Prieto

It was Tyler.

Devon headed into the living room.

Andrew stood in the doorway to their bedroom, shoving one foot into a black Hush

Puppy. “I need to get out for a little bit,” he said.

“We could go to Tyler’s grave,” Devon said.

Andrew frowned. “He’s not a vampire.”

“I didn’t say --”

“No,” Andrew said. “I just need to be by myself for a bit.”

Devon slumped onto the arm of the couch. Normally he wouldn’t begrudge Andrew

any time alone. Today he would have preferred that they be near one another, though.

“After what happened last night --”

“I’m fine.” Andrew shoved his second foot into its shoe. “I didn’t need stitches.”

Shoes on, he grabbed his wallet and car keys, and left.

Through the window, Devon watched him get into his car.

I didn’t need stitches

Devon thought, and then laughed.

It was a sharp, unpleasant sound that hurt his throat. Didn’t need stitches. What an

interesting thing to say. When the vampire had attacked him, Devon hadn’t needed stitches,

either ...

Devon woke in steps. He was lying on something soft, cradled by something soft. Cool

air brushed his skin, and the jingle of chimes, sweet and echoing, crept over him.

He blinked. The room was hazy, but things slowly came into focus. He was lying on a

day bed, surrounded by thick blue pillows and a feather comforte . The room was large, with

windows lining two walls, a white wood desk in the corner, and two ivy plants in opposite

corners. The windows were open, and a jasmine-scented breeze c ept past gauzy blue

curtains. The fabric teased him with hints of a clear sky.

After Dark

Where am I?

He remembered researching a story the day before. He’d gone home to his studio and

found a call from Jared, who’d found Devon’s mother’s poetry book. He’d gone to get it

and ...

And ...

He’d been attacked by a vampire.

Devon sat up. This room was too nice to be a hospital. He doubted it was the

librarian’s. If he wasn’t at either, though, where was he? Had the vampire come back and --

Footsteps echoed from the left. Devon turned and saw a door. Outside of the room, a

shadow spilled across the hardwood floor.

He looked for a weapon. The vampire had known his name, had used his mother’

poetry book to draw him out. He had to get out of there.

Pain lanced his neck, making him lightheaded. Blackness wrapped around him.

When Devon woke later, he rose slowly. Perhaps moving around quickly had been a

bad idea.

“How are you feeling?”

The man’s voice was familiar. Devon turned slowly --

No, no, no.

-- and found Prior sitting at the desk.

A maelstrom of emotions cut through Devon. t was Prior. Prior Devereaux the third,

former college editor, former lover, and current editor-in-chief and owner of the local paper.

He looked good.

Devon frowned. Prior was six years of Devon’s life. The auburn spirals that never quite

touched Prior’s shoulde s reminded Devon of their relationship. Playful, with clever twists

L.M. Prieto

that twined sensuously around fingers. Dark blue eyes, passionate and mysterious, like

evening skies and mysterious. Long fingers that typed music across a keyboard or Devon’s

skin.

“How are you feeling?” Prior asked. There was an edge in his tone. Impatience and

worry fighting one another for dominance. Had he asked the question before?

“Sorry. I feel all right.” Devon pushed aside the blue comforter and discovered he was

wearing black silk shorts. “Where --” He was probably at P ior’s place. “What am I doing

here?”

“You had my name in your wallet.” Prior rose and approached him. His black shirt

rippled as he moved. The sleeves had been rolled up past his elbows, and the end of the shirt

was carefully tucked into his black slacks. “Since I was local, the hospital called me.”

His number? No. After Devon had left the a ea, he’d gotten rid of anything that would

have reminded him of Prior. There was no way the hospital could have--

Oh. His list of emergency contacts.

Devon had his current editor-in-chief listed first, followed by a couple friends, his old

college roommate, and his favorite photographer. Prior’s name was still on the list -- right

above his grandparents, because if Devon ever died, he wan ed them to know. He didn’t

know if they would care.

“Forgot to cross me out?” Prior asked. His tone was neutral. Devon had known him

through three yea s of college and three years post-school, though, and knew that that tone

meant Prior had been expecting something else, was surprised that he’d been wrong, and

now felt vulnerable.

“No.” Devon shrugged. Prior had come for him. Devon wouldn’t have expected that,

but he had. “Thank you.”

Prior studied him, his dark blue eye thoughtful. “What happened to your neck?”

After Dark

Devon reached up to his neck. A thick cotton rip trailed over his skin. “Something bit

me.” Had the something tried to follow him to the hospital, or had he given up after he

couldn’t get into the library? After the vampire had gone through the trouble to find Devon’s

mother’s book, Devon doubted he would give up. “Where are my clothes?”

“The police have them. Evidence, I believe.” Prior walked around the bed and

disappeared through a doorway.

Devon set his feet on the thick off-white carpet. When he’d lived with his

grandparents, they’d often locked him in a suite of rooms with a television. The macabre

situation had made him want to watch horror movies, and he’d ended up seeing hundreds of

them. Real life vampires might differ from their fictional cousins, but if the vampire last

night drank blood and couldn’t go into a building, then it stood to reason that it couldn’t go

out in daylight. Devon needed to get out of the e before sunset or else he’d draw the

vampire’s attention to Prior.

Prior stepped out of the closet, holding a pair of jeans and a green knit sweater. “They -

-”

“They?”

“The police. They’ll be by in the afternoon to talk to you about what happened. Did

you look into something that you shouldn’t have?” Prior’s tone was light, a quiet joke that at

another time Devon would have found charming. Journalists uncovered things all the time.

There was a certain romance to being threatened over a story.

Last night hadn’t been romantic.

“No,” Devon said.

“What bit you?”

“I don’t want to get into it.” The less Prior knew, the less insane Devon looked.

Prior approached him and held out the clothes. “Can you at least tell me if it was ...

human?”

L.M. Prieto

Devon took the clothes. “I appreciate you coming for me, Prior, but ...”

Oh.

By omission, Devon had reminded Prior of their shared nightmare. Wild dogs had

killed Devon’s parents and Prior’s father. Violent, grisly deaths, and they had both seen it

happen.

“It was human.” Ish.

Prior frowned. “Some guy bit you?”

“Yes.” Devon set the jeans on the bed and slipped the sweater over his head. “It’s not

that bad. I probably should have just given him my wallet. I should get going. Thank you

for --”

“The doctor asked me to keep an eye on you for a couple days.

”

“We both need to work.” Devon did, anyway. His parents had left him a trust fund, but

he wanted to save that for things like ... hmm. Before, he’d hoped to one day get a house

with it. Now, he wondered if he should take some time off and research vampires. If one

wanted to kill him, he needed to learn how to fight it. And why it wanted to kill him.

Devon slumped onto the bed and picked up the jeans. Usually he trusted his balance

and could dress standing. Today, though, he wanted a little help. “How are the twins?”

“Good,” P ior said. “They’re with their mother and stepfather in Disneyworld. You’ve

already been here a day.”

“What?”

“You’ve been here a day. The hospital kept you overnight, and then I brought you

here.”

The vampire might have already found this place.

“But I don’t remember traveling.” Devon shoved his feet into the jeans. He couldn’t

remember any of that.

After Dark

“And despite my photographs, the hospital director doesn’t remember the name of the

woman he was having dinner with last year. He has the photos, and here you are.

”

Warmth crept through Devon. He didn’t have the talent to dabble in the subtle dance

of favors and manipulations, but he appreciated it.

“It seems,” Prior added, “that I overreacted to a mugging.”

It seemed that he cared enough to lose a couple photos over him. “Are you sorry?”

“No.” Prior’s voice was soft. “What if it had been a werewolf?”

Devon rose and zipped up his jeans. They were loose on him but comfortable. “How

about a vampire?”

“Easier to deal with. They can’t go out in sunlight, and if you run a line of salt around

your house, they can’t cross it.”

“But ... Really?”

Prior shrugged. “Hard to say. I’ve never met one, but from what my dad wrote ...”

“Ah.” Six months before his death, Prior Devereaux the second had turned the family

newspaper into a tabloid. Devon had seen a couple of the issues and been impressed. They

didn’t mention Elvis or Bigfoot and instead focused on vampires and werewolves. After he

died, the paper had returned to regular news. “Do --”

No, he couldn’t ask Prior if he could go through those issues. When they’d been lovers,

Prior had been so obses ed with the paper’s respectability that he wouldn’t hire his college

friends or Devon.

Devon had wanted to respect it, but after three years of freelancing, he’d known that

he either had to get a full-time job elsewhere or convince Prior to at lea t look at his resumé

and portfolio. Prior had refused to look at it. Instead he’d taken Devon’s information and sent

it around for him.

“What is it?” Prior asked.

“I left my car at SHSU. Do you know if it’s still there?”

L.M. Prieto

“Probably. If you give me your keys and a de cription of i , I can have it brought here.”

“You could give me a ride,” Devon said.

Prior shook his head. “ promised to keep you for a couple of days. My honor is at

stake.”

Devon frowned. Prior had spent a favor on him. Although Devon didn’t want to repay

him by drawing a vampire’s attention to him, he didn’t know how to leave without

dismissing Prior’s effort to help him.

“Do you need to call anyone?” Prior asked. “Roommate, boyfriend, edi or?”

“No.” Though Devon would need to call Jared later. He wanted to make sure that he

was all right and find out exactly where he had found his mother’s book.

I thought the book would draw you out.

“I need to make some calls,” Prior said. “When I get back we can do lunch.”

“I’m not --” Devon’s stomach twitched. “Okay.”

Prior left, partially closing the door after him.

Devon touched his bandage. If he couldn’t research the vampire, maybe he could study

his wound.

He looked around the room. No mirrors. He headed for the hallway.

Sunlight bled through windows along the corridor, turning it into a study of light,

dancing motes, and shadows. Devon checked the door next to his and found a linen closet.

Next door revealed another bedroom. Another door, bathroom.

Devon flicked the light on and closed the door behind him. The room was larger than

his studio bathroom, with a large tub, two sinks, and a window overlooking the garden on

the first floor.

He stepped into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. His skin was pale, making

his green eyes look ephemeral. Two red spots dotted his bandage.

After Dark

Bracing a knee against the counter, he gingerly peeled the bandage off his neck. The

beige tape clung to his skin, making him wince.

After what felt like an eternity, he dropped the bandage to the counter. His neck

ached. Brushing his hair back, he stared at his reflection.

Two punctures lay on h s neck, surrounded by a pale halo of blood.

Pain twitched in his stomach. The marks were neat, not tearing at the rest of his skin

like a human bite mark would. It was the work of a professional, someone who would have

drained him in a couple minutes, made him enjoy his death, and then ... what? How would

he have covered it up? Devon doub ed the police would ignore a bloodless corpse with

puncture marks on his neck. They might not have thought vampire, but --

He could have slit my throat afterward,

Devon thought, tracing a finger around the

bites. The touch of short nail across pale skin made him uneasy. The vampire had sharp

fingernails. One cut and --

A floorboard creaked near the door. “Devon, what’s going on?”

Devon glanced up at the mirror. Prior stood in the doorway. “I wanted to change my

bandage ,” he s id. He picked up a small washcloth and, turning a gold-tinged knob, soaked

it with cold water.

Warm fingers brushed his hair away from his neck. “You told me it wasn’t bad,” Prior

said. His words b ushed over Devon’s skin.

“I didn’t need stitches.” Devon dabbed the wet cloth against the mark. His skin prickled

at the cool touch. His head swam.

Blinking, Devon found himself sitting on the bathtub, his left side p essed against dark

green tiles. Prior knelt in front of him, pressing the towel to his forehead.

“Hey,” Prior said, his tone gentle. His palm was so close, almost brushing Devon’s face.

Devon was tempted to lean in to it. The attack had been terrible, but it had brought Prior to

him.

L.M. Prieto

Prior dropped the towel and grabbed a dry one off the rack. He brushed it over Devon’s

forehead, down the left side of his face, and over the wound. “Did he ... touch you?”

“My arm.” And chest. And nipple. Given another minute, Devon suspected that the

vampire’s hand would have kept its downward trajectory.

The wind whispered against him, cool and jasmine-scented. Devon blinked. The

window behind Prior was half open. Beside P ior was a small black box.

”

Prior opened the box. Inside were a handful of glass vials, some gauze, and medical

tape. “Did he have a weapon?”

“No.”

Prior opened a blue glas bottle and poured something white and flecked with green

and yellow bits onto his hand.

“I saw a picture of that kind of bite mark once,” Prior said, tracing cool, chamomile-

scented fingers over Devon’s neck.

“When?”

“My father’s private files.” Prior wiped his fingers on a cloth and then picked up the

gauze. “Sounds insane, doesn’t it?”

He knows.

No. Prior is practical. He would never believe it. He --

“No,” Devon said. He didn’t know how much Prior knew or suspected, but Devon

wanted to look open. “ ust differen .”

Prior secured the gauze with tape. “When did it happen?”

“After dark.

“Ah.” Prior placed the items back in the box and closed it. “The world is another place

then.”

After Dark

He knows. Prior is careful, not melodramatic.

“He knew my name.” And he’d known

about his mother’s book. He had enough information to set a trap and then try to kill him.

Vampire hit man,

he thought, and then frowned. Who would want him dead? The

stories he investigated hadn’t had any supernatural tones. Hell, they hadn’t even had mafia

ties. The only time he had ever encountered something suspicious was ...

His grandparents.

Prior rose. “What did he call you?”

“Mr. Forsythe.” Devon used the wall beside him to push himself up. There was

something odd about that. If his grandparents had wanted him dead, why hadn’t they

arranged for an acciden when he’d lived with them?

No. They were strange, but they hadn’t wanted him dead. The ones who had wan ed

him dead were the animals that had killed his parents, and Devon doubted they could hire a

vampire.

“Devon?”

“I think this has occult leanings.” It was like he and Prior were edging around the

attack, offering hints and then stepping back to see what the other would say. “He couldn’t

come into the library. He attacked me at night. He has a blood fetish. He probably thinks

he’s a vampire.”

“School library?”

“Yes. Why?”

“My father donated the money for i to be built. He asked for some alterations to the

plans.”

Salt around a building ... “What’s going on, Prior?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you suspect?”

L.M. Prieto

“That we both have secrets and don’ know how much we can trust the other.”

Devon nodded. At one time he would have to d Prior everything about the attack. He’d

told him about his grandparents, about his parent’s deaths, hell, about the nightmares he’d

had as a child of monsters under the bed. Prior in turn had confided about his own father’s

death and admitted that he’d purposely knocked up his former girlfriend in order to get his

inheritance.

Those thing , while odd, had been things that could be discussed in daylight. This,

though, made Devon want to whisper so that nothing would overhear them.

“He set a trap for me,” Devon said. He felt uncertain about telling Prior, but Prior had

come for him. Had blackmailed someone to get him released early. Devon didn’t know what

it meant, but it had to mean something. “He used my mother’s poetry chapbook.”

Warmth pulsed along the bite marks, making the skin itch. Devon reached for the

gauze and then stopped. If he touched it, he’d probably hurt himself.

“Are you all right?” Prior asked.

“Yes.” Devon dropped his hand to his side. “ t just itched.”

“What did he do with your mother’s chapbook?”

“He used it get me to come to the school. Your turn.”

“My turn.” Prior nodded. Thoughts tumbled behind his eyes. “I missed you.”

Devon stared at him. Prior had missed him?

It was a flattering and surprising thing to hear. When Devon left four years before, he

had been positive that P ior would shrug off his loss. He had his paper, he had his morals,

and Devon had felt sick. Prior had been the only man he’d ever loved. For a while, Devon

couldn’t imagine life without him.

“I tried to not think about you,” Prior said. “I thought I was right, but in retrospect I

wished I had just bitten the bullet and hired you.”

Devon shook his head. “You were ying to be professional.”

After Dark

“When the hospital called, I thought ...”

That he was dead. That dogs had attacked him. Devon could imagine. “Prior --”

“They killed my grandfather, too.”

“They?” Oh.

Devon wan ed to a k why Prior hadn’t told him before, but he understood. One animal

attack could be believed. Two, though? Happening to the same family? “I’m sorry.”

“It was werewolves.”

“Were--?” Devon hadn’t thought that vampires were real until the night before. To

find out that werewolves might be real as well ...

“It was a vampire,” Devon said. “I was attacked by a vampire.”

Prior glanced at his wristwatch. “We have six hours until it gets dark.”

Six hours.

Devon frowned. He didn’t want to involve P ior. Prior, though, had information.

Devon might have been able to escape the vampire the first time, but next time the man

might be more careful.

“I don’t want to get you hurt,” Devon said.

“It might be my fault that you were attacked.”

Devon shook his head. I he was right about his grandparents, and not simply bitter

and paranoid, then it was cruel to let Prior blame himself. “It’s the vampire’s fault. Besides,

he didn’t mention you. Wouldn’t he have brought you up? Or let me escape for a moment

just so I’d call you, and then killed me?”

Prior massaged his forehead. “ t’s not like I’m hoping to take the credit for this.”

Devon faked a cough into his hand. “Control issues.”

Prior’s fingers parted, allowing him to stare at Devon. “Why would he set a trap in this

area?”

L.M. Prieto

“I don’t know.” His grandparents had never vi ited him there. They had known where

he was, though. They’d sent a card when he’d graduated.

It might not be their fault. Still, he doubted it was Prior’s. “Maybe he didn’t want to

drive down to Salem.”

“Salem?” Prior’s lips quirked.

“It’s a nice place.”

“Oh, yes. My father wrote that the city was designed to keep evil out, and then the

people who’d designed i were quietly murdered.”

Devon wished he had a notebook and could write down what he’d lea ned. The

vampire couldn’t enter Salem. Salem might be protected, just like the library had been. The

people who’d come up with the protections -- witches? -- could be hurt, too. P ior’s family

had knowledge about both.

He and Prior had been lovers for six years. Six. Years. All that time, and he’d never

noticed anything out of the ordinary. Prior spent a lot of time working, yes, but ... “Why do

you know about these things?”

“These things killed my father and grandfather. Probably other relatives, just more

quietly.”

“Prior.” Devon stepped towards him and stopped. He didn’t know whether or not P ior

would appreciate his touch. “You could have told me.”

He kept his tone soft. He didn’t know if he would have believed Prior, but he would

have tried to understand.

“I thought you’d be safer not knowing. “ Prior approached him. “I’ve taken precautions

against something happening to me or the twins. I didn’t think something would go after

you, though.”

Devon shook his head. I might not be Prior. It might be his grandparents. Or a story

he’d worked on. The stars might be aligned right. “Prior ...”

After Dark

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.” Prior slipped his hands around Devon’s face and kis ed

him.

Soft lips, a warm tongue caressing his, and a hint of jasmine. It was sweet and vibrant

and caressed Devon’s senses.

Devon slipped his finge s over Prior’s. They had spent six years together and four years

apart. It had taken Devon so long to stop thinking he’d made a mistake, and this -- this was a

bad idea. He should stop Prior. Push him away. Tell him no.

Prior’s zipper made a sibilant sound as Devon snaked it down ...

Devon pushed the memories aside. He didn’t want to think about Prior and how things

had gone. He wanted Andrew to come back.

And just as there were things Prior wouldn’t tell him, there had to be things Andrew

was afraid to share.

Devon rose from the couch. He hadn’t had much information to offer Prior. For

Andrew, though, he would go to Tyler’s grave and see what he could find out.

L.M. Prieto

Chapter Seven

Andrew pulled up behind a police car in front of Julia’s house. He wanted to get back

into his car, go home, and tell Devon he was sorry. He hadn’t known about Devon’s parents.

He’d known they were dead, but shit, killed by wild dogs?

No, not dogs. Dogs would have run from the sudden light, let alone a moving car. They

were probably werewolves.

It was a frightening thought. Had Devon’s parents been killed because of a werewolf

war? Had Devon decided to step away from werewolf society because of it? Was he lonely?

Was he afraid that Andrew wouldn’t love him anymore if he knew what Devon was?

Andrew could understand needing to keep a secret. Sometimes he felt like the more he

wanted to open up, the more he had to hide. What if he told Devon that he knew Devon was

a werewolf, though? Andrew could promise he would never tell anyone. Devon acted like

there was nothing to tell, but if Andrew already knew, maybe ...

What if Devon got into trouble for letting a human find out about him? What if there

was some werewolf law that stated that humans had to be killed if they found out?

Andrew headed for the house. One problem at a time. Devon might only have to kill

him. Tyler, Andrew knew,

wanted

to.

After Dark

A lemon-tinged breeze lapped at him. Andrew frowned. It had stormed the night

before, but now the weather was perfect. The sky was a cheerful blue, clear, with a cool

breeze tempting tree boughs to dance. Life was moving on even if he couldn’t.

The police detectives, Something and Tall Guy, were nice, but they wouldn’t let him

into the house. Blah-blah, procedure, blah-blah, investigation.

They were being professional, and Andrew knew that under different circumstances he

wouldn’t want to get in the way. Today, though, he needed to get a look at where Tyler had

last been.

“I understand,” he said, brushing his hair back and away from his bandage. Detective

Something glanced at his forehead, and her expression changed from polite to sad.

I’m sorry

, Andrew thought. It was a cheap trick, but he needed to at least get a glance

at the upstairs. With his sight the way it was, he might be able to see if Tyler had left a trail.

“Could I just pick up some clothes for my nephew? I’m hoping he’ll turn up, and when he

does, I don’t want him to have to come here and ...”

Detectives Something and Tall Guy talked quietly, and then Andrew was herded up the

steps, around the police tape, and to Sean’s room.

“Two minutes,” Detective Tall Guy said, staying outside the room.

Andrew nodded. He grabbed Sean’s black backpack and gathered a couple pairs of

jeans, a sweater, and some underwear and socks. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred,

letting him know that Detective Tall Guy was still there.

The pack was nearly full. Andrew wanted to bring more things, but he didn’t know

what. Clothes were a necessity, but they would offer little comfort. What to bring, though?

The stone wolf gargoyle on the desk? He’d gotten that for Sean’s birthday last year, and Sean

had been so excited, he’d accidentally stepped on his father’s foot -- gaining a yowl -- on his

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way to hug Andrew. How about the gargoyle incense holder? It was half-hidden beneath a

cluster of used incense sticks.

Andrew picked up the incense holder and a couple packs of sandalwood and slipped

them into the backpack. They were easy to carry. The wolf gargoyle would probably get him

looked at. If he found Sean --

When

. When he found Sean. He’d gotten away from Tyler. He was probably just

hiding.

When he’s ready, we’ll find each other.

If Tyler didn’t find him first.

Andrew reached up and removed his glasses. The walls trembled, and then pale red

loops crept across the walls.

He stepped up to Sean’s desk, feigning interest in the schoolbooks, and studied the wall.

Pale light ebbed away from the glyph.

Andrew touched the wall. A quiet feeling lapped against him. Warm and comforting,

like a hug, letting him know that he was safe.

He stepped away from the desk. The warmth faded, a reluctant parting between

friends.

Andrew was torn. After everything Tyler had done to him, it had been easy to write

him off as just a sadistic asshole.

Looking at the walls, though, Andrew had to wonder if Tyler had really cared for his

son. The empathy wasn’t enough to make him want to care for other people, but --

He killed Julia. He killed Garret. He’s always had the potential to care about other

people. He just doesn’t bother.

Andrew’s gaze skimmed over the room. Nothing, nothing, things looked fine --

Red-orange light pulsed out from under Sean’s bed.

Andrew went over to the bed and knelt. The light crept out of a shoebox.

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101

Please be weed or dirty magazines

, he thought, pulling it out.

Please don’t be human

fingers or bones or --

Rocks.

Andrew stared at the contents. Inside the box were a dozen rocks. There were a couple

small ones, three large, one was a geode, and the rest were sharp-edged. Beneath them was a

thin, black leather-bound book.

Red-orange light pulsed out, bathing Andrew. He --

-- watched Sean open the box. Tyler had w nted to give these to his son for years, but

had had to wait. Grandfather had told him to wait until his child was thirteen. Before then, it

might unravel the spell he’d set up that would allow him to be reborn in Sean’s body. Later

than that, the memorie might never return and he would be lost. Keep the rocks close,

though, so that it would be he who returned and not anyone else.

“

Sean opened the box and looked confused.

Tyler kept a pleasant expression on his face. Inside, he wan ed to scowl. Sean had been

delighted with Andrew’s gift. Tyler was embarrassed that his gift got that look.

“What is it?” Julia asked. She sat beside Sean and feigned peaking into the box.

“Rocks.” Sean looked up at him.

“They’re a family heirloom,” Tyler said. My grandfather -- your great-grandfather --

brought them with him from Germany.”

Sean smiled. “Did he fight the Nazis?”

“No.” He had been one, actually. Grandfather had never talked about it, but Tyler

knew Grandfather had taken the marks from the person whose identity he’d later taken.

“Did he flee Germany when they came into power?” Sean asked.

“No.”

Sean frowned. Julia offered him another gift, and they went on.

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After people had left, Sean approached him in the den. “Was he in a camp?” he asked.

Tyler was surprised. He would have thought that some of the memories would have

returned, if only in dreams. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Sean crossed his arms, his right hand covering the spot of his arm where a

tattoo would have gone. “How can you kind of be in a camp?”

Tyler walked over to a bookshelf and brought out a thin notebook. Grandfather had

written about the time. Although it was in German, perhaps seeing it would help Sean

remember. “It was a different time, Sean.”

Sean’s skin had lost some color. “Was he --”

“He was your namesake.” When he remembered himself, Tyler expected that they

would laugh about this. “I imagine it’s something of a shock, but --”

“Mom’s mother came f om China. Her dad was Italian.”

And so the racial purity thing seemed personal. “He was jus following orders. He told

me once that he didn’t actually believe in that. Here.” Tyler offered him the book. “Why

don’t you read this ...”

“Sir?”

Andrew blinked. He was in Sean’s room. Holding a box filled with rocks and --

Fuck.

Beneath the rocks was the book.

Tyler never intended to hurt Sean. He did love his son, but only because he thought

Sean might be --

“Are you all right, sir?” Detective Tall Guy asked.

“Yes.” Andrew turned to the door. Tall Guy offered him a sympathetic smile. Two

minutes -- probably a lot more than two -- were up. Andrew took the book out, slipped it

and a rock into the backpack, and put the rest back under the bed. “Thank you.”

After Dark

103

Detective Tall Guy escorted him down the hallway. Pale red footprints went from the

hallway to the bedroom Andrew had been in last night.

Andrew slipped his glasses on. The hallway shifted, and when it settled, the prints

were gone.

If Tyler didn’t have to rest during the day, chances were that he’d gone after Sean.

Andrew headed for his car. He had to find his nephew. Judging by the way Sean had

reacted to Tyler’s “different world, just following orders” talk, the spell had failed. It had to

have. Sean was a nice kid, and Grandfather was a bastard. And if Andrew had to deal with

both him and Tyler ...

Sean. Where would Sean go?

Not home, though with the police there and Tyler elsewhere, it would have been a safe

place for him. The Bean? It was close to Andrew’s home, and it would be easy for Sean to

walk over.

He hadn’t, though. Sean either was running from Tyler, or he didn’t want to involve

someone else.

Andrew got into his car. Devon had mentioned going to Tyler’s grave. He probably

wanted to see if the site had been disturbed. Andrew could have told him that it had. If he

was a thirteen-year-old boy, though, and his father had come back, would he go to the

grave? Just to make sure that he hadn’t imagined it?

He glanced at the digital clock above the CD player. He had four hours before dark.

Tyler wasn’t a vampire, but if he moved around during the day, someone might see him.

Andrew frowned. He didn’t want go to the grave. Finding out whether or not Tyler

had broken out of the casket wouldn’t help Andrew.

Tyler probably wouldn’t want to return to his grave, either.

Andrew started the car.

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Chapter Eight

Devon locked his car, shrugged into his coat, and headed across the graveyard parking

lot. He’d done a story once on a mortuary. God help him, but this reminded him of it.

The circumstances were different, of course. This was for one body, and back then it

had been about a dozen missing corpses and where the restaurant next door to the mortuary

was getting its meat. But the search, the questions, made him feel alive. He had purpose, he

was needed.

He felt like a journalist again.

The wind tossed wet leaves past him and tugged at his coat. It was a cousin to the one

he’d worn the night before, lightweight wool instead of leather. He didn’t know if he’d ever

get the other coat back, or if he even wanted to.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for Tyler’s grave. The wet ground

sucked at his sneakers, reluctant to release them. Devon sharpened his steps.

He didn’t know what he’d find. He wasn’t certain what he wanted to find. An open

grave? Andrew would be right, but who really wanted to be right about something like that?

What if he found a tidy grave? Julia had chosen to have a closed-casket service, so they

hadn’t seen Tyler’s body. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t him in the casket.

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105

It was Tyler. Tyler killed her.

Devon retraced his steps to the graveside. Near a cluster of oaks ... there. A couple

hundred feet to his left.

When he’d first seen this graveyard the day before, he’d labeled it Cemetery Land.

Gray-white stones dotted a mile of low-level hills. The funeral home was a single-story

building with whitewashed walls and a dark brown, mushroom-shaped roof. The building

had surprised him. The Addams family house should be on the lot, not something the

Keebler elves would live in.

Devon passed a tall angel statue and stepped into Tyler’s aisle. His stomach twitched.

Either Tyler was there, or he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, Andrew and he had a monster to deal

with. If he was ...

It didn’t change what had happened, actually. They would still have to deal with the

murderer.

Further down the row, a black casket sat in its frame, waiting to be lowered. A white

rose wreath lay on the ground, and bits of rose petals fluttered past Devon, dotting the soggy

ground.

He replayed the funeral in his mind. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It had

rained, and the graves near Tyler’s had looked untouched.

The site could have been prepared this morning. With modern funeral devices, it

wouldn’t take long to dig through wet earth.

The casket was very close to Tyler’s grave, though. It was the same dark shade, with

similar silver-tinged handles, and --

The pungent scent of blood crept over him. The smell was sharp and noxious, making

him feel suddenly awake.

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Another step, and he could sense nuances in the blood. It was different than the

previous night. Then, it had been fresh and had smelled wet and raw, like iron-tinged rain.

This ... this smelled bad. Like rotting meat.

Devon pressed his hand over his nose and moved around the casket, studying it.

The black surface was clean. Some smudges near the top, hinting of dirty fingers, but

otherwise good.

Devon glanced at the ground. It had rained again last night. The storm might have

cleaned up a lot of the blood, but something could have been left behind.

There was nothing important around the casket. Wet grass, foot indentions, the

marker.

Tyler Sutter

Beloved Husband, Father, and Brother

Devon stepped up to the casket and slipped his fingers beneath the top. Andrew

thought Tyler had attacked him. Tyler might have, and if he had come back to his grave --

That’s insane. He had to know that someone would come and look.

But if he wasn’t there, where was the smell coming from?

Devon inched the casket open. The smell thickened.

“Don’t open it.”

Devon dropped the lip and turned.

Sean sat two markers down, half-hidden behind a tombstone.

“Sean.” Devon headed towards him.

“It’s the caretaker,” Sean said. He rose on trembling legs. “His head is twisted and ... It’s

gross. Is -- is Andrew all right?”

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107

“Yes.” Devon shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay.” Sean burrowed into the coat. “My mom. Is she ... is she dead?”

Devon wished he could tell him otherwise. “Yes. Did you see what happened?”

“Yes.” Sean gnawed on his lip.

Poor child. To have seen his mother die ...

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Devon asked. When it had been him, he’d wanted to

tell people. After the initial police report, though, most people hadn’t wanted to hear about

it. Ironically, his grandparents were always open to discussing it. What was it like? How had

he felt? Nauseous? Angry? Oddly energetic and about to ... something?

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sean said, “so I went downstairs to the den. I played Dad’s Beatles

CDs and wore his coat, and I just kept thinking about things. I took twenty dollars out of his

wallet last week. I was going to pay him back when I got my next allowance, but he was

gone by the time Mom gave me the money. I was going to wait until he’d gone to bed so I

could sneak it into his wallet, so I waited up for him. I fell asleep, though, and in the

morning the police came and ... I just didn’t want to sleep.”

Stream of consciousness panic

, Devon thought. It was a good sign, showing that Sean

was trying to understand something that didn’t follow everyday rules. “What happened

then?”

“I heard something scratching at the window. I thought it might be this oak tree that’s

grown too close to the house, but then I remembered my Dad trimmed it last week and --”

Sean’s eyes clenched shut.

“Sean?”

“You’ll think I’m insane.”

Devon frowned. Was that a Sutter thing, to keep secrets because others might think

they weren’t mentally stable? Devon had things to hide, too, but at least he hinted.

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Bloody hell. He was being a hypocrite, and that might get someone killed.

“Two years ago, a vampire bit me.”

“What?”

“A vampire bit me.” Devon tugged his shirt collar down and tipped his head to one

side. Later he would tell Sean about seeing wolves kill his parents. There was nothing

supernatural about that moment, but perhaps Sean would feel ... not better, but not alone. “I

still have the marks.”

A warm near-weight brushed close. “It looks like a couple dots.”

Those dots had taken months to heal. Devon released his shirt. “Sean, I hope my first

reaction won’t be surprise. It probably will be, though. After that, I promise I’ll listen to

you.”

Sean looked past Devon. Devon didn’t have to turn; in Sean’s place, he would be staring

at the casket, too.

“It was a creepy-looking man,” Sean said. “I think it was my dad.”

Surprise and relief and fear surged through Devon, making him feel vulnerable and

wary. Vampires were real, and Tyler had either faked his death or had come back. Fine. He

would deal with it.

“Devon?”

“I believe you.” Devon brushed Sean’s hair back. The strands felt oily, his forehead

clammy. The night before had been cold. If Sean had spent it outside in sweats and a

lightweight shirt, then Devon needed to get him home and changed. “Let’s go home. You can

tell me the rest on the way there.”

Sean nodded.

They walked around the casket. The smell tugged at Devon, making him frown. He

didn’t know what Tyler had done to the caretaker, but the smell was fetid.

“He looked weird,” Sean said.

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109

Devon was about to ask whom, and then he knew. He. Tyler. “How so?”

Sean traced several fingers over his mouth. “His hands and his lips had these dot

marks.”

“Ah.” When Devon had worked on that cemetery story, he’d hidden in a cupboard and

seen a mortician stitch a corpse’s lips and hands. It meant that Tyler had been dead and that

he’d been prepared for his funeral. “They were probably stitched together,” he said.

“You’re kidding.”

Devon shook his head. “It was supposed to make him look like he was resting.”

Sean stopped and looked back at the casket. “He didn’t look rested.”

Devon imagined not.

“Has Andrew said anything about my dad?”

“No. After we found --” Not the body; Julia had been his mother, and calling her an

object was cruel. “-- your mom, I think he encountered Tyler. Andrew was injured, and he

had to go to the hospital.”

“But he’s okay now?”

“Yes.”

“Did he -- Did my Dad try to ... eat him?”

“No.” The marks on Andrew’s head looked like someone had tried to dig their fingers

into his skull.

Devon draped an arm around Sean’s shoulder and nudged him down the aisle. “My car

is this way.” They continued walking. Shadows ghosted under Sean’s eyes, making Devon

wonder if he’d slept at all since the funeral.

Probably not. In Sean’s place, Devon hadn’t slept for a couple days.

So ... plans.

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First, Devon needed to get Sean home. Call the police, tell them something, and then

see if Sean could tell him and Andrew anything that would help them figure out what Tyler

was. Not a vampire, because he’d taken chunks out of Julia and wasted a lot of her blood. Not

a werewolf, either, because he’d looked the same and hadn’t turned into a wolf.

Witch, perhaps? Devon had gotten the impression from Prior that they might exist.

The little he knew, though, painted a picture of people who created things that would

protect others.

At the same time, the world was a big place. Just because witch-hunts had hurt

innocent people didn’t mean there weren’t those who’d deserved it.

“What about the cemetery guy?” Sean asked.

“We’ll call the police from home.” And Andrew. He might not answer right away,

might prefer to listen to a message, but after he heard it, he would come home.

“What am I going to tell the police?” Sean asked.

“Most of the truth.” When in doubt, something resembling what actually happened

was easy to remember and believe in. “You called Andrew. You heard something downstairs,

and when you went to check, you saw a man kill your mother. You came here because this

was where your father was. When the caretaker hadn’t come by this morning, you looked

inside.”

“I look macabre.”

“Why did you look inside?”

Sean studied his feet. “I thought he was going to return to his grave. I waited until

morning to come here because I thought that if sunlight hit him, he’d die for real.”

Devon was glad to hear he wasn’t the only one who’d wondered if Tyler was a

vampire.

“Do you think I’m awful for wanting to kill my dad?”

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111

“No. After what you saw him do ...” Devon thought over what to say. When he’d seen

his parents die, people had offered him a lot of well-meaning words.

You were right to run.

There was nothing you could do.”

All had made him feel like a child. One of his

grandfather’s bodyguards, though, had understood him. “I think you had to make a difficult

decision, and I think you chose the right thing.”

“

They crossed the parking lot, passing a dozen people clustered near the entrance to the

Keebleresque house. The lot had filled since Devon had arrived, and he now found himself

threading through the cars.

“Why did you think sunlight would hurt him?” Devon asked. Andrew had been so

positive Tyler wasn’t a vampire that Devon wondered why Sean was willing to consider the

possibility.

“He bit my arm and drank a little blood.” Sean buried his hands in the coat pockets.

There was a jingle of metal against metal. He brought Devon’s keys out and offered them up.

Devon took the keys. “How did it ...” He didn’t want to ask. When it had been him,

he’d been embarrassed to tell anyone how it had felt. If he didn’t ask, though, they wouldn’t

get any closer to understanding what Tyler was. “Feel?”

“It hurt.” Sean pulled the coat sleeve up. A bite mark lay on his inner arm. It looked

like two broken yellow-blue smiles.

“It’s healing pretty quickly,” Sean added. “Did it hurt when you were bit?”

“No. It felt nice.” Warmth crept across Devon’s face. “It started to hurt when I tried to

get him to stop, though.”

Sean frowned. “That must’ve sucked. I mean, been bad.”

Devon’s lips quirked. He’d never been one for derogatory phrases -- his grandparents

would have taken a switch to his hand, and once had been enough -- but he hadn’t been able

to even think of that word for months without thinking of the vampire. “Yes. It was

unpleasant. If your arm is bothering you, I have some aspirin in the car.”

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“Okay.” Sean drew the sleeve down and returned his hand to the pocket. “He told me

he was sorry and that it would help him. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to scare my

Mom, and I thought that if he drank enough, he would be okay. He stopped when I started

to feel sick and ... and then he went after my mom.”

Devon frowned. So Tyler had taken blood from Sean and chunks out of Julia, and had

tried to get into Andrew’s brain. Why would he want to cut into them?

Tyler had been autopsied and embalmed. That would have destroyed a neophyte

vampire, but a mage? Wouldn’t their power reside in their spirit?

“Where is Andrew?” Sean asked.

“He said he needed to get some air.”

They walked between a couple SUVs, and Devon spotted his dark blue Saturn twenty

feet away, resting in a willow’s shade.

“Do you think he’s looking for my dad?” Sean asked.

Probably. “He might also be looking for you.”

“Why didn’t he come here?”

Devon held up his keys and hit the remote unlock button. A faint click echoed around

his car. “Andrew didn’t think Tyler was a vampire.”

“Why not?” Sean walked around the car to the passenger side. “Didn’t you tell him

about the one that bit you?”

“No.” Devon opened his door. “At first I was afraid he would think I was insane, and

when I was ready to --”

“Devon?”

Andrew.

Devon turned.

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113

Andrew stood two car lengths away. The bandages on either side of his head were

bone-white against the darkness of his hair. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and as Andrew

headed for him, Devon wondered how he’d been able to see him clearly enough to recognize

him.

Movement, out of the corners of his eyes, and Devon knew that Sean was approaching.

“I found Sean,” Devon said.

“Sean?” Andrew’s eyes latched onto the short figure moving around the car toward

him.

Andrew ran up to Sean and wrapped his arms around his nephew. “Are you okay? Did

he hurt you?”

“I’m okay. No.” Sean slumped against Andrew. “Did you know that Devon got bitten by

a vampire a couple years ago?”

“Devon was what?”

Devon got into his car. Andrew would be taking Sean back to their place, and he --

well, he got to look forward to explaining the vampire thing to Andrew.

Unease pooled in Devon’s stomach, growing into an unpleasant weight. Andrew had

looked wounded when Sean repeated his words.

“Devon got bitten by a vampire.”

Passive

words, but they still had the strength to hurt.

I was going to tell you.

If he’d told Andrew before now, would it have helped him against Tyler? Or would

Andrew have thought he was insane and left him?

Devon started his car. When he’d told Prior, Prior had believed him. Devon had

known his trust was a gift, and he’d felt overwhelmed.

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There was a world beyond what Devon had always seen. The vampire was scary. Prior

and the people who’d made it so that evil couldn’t go into the library or Salem, though? They

were beautiful.

Devon waited for Andrew to drive past him before pulling out. He didn’t know if

Andrew would have believed him before or if the information would have helped him.

To be honest, the information didn’t always help Devon. There had always been more

that he didn’t understand. Things that people expected him to know that he didn’t. What

had he done to get the vampire’s attention? He didn’t know. Whatever Devon knew, though,

he had always told.

Andrew, two years ago, a vampire bit me ...

“... I’m fine, though,” Devon had said. He was sitting in Prior’s leather chair, turning it

one way and then another as he talked on the phone.

“I’m relieved to hear that,” Jared said. “I tried to call you last night when I heard about

what happened.”

Devon smiled. He didn’t like the idea that he’d worried his friend, but he was touched

that Jared had tried to call him.

Movement, beside him. Devon turned and watched Prior set a handful of wooden

stakes into a black leather briefcase on his desk.

“I wasn’t home yet.” Devon rose and looked into the case. S akes. A mirror. A gun.

Prior closed the briefca e and made a tsking sound.

Damn. “Listen, could you please tell me more about where you got the book?”

“Sure,” Jared said. “I got it from a box. A former student found it in his attic while he

was getting ready to renovate it. He was in your mother’s poetry group. I still have the box, if

you want to see what else is in it.”

“Yeah,” Devon said, “I’d like that. Would it be all right if I came over now?”

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“Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, Prior pulled up in front of a single-story brick house.

“If the vampire influenced him,” Prior said, “his powers should be weakened by the

sunlight.”

Devon studied Jared’s house. The small, red brick place had a lot of windows. Devon

had been inside a couple of times and remembered sunlit rooms and large glasses of iced tea.

“Do you think the vampire is staying with him?”

“I don’t know.” Prior retrieved his briefca e from the trunk. “It’s close to the school,

but eventually the chapbook would be traced to Jared. Being here would leave a trail.”

”

They headed up to the house. Wooden lattices hid the porch, casting shadows over the

doorway. One tap on a knocker, three beats of silence, and then Jared opened the door.

Jared smiled. He was a tall, older man with latte-colored skin, dark eye , and short

black hair. “Hello, Devon.” Jared glanced at Prior.

“This is Prior,” Devon said. “He graduated a yea ahead of me.”

“Hello, Prior.” Jared stepped back. “Please come in.”

Inside, the curtains were closed. The house was cool and smelled like mulberry

candles. In the center of the living room floor was a large brown box.

“Can I get you two some coffee?” Jared asked.

“That sounds great,” Devon said.

Prior set his briefcase on a small glass table. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Nah. I’ll be right back. Please help yourselves to the box.” Jared left the room.

They went through the box, finding books and old school papers.

“My father was the editor during this time,” Prior s id, skimming over an issue. “He

reviewed the chapbook.

“What did he say?”

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“Broken sen ences, paragraph, do not make, paragraph, magic.”

“Ouch.”

The smell of chicory, warm and somber and cigarette smoke-like, ebbed into the room.

“Can I have a hand?” Jared called out.

Devon and Prior both rose.

“I’ll go,” Prior said. “It’ll give me a chance to look at his neck.”

Devon returned to the box, finding another newspaper issue and a red notebook.

Inside, poems were scribbled in blue ink. He found three pages devoted to the sound of his

father’s voice.

An ache grew in his throat. His mother had loved his father. He might have once been

flustered by their late-night whispers, but now he found it desperately romantic. He was

sorry they’d gone camping. He was sorry he’d left the tent. He wished --

Between the next two pages was a folded paper. Devon opened it.

It was a bl ck-and-white photo of his family. His mother and father were either rising

or sitting down at an outdoor café table. His grandparents were sitting. Grandmother looked

bemused; Grandfather had a hand pressed to his forehead and looked like he had a headache.

There were black circles around all of their face and around his mothe ’s stomach. Blue lines

were drawn twice across his parents’ faces. A single red line was crossed over her stomach.

The paper shook. No, not her stomach. It was him.

Devon returned the photo to the notebook and closed it. A vampire had attacked him.

Wild dogs had killed his parents. What if it hadn’t been dogs, though? What if, like Prior’s

father and g andfather, werewolve had killed Devon’s parents?

He set the notebook beside the box. If werewolves had killed his paren s, why did he

have a vampire pursuing him? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just send another werewolf?

No. Devon wasn’t in the woods. In a city, even one as small as Manchester, people

would pay attention to an animal attack. A vampire, though, could be subtle.

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He withdrew a handful of newspapers. If the vampire wan ed to draw him out, all he’d

needed was his mother’ poetry. Why the newspapers? What was he trying to learn?

Devon studied the issue . Here was one with his mother, another with his mother, one

with his story from the previous week --

What?

Devon stared at the paper. His story was on the front page of last week’s issue.

He frowned. These things couldn’t have been forgotten in an attic until recently.

Devon rose and headed into the kitchen. “There’s a current issue of the --”

Jared was lowering Prior to the ground. “He passed out,” he said.

Devon knelt beside Jared. Prior’s breath was even. Near his left temple, a ghost of a

bruise appeared.

“He hit his head against a chair,” Jared said. “I caught him then.”

“Could you get me a wet cloth?” There was a tinge of iron in the air.

Jared rose. The movement cast a brush of air over Devon, and he smelled it again. Wet,

like rain, only alive, like ...

Like blood.

Devon watched as Jared passed a ribbon of sunlight. When he emerged, there was a

fine red line running down his hairline, disappearing past his ear.

It’s a scratch,

Devon thought. He might have done it with a broken fingernail or ....

Or it was a seam.

“I thought you were going to come alone,” Jared said. He stepped up to the sink and ran

water over a hand towel.

“Prior wanted to get a look at the box.” Devon rose. P ior had never passed out before.

Although there was a first time for anything, he doubted this was a coincidence.

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He looked around. He and Prior had planned to be back at his house long before dark,

so Devon hadn’t brought any weapons. Prior’s briefcase was in the other room, though. If he

could get to it ...

No. It would mean leaving Prior alone with Jared.

On the kitchen table was a pencil. Devon grabbed it. Dried brown stains dotted the

yellow sides.

Cold fingers bit into his forearms. “Look familiar?”

Devon twisted. The e was a feeling of movement, of the fingers losing their grip on

him. He struggled, tossing himself to the side, then forward.

And bits of latte-colored skin flaked away from Jared’s hands, flashing a hint of the pale

flesh beneath.

No. It’s Jared. The vampire did something to him. He --

“I’m wearing protection.” Jared’s voice broke. “Do you like?”

Jared -- not Jared -- pulled Devon back against his chest. Cold lips whispered beneath

his ear, and then the bandage was yanked off.

Pain followed the bandage’s wake. Devon twisted. He had to break away. He had to

stab the vampire.

Cold breath lapped at the back of his neck. “That pencil hurt. You, I will deal with

quickly. Your friend, though? I’ll make it last for years.”

No!

Devon struggled. The sharp movement sent more bits of skin to the ground.

Teeth scratched his throat, sending threads of pain down his neck. Something twitched

in his hands, his arms. It felt like a bound muscle, and when he moved, he felt like he was

close, so close. It he could just push --

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His skin twitched. The pencil slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a sharp

clicking sound.

No.

Devon twisted, breaking an arm free. If he could grab the sharp piece of wood --

The vampire grabbed Devon’s elbow, yanking him back.

Devon turned into the movement, raising his hand and clawing at the vampire’s eyes.

Jared’s face tore away, revealing a thin veneer of blood covering the vampire’s face.

The vampire stumbled back.

Devon shivered. Dizziness cra hed over him.

No!

he thought, following the vampire

and clawing at his eyes.

Don’t pass out. He’ll kill Prior. He’ll --

Devon stirred. He was lying on cool tiles.

“You bastard,” Prior said. “You fucking bastard.”

Devon pushed himself up. After he’d passed out, the vampire must have gone after

Prior. Devon turned.

And found himself looking up at Prior. And his gun.

“What happened?” Devon touched his neck. His skin felt unfamiliar, and pain flared

around his fingertips.

“You ... you ... you don’t remember?”

“No. I ...” He remembered the vampire grabbing him. No witty repartee, just teeth

about to sink into his neck, and then ... “I fought back.”

Yes. He remembered struggling. Scratching and twisting -- fighting tactics that seemed

embarrassing in retrospect, but they must have worked, because he was still alive.

“You fought.” Prior laughed. It was an uneven, broken sound.

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Prior sounded so unsteady. Devon was afraid the vampire had done something to one

of them. Bitten them, perhaps, or changed them into things like himself. “Are you all right?”

“What?”

“Did he bite you? Or me?”

“No. He got splayed all over the table.”

Devon looked at the table. There was a broken, bleeding shape there. Sunlight broke

through nearby blinds, turning parts of the body to smoke, while the rest bled onto the tiles.

A skull sat on the edge of the table, a pair of moon-white incisors glinting at him.

Deep breath, deep breath. He had to still be alive, because he was breathing. “I killed

him.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re okay --”

Click.

Either Prior had turned the safety off, or there had been an empty chamber in his gun.

Devon turned back to him. “Prior.”

“Don’t. Not until. You tell me. What you are.”

What he was? “I’m Devon.”

“Don’t.”

“We went to school together.”

“I trusted you.”

“I love you.”

Prior’s hand trembled. “Was this ... planned?”

Planned? “I don’t understand.” Devon rose. His clothes were torn. A strip of cotton

hung over his shoulder, another around his waist. His jeans had ripped along the sides,

exposing scratched and shaking legs.

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“You know who I am,” Prior said.

“Yes.” They had been together for six years. Devon knew about the things Prior was

most proud of -- his paper, his awards, his twins -- and the things he wasn’t.

“Then why didn’t you just, I don’t know, approach me for a treaty?”

A what? “Prior, why would I need to approach you for a treaty?”

Prior frowned. “Pardon?”

“We parted a little awkwardly, yes, but not badly. A treaty seems melodramatic.”

“You think I didn’t see what you did?”

Unease pooled in Devon’s stomach. He was saying the wrong things. He didn’t know

what the right things were, though.

Yes, I want a treaty. Wow, you saw me do something I

don’t remember. We’ve both read stories about people who’ve lifted cars to save t apped

children. Let’s play a game where I have no idea what you’re talking about and you put the

gun down and explain it to me.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Devon said.

“I see. And if I were to tell you that the bullets are silver?”

“Then I still don’t understand.” Silver bullets. Prior, the once and future Boy Scout, was

always prepared for a fight that his father and grandfather hadn’t survived. “I’m not the

enemy, Prior.”

“No. Just Devon. Quiet, beautiful Devon. Who’s not following orders.”

“Why would I -- No one sent me.”

“Devon.”

“No one sent me.” What the hell did Prior think was going on? Yes, Devon had

obviously killed the vampire, but the vampire had threatened them. Devon had simply

snapped and let adrenaline do what it could. He’d just been lucky.

“All right,” Prior said. “If this is how you’re going to play it.”

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“There’s nothing to play.” The unease sharpened, becoming an ache. He was making

this worse. “The vampire masqueraded as Jared. I think he did something to you.”

“He hit me. You want to claim a boon for saving me?”

“No. I want to backtrack to when things made sense.”

“It makes sense now, actually. I feel rather stupid --”

“Prior, no,”

“-- for thinking you would come back to me on your own.”

“The vampire is the one that started this. Not me. Look, we know something few

others do. We could warn others about it. I’ll start a website --”

“Do you really think bringing up my father will help you?”

“Maybe he was right.” Relief flooded Devon. He’d gotten Prior to think about

something other than shooting him. “I’ll do it. This will be my story. I’ll --”

“Shhh. Things are going to be different now. I know what you are. You know -- or

suspect -- what I am. I can’t afford to let you go.”

Devon stared at Prior. He didn’t ... he wouldn’t ...

“This doesn’t have to be bad,” Prior said, tracing the gun along Devon’s face. “You

could wait for me at home. Have dinner ready. A drink.”

“Your slippers?”

“Perhaps.” The gun moved down Devon’s neck, brushed aside a thread of shirt, and

traced down his chest. The movement shifted the gun, bringing the cold surface against

warm skin. The chill sent a shock down Devon’s body.

He drew back. “Prior --”

Click.

A sharp explosion, and then pain skidded past his left hip.

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Devon took a sharp breath and clutched his leg. Blood ebbed around his fingers, and

sharp, nauseating pain throbbed beneath his hand.

Prior stepped up to him and laid the now hot gun nozzle against Devon’s chest. “As you

may recall from when we worked together, I only give one warning.”

He’s serious

, Devon thought, and that frightened him because Prior’s voice was so

bloody thoughtful, and a thoughtful Prior meant a thorough Prior. He would either get what

he wanted or ...

“I know what you are.”

He thinks I’m a werewolf.

The thought made Devon feel ill. Yes, he’d somehow torn

the vampire apart, but --

Sunlight! The attack had probably surprised the vampire. Maybe Devon had taken

advantage of the moment and knocked him into sunlight. That would have done most of the

damage. If not ... No. He was human. If he were a werewolf, he might have been able to

protect his parents.

The things that had killed his parents and Prior’s relatives had attacked at night,

though. Devon couldn’t remember if the moon had been full, but he did know that everyone

had been in or near the woods.

“I know what you are.”

So do I. I’m not the monster.

Prior wasn’t going to believe him, though. The pain pulsing through his leg quietly

assured him that his former lover had different ideas about him. Devon could either continue

to try to talk to him ... or leave.

“Devon?”

“I’m cold,” Devon said. The words felt like a non sequitur, but Prior lowered the gun.

“Of course.” Prior shrugged out of his coat and draped it over Devon’s shoulders.

Devon released his thigh, studying the bruise on Prior’s forehead. One hit --

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Pain flared up his side. Devon nipped his lip and forced his arms into the sleeves. One

blow to Prior’s head. Devon didn’t want to kill him. He just wanted to leave. All he needed

now was a distraction.

“Shall we?” Prior asked.

“Wait. Please.” One strike from the skull would probably buy him the time he needed

to get out of there. “I want to keep the skull ...”

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Chapter Nine

Devon had been bitten by a vampire.

Andrew glanced in the rearview mirror. Devon was a car length behind him, keeping

pace. If Andrew hadn’t thought they might need two cars, he would have suggested that they

carpool.

He was bitten by a vampire.

No matter what he was, Devon cared about him and Sean.

Ask him to get Sean out of

town, and then you can deal with Tyler.

It seemed like a good plan. Devon would want to keep Sean safe. Andrew hadn’t

figured out how he would get Sean to agree, but ...

Devon had been bitten by a vampire.

“Do you think it hurt?”

Andrew glanced at Sean briefly before turning his attention back to the road. He

wanted to ask, Did what hurt -- Julia’s death, or Devon getting bitten? -- and then he knew.

Devon might have already told Sean how it had felt.

He never told me.

But Devon hadn’t

been the last one to talk to Julia before she died.

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How should he answer? Truth: I heard it happen and it sounded ghastly. Lie: it was

sudden, and if it hurt, it hurt for only a moment.

“I don’t think he wanted her to suffer,” Andrew said. Tyler hadn’t actually thought of

his wife whenever Andrew had had a flash of his life. Andrew wanted to think that his

brother had cared about her, though. That killing her had been a necessity and that he

regretted it. Perhaps the next time he got a glimpse of Tyler’s life he should try to take

control and --

And, he realized, he was planning on something that he’d never predicted was going to

happen in the first place.

“Did he hurt you?” Andrew asked. He knew the answer, because Tyler had needed

Sean’s blood so that he would have a tie to Julia, but he didn’t know what Tyler had told

Sean.

“Nnn ... he bit me.”

“Are you still bleeding?” Shit, the words were halfway out of his mouth before Andrew

realized that it hadn’t occurred to him before. He should turn left at the next intersection

and get Sean to the hospital --

“No. It’s closed over. Devon gave me an aspirin, and it isn’t bothering me now.”

Devon.

Andrew’s fingers trembled. Devon had found him last night in the house. He’d found

his nephew.

Could werewolves sense mages?

Andrew tightened his grip on the steering wheel, stilling his fingers. Beautiful,

mysterious Devon. His lover might not trust Andrew, but Andrew trusted him.

“When he bit you,” Andrew asked, “did you ...” How to phrase it? “... see anything

weird? Like a vision or something?”

Silence.

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Ahead, the road came to an intersection. Andrew slowed the car and turned right.

“Sean?”

“I was in a library. My great-grandfather was there, and he was going to shoot me.”

Relief cut through Andrew. Sean hadn’t experienced being Grandfather. He was just a

kid, just a normal thirteen-year-old boy who ...

Who did see something.

“Did you know that Great-Grandpa was a Nazi?”

“I found out about it recently.” The relief shifted, becoming something Andrew

couldn’t define. He and Sean were similar. He didn’t know what circumstances had put Sean

into Grandfather’s path, but right now that didn’t matter. Grandfather had used him. If Sean

had been as dark as Grandfather, he would have used someone else to deflect the bastard’s

spell. After Andrew had dealt with Tyler, he could help Sean remember his past.

“Did you see something when Dad attacked you?”

Andrew was tempted to tell him no. Sean probably already had some conflicted

feelings about his father, feelings that wouldn’t have existed if Andrew hadn’t killed Tyler in

the first place.

At the same time, maybe Sean needed to have those feelings. Tyler had cared for him,

but only because he thought Sean was Grandfather. Once he found out that Sean was not

Grandfather, would he have still loved him?

“Yeah,” Andrew said. “I did see something. I saw Tyler talking to your great-

grandfather.”

Movement, and then Andrew saw Sean turn to sit facing him. “What were they talking

about?” Sean asked.

“Tyler had fallen. Grandfather was helping him up.” Andrew wanted to save the rest

for a time when he wasn’t driving and could concentrate on making the inhuman

understandable, for him if not for Sean.

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Ahead, a light turned red. Andrew slowed the car.

“Do you think Dad will kill us next?” Sean asked.

“I don’t think he wants to hurt you.”

“What about you?”

Him, Tyler wanted to hurt. “I’m going to stop him.”

“How?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Though he might try using fire. Fire seemed to kill

most things in movies. Perhaps if he got another glimpse --

No. He couldn’t count on getting another glimpse. He might have accidentally caused

the first two to happen, but the third?

It might be part of the spell

, he thought.

You undid something in the bathroom

yesterday, but you also did something to Tyler when you grabbed his head.

The sight -- and the glimpses -- were gifts. Andrew was glad he had them. He wanted

the information they gave him, but they also frightened him. What else had Tyler done to

get where he was today? And what would the knowledge do to Andrew?

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Chapter Ten

Devon moved the vampire’s skull, setting it beside his mother’s poetry book. Together

again. He turned his laptop on.

Faint voices murmured up the stairwell from the kitchen, creating an almost soothing

background noise. Andrew’s caramel-smooth voice thanked the officers for coming.

Soft breaths tumbled over one another behind him. Devon turned in his office chair.

Sean lay on the faded black leather couch in the corner, partially under a black silk

comforter. Wisps of dark hair lay all over his face and the couch cushion.

Devon rose and headed for Sean. The boy had had enough time to shower, change, and

eat something before the police had arrived. Then pictures were taken of his arm and the

fading bite mark. The police had asked questions until Sean couldn’t blink back his tears

anymore and asked to be excused.

Devon pulled the comforter over Sean. He had brought Sean upstairs to his office while

Andrew talked to the police. Though Andrew and Sean couldn’t tell the police that the

murderer was Tyler, between them they had given the police something to focus on.

Downstairs, the voices faded.

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Devon returned to his computer and opened up the Word program. In a few moments

Andrew would be there, and Devon wanted to show him his research. He had categorized

movie monsters, listing their traits, their feeding habits, and what he knew about vampires,

werewolves, and mages. Where myth ended and reality began. Devon didn’t know what

Tyler was, but maybe his notes would help.

He opened his file and hit Print. The printer beside his laptop hummed, processing his

request.

The door opened, and Andrew walked in.

His glasses were off again. Devon wanted to ask him about it, but with Sean sleeping,

he didn’t want to make more noise than he had to.

Andrew scanned the room, saw Sean, and smiled. It was a faint pulling of the lips, but

it was beautiful. After everything Tyler had done, Andrew could still care about his brother’s

child. Devon loved that.

Devon held up a hand, making a

just a moment

sign. Behind him, he heard the printer

work on one page. Two. Three.

Andrew nodded and stepped back into the hallway.

When the fifteen pages were finished, Devon gathered and stapled them together,

crossed the room, and stepped into the hallway. It was a small space, with a window seat

looking out over the backyard, the door to his office to the left, a door to the second

bathroom to the right, and the stairs directly in front.

Andrew stood a couple feet away, his hands resting on the wooden banisters on either

side of him. Seeing him, Andrew moved closer. “Where?” he asked softly, studying Devon’s

neck.

Devon tipped his head to the left. “It looks like two dots now.”

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Warm fingers whispered over his skin. The touch sent tendrils throughout Devon,

relaxing him. He’d been up too long. Going downstairs and curling up on the bed sounded

lovely.

No. The vampire had been reluctant to let him escape. Devon doubted Tyler would let

either Andrew or Sean evade him.

“It really does look like a couple of moles.”

Andrew’s voice sounded thoughtful. Surprised.

Where are your glasses?

Devon opened his mouth to ask.

Andrew’s breath crept over Devon’s ear. The ethereal touch rippled through him,

making his cock twitch.

“We need to concentrate on Tyler,” Devon said.

“I know. I want to know what happened, though.” Andrew’s fingers crept, up and

down, over a small space on Devon’s neck.

Devon drew back. Another moment feeling Andrew’s breath, his fingers, and Devon

was afraid that he’d be personally discovering how easy it was for the deranged killer in a

movie to sneak up on an amorous couple.

“He set a trap,” Devon said. “He used my mother’s poetry chapbook.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Devon offered him the printout. “I’ve pieced some things together

since then. Maybe something will help.”

Andrew took the papers. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Devon waited until they were sitting at the kitchen table before asking, “Have you

gotten contacts?”

“No. Why --” Andrew reached into a shirt pocket, brought out his glasses, and slipped

them on. “Ever since yesterday, I’ve been able to see better.”

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Devon wanted to ask if the attack had also given him any magic powers. It would be a

gentle tease, just to see Andrew smile again, but he decided against it. Gallows humor had a

time and a place, but he had never been able to figure out when those were.

“I didn’t thank you before,” Andrew said. “For finding Sean.”

Devon shrugged. He was glad he’d found Sean. He wished that he’d planned for it,

though. Brought a change of clothes, some food and water. “I’m sorry I didn’t suggest going

when you woke up.”

Andrew shook his head. “I had to run in mental circles for an hour. I would’ve slowed

you down.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Andrew might have argued with him on the way there, argued

with him all the way to the grave, but his annoyance would’ve probably made Devon move

faster.

Andrew held the printout up to his eyes. “You never told me. You told Sean, but you

didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Devon said. It was a partial truth. If this had never happened, he

suspected he would have been happy to just research the supernatural from a distance

without applying what he knew. If that had happened, though, he wouldn’t have told

Andrew, because life was interesting enough without an anecdote that would call his sanity

into question.

Andrew glanced at him over the top of his glasses. “Why didn’t you?”

“You thought I was joking whenever I brought up vampires.”

“And before yesterday?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was insane.”

Andrew set the printout down. “I would have believed you.”

Devon stared at him. No. He couldn’t. Devon hadn’t believed him when Andrew had

said his dead brother had attacked him.

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“I’m sorry,” Devon said. He wished he could tell Andrew that he’d at least wanted to

believe him, but that would be a lie. At the very least, Devon didn’t want to mislead to him.

“I hadn’t wanted it to be real. We could deal with a murderer. This, though ...” Devon

motioned to the printout. “I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“You didn’t believe me?” Andrew chuckled. “For someone who thought I was insane,

you did little in the way of having me put on a twenty-four-hour watch. You stayed with me

when I was being a jerk. You watched over me while I slept. You found Sean.” Andrew

smiled. “You were my knight.”

Warmth crept across Devon’s face, making him feel suddenly aware of sitting there.

The kitchen was cool, and a faint tick-tock sound bled in from the living room. His throat

felt dry. His eyes stung, and when he blinked, the momentary darkness soothed him.

“I’ve never encountered anything supernatural before yesterday,” Andrew said. “I

never even imagined vampires and undead bastards were possible. When something does

happen, like car accidents and disappearances, they always hurt people. I ... I would have

believed you because you’re still here, and that means that when bad things happen, people

can fight them. Can overcome them. I still don’t think Tyler’s a vampire, though.”

Devon’s lips twitched. Andrew could make him laugh at times when he thought

nothing could.

“I never had my heart set on him being one,” Devon said. He looked around the table.

He was thirsty, and his mocha from that morning was long gone.

Across the table sat a tall black mug. Sean’s chocolate milk. He half rose and drew it

over. “I don’t know what Tyler is, but --”

“Don’t drink that.”

“Why not?”

“I slipped half of a Vicodin into it.” Andrew rose. “I’ll make you another mocha.”

“You ... Why?”

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“Tyler will probably be coming after me tonight.” Andrew crossed the kitchen to a

small black espresso machine that sat in the corner, beside a wall of hanging mugs. “I think it

might be best if you were to take Sean and go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

Andrew laughed. It was a quiet, broken sound.

“Andrew?”

“After all that’s happened, I never imagined that I’d be the one to push you away.”

His words -- so soft that Devon could almost have imagined them -- frightened Devon.

The time they had needed to be spent on formulating plans, not saying farewell. If Andrew

had already decided he was going to die ...

Devon rose. “You’ve only had a few hours to imagine this moment.” He walked

towards Andrew. “I like to think that you would eventually have imagined me telling you

no, that I was going to stay.”

“I imagined that you might argue.” Andrew turned the espresso machine on. It hissed.

Devon stepped up to Andrew, molding against him. When the machine’s hissing died,

Devon asked, “Did you imagine that I might win?”

Andrew clicked the machine off. “What about Sean?”

“We could call Kylie and ask her to get him out of town for a couple days.”

“And if we fail?”

“When she hears of our grisly demises, I doubt she’ll bring Sean back.”

Andrew inched away from him.

Devon frowned. “I didn’t mean --”

“No. You have a good point.” Andrew turned and studied him. “There’s something I

want to tell you. About Tyler. When I’m done, I’d like you to trust me about something I

kind of already know.”

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135

He knows about Prior.

Devon frowned, mentally gnawing on the idea. No. Andrew couldn’t know about that.

Devon had never talked about it, and he doubted Prior would have told anyone. Whatever it

was that Andrew knew or suspected was about something else. Probably wolves. Andrew

had seemed obsessed with them recently.

“All right,” Devon said.

“The first boy I ever loved was named Garret,” Andrew said. “We met in high school.

Freshman gym class. I wasn’t much of an athlete, but I could run. He did track and he was

nice. When we were seniors, we fooled around. Just kissing, some light groping. He ...”

Andrew’s eyes clenched.

“Andrew?”

“We were going skiing.” His voice grew soft. Secretive. “The day before we were

supposed to leave, he disappeared. A couple weeks later, I got this tape. Garret was ... was

screaming because he was bleeding and he’d been buried alive.”

Devon felt ill. Andrew hadn’t said Tyler’s name, but Devon knew he was involved.

“Tyler hurt me”

had been so hard to understand, but the physical ghosts haunting Andrew’s

body demanded acknowledgement. This, though ...

His fingers twitched. He didn’t know how he’d been able to find the strength to kill the

vampire, but he wanted to tear at Tyler. Pull out his eyes, rip his face away from his skull as

if it were a mask. Tyler had been an attractive man, but his face was a lie. Devon wanted to

pull it off so people could see what he really was.

“I think Tyler killed him,” Andrew said. “The police never found anything. In

retrospect, it seems fitting. They didn’t find anything out of the ordinary when I killed

Tyler.”

“They might have not known where to -- Excuse me?”

“I killed Tyler.”

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Calling Kylie had been Devon’s idea. His mind had gone blank after Andrew repeated

his words --

“I killed Tyler.”

-- and when Devon could think again, it was to suggest that they get Sean out of town.

Andrew picked up the phone, called Kylie, and ten minutes later she was at the door. Devon

let her in.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“I can’t believe what’s happened.” Kylie hugged him. There was a trace of a Spanish

accent in her voice that reminded Devon of the sugar skulls and marigolds she’d set up on a

Coffee Bean counter the year before as altar for a former employee who had died.

When she released him, Kylie looked around. The sudden movement made the tips of

her black hair bounce against her shoulders. “Where’s Andrew?”

“He --”

Killed Tyler.

“-- went upstairs to get Sean.” Devon withdrew his wallet, and after an embarrassing

five-dollar discovery, handed her his ATM card. “The PIN is --”

Kylie shook her head. “I can’t.”

“It’s our emergency. It’s the least we can do.” Devon gave her his PIN.

Kylie’s lips twitched. It was a nice, if hesitant, smile. “I’ll bring back an itemized list.”

Footsteps thudded softly down the hall, and then Andrew walked into the living room,

carrying Sean, who was wrapped in the silk comforter. As Andrew moved closer, the end of

the comforter trailed behind him.

Kylie stepped up to them and brushed Sean’s hair back. “Is he all right?”

“Yes,” Andrew said. His arms shook. “He’s just sleeping.”

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Drugged

, Devon thought.

He opened the front door. He felt torn about Sean being drugged. It would help them

get him out of town, but Sean should have had the choice.

On the other hand, the choice wasn’t pleasant: stay and get hurt, or leave on your own

and feel bad. Sean might resent this, but at least he wasn’t being asked to leave someone else

behind. His mother had been bad enough. The poor kid was probably going to have

nightmares.

Andrew killed Tyler, and Tyler killed Julia.

Devon frowned.

It was hard to feel dismayed by Andrew’s pronouncement when he remembered what

Tyler was actually like. Tyler hadn’t returned from the dead to avenge himself. He’d come

back after someone he’d been abusing and had killed his wife in front of his son.

A jingle of keys, and then Kylie was beside Devon. “I presume I’m not to tell you

where we’ll be?”

Devon nodded. “If you could give us a call in the morning, we’ll figure things out from

there.”

“I will.” Kylie headed for her car.

Andrew glanced at Devon. “If you want to go with her --”

“No.” He didn’t know why Andrew had finally decided to strike back against Tyler.

Devon just knew that he didn’t blame him for it.

Andrew followed Kylie to her car. He set Sean in the passenger seat and then talked to

Kylie.

Devon studied Andrew. So, his lover had killed Tyler. While he didn’t fault Andrew,

Devon did want to question him. The timing was off. As much as Devon wanted Andrew to

have been able to hurt the bastard, they hadn’t been in the park at the same time.

And normally, the dead don’t get back up.

138

L.M. Prieto

Unease pooled in Devon’s stomach, growing into an ache. People didn’t always have to

actually be there to affect others. The wards surrounding Salem had been created by people

who were long dead. Prior had said that his father had adjusted the designs for the school

library, and years after he was gone, the library had kept the vampire out. Would Andrew

have really had to be near Tyler to ...

Devon watched Andrew reach into his back pocket and draw out his wallet. Kylie

shook her head.

There had been things about Prior that Devon hadn’t understood at the time but now

wondered about. The homemade medicine that Prior had put on Devon’s neck. His

knowledge of the Salem wards.

Andrew had never talked about such things, but until the vampire attack, neither had

Prior. They both believed easily in things that had never occurred to Devon. And both

seemed to think that there was something he was keeping from them.

No. I can’t go through that again.

It was a bitter memory. One moment Devon had thought that things were going to be

all right, and the next he’d been in pain.

He’d moved away after Prior had shot him. The experience had been dreadful, though,

because the gun wound had set off a miserable month-long cold. If Andrew turned on him --

No. He loves me.

At the car, Andrew and Kylie hugged, and then Andrew returned to the house.

“I’ll pay back whatever she spends,” Andrew said, locking the door behind himself.

Devon shook his head. Biologically, Sean wasn’t his nephew, but Devon cared about

him. “It’ll be fine.”

Andrew glanced at the clock on the wall. “We have a little over two hours.” He turned

to Devon. “Presuming he keeps vampire hours.”

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139

Presuming. “Someone once told me that the world was a different place after dark,”

Devon said. He doubted that it was a coincidence that his parents, Prior’s father, and Andrew

had been attacked at night.

No. That might not be true. The vampire had found a way to operate in the day.

Devon scanned the living room. They were going to need weapons. Weapons that, he

hoped, Andrew wouldn’t use on him after they dealt with Tyler.

No.

Devon sank his fingernails into his palms, forcing the thoughts back. Andrew. Was not.

Prior. Prior cared about the paper and other things that were reasonable and noble. Devon

had never been a priority to him, though. Andrew always made Devon feel like he belonged.

Devon took a mental inventory of the room. The living room was just a living room. It

had normal-looking furniture in a normal-looking room with a normal-looking fireplace.

The fire pokers were black metal shapes. Probably wrought iron, nothing that would hurt a

werewolf or a vampire. But ...

“Devon?”

“Let’s start a fire.” The words surprised Devon. He hadn’t thought about it, but once

he’d said it, he was delighted. Fire. Fire killed most things. He wanted to believe it would

destroy Tyler.

“That’s a good idea.” Andrew crossed the room. He knelt in front of the red brick

fireplace and opened a thin metal screen. His movements were sharp. Certain. If Andrew

attacked someone, Devon imagined it would be sudden.

Devon slumped onto the arm of the couch. “How?” he asked. He needed to focus on

Tyler.

Andrew set a starter log in the hearth. “I pushed him.”

“The police said he died hours before we were ever there.”

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L.M. Prieto

“They got the time wrong. Or whatever Tyler did to be able to come back screwed the

forensics testing.”

There was a sibilant whisper, and then Andrew set the tip of a long match to the paper-

covered log.

“I think he was waiting for us.” Andrew tossed the stick into the fireplace and turned

towards Devon. “After you went back for your water bottle, he approached me. He said ... a

lot of things. We argued.”

“The police didn’t say anything about signs of a struggle.”

“There wasn’t one. I just pushed him.” Andrew extended one hand and feigned shoving

something.

The movement was quick. Devon imagined that it had been just like that. One moment

Tyler was probably being a bastard, and the next he was gone. It was simple and efficient.

And absolutely mundane. Nothing magical in it at all.

Relief cut through Devon. The feeling was so intense, so overwhelming, that it hurt.

Andrew hadn’t cast a spell on Tyler. Magic could protect people, or as Tyler was showing, it

could hurt them. Andrew, though, was normal. Andrew would have no reason to hurt him.

“When I saw Tyler at Julia’s house,” Andrew said, “he grabbed my head. I mirrored his

hold and it woke something inside of me.”

Devon’s relief faded. This meant nothing. Whatever Andrew felt wasn’t going to make

him hurt anyone. Tyler was a bastard who’d scarred Andrew. Devon had never ...

He had also never attacked Prior. That hadn’t kept Prior from pulling the trigger,

though, and acting like Devon had been the one who’d lied. Devon wanted to think that

Prior was insane or confused, but he’d been

certain. It made Devon wonder if he wasn’t

human.

No. I would have changed during the full moon before or after then. I was lucky when

I killed the vampire. There has never been anything strange about me.

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141

Grandparents. Half-breed.

Devon had so many questions. “What did it wake?”

“Magic. I can see things. In time, I think I’ll be able to do more.”

Magic.

Devon’s eyes clenched shut. Magic could be used for good or evil. When Prior had

turned on him, he’d used silver, not a spell. Tyler was the one who twisted it. Andrew said

he saw things.

“What are you?”

I’m just Devon. I’m nothing special.

“Devon?”

He had to say something. “What did he say?”

“At Julia’s house?”

Yes. No. Devon didn’t know. He just wanted to focus on something else, something

that wouldn’t hurt him. Andrew needed him to fight Tyler, just as Prior had needed him, but

afterward? “At Castle Rock.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” There was a whisper of shoes moving against carpet. “Until then, you just

avoided Tyler.” Devon opened his eyes. Andrew stood a couple feet from him. “What did he

say? What was worth his life?”

“Yours.”

142

L.M. Prieto

Chapter Eleven

Devon was so quiet, his green eyes staring at Andrew, that for a moment Andrew

wondered if Devon had heard him.

“Mine,” Devon whispered.

Ah. He had heard.

“Yes.” Andrew wanted to take Devon’s hand and tell him more, tell him that Tyler had

set up a spell to take magical energy away from Andrew years ago. That he’d learned magic

from Grandfather, and that Tyler had hoped that Sean was Grandfather reborn.

Andrew didn’t want to focus on those things, though. They had been the creations of a

couple of assholes and made magic look dark. Andrew didn’t think that was fair. He would

have died without his sight. Sean would have never had a chance to live outside of

Grandfather’s shadow. Andrew wanted to believe that more good could come out of this.

“After my parents died,” Devon said, “I went to live with my grandparents. They didn’t

care for me.”

Andrew couldn’t imagine someone not caring about Devon. However, he was looking

at this as if Devon had come from a normal human family. Perhaps Devon didn’t fit in with

After Dark

143

the other werewolves. Perhaps he had been cast out and the vampire was later sent after him

to get rid of him and ...

He didn’t know. He hoped Devon would tell him soon.

“My grandfather called me half-breed,” Devon said.

That was disgusting. “Why?”

“He didn’t like my mother. Neither of them did.”

She was human

, Andrew thought.

Devon hadn’t said the words yet, but Andrew thought the secret was there, threaded

through the information.

“My father turned down an arranged marriage,” Devon said. “Sounds odd, doesn’t it? It

must have been the late sixties, and there was my dad, fighting with his parents because he

didn’t want to marry a girl he’d never met.”

“Did they want you to get married?”

“They debated it. When I left home, they were still going back and forth over it.”

“They let you leave?” Andrew had thought Devon might have been exiled. If his

grandparents had wanted his father to marry someone, Andrew thought they would have

eventually decided to make Devon marry.

“No,” Devon said. “They were holding a ball for my eighteenth birthday. A couple days

before, they sent the linens out to be cleaned. I hid in the laundry.”

Andrew frowned. His grandparents hadn’t liked him, but they’d planned to throw him

a party that required something getting professionally cleaned? “If they didn’t care for you,

why couldn’t you just leave? Why did you have to sneak out?”

“I don’t know. I had an impression that they were embarrassed by me but didn’t want

to let me out of their sight.”

“Did they try to reclaim you after you left?”

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L.M. Prieto

“No. I was on the other side of the pond.”

“Do you think ...” How to phrase this? “... they had something to do with the vampire?”

Yes. That gave the question some flexibility.

Devon looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. The vampire knew about my mother’s poetry

book. My grandparents barely knew her name.” Devon looked away. “It’s getting dark.”

Andrew turned. Through a window, he saw gray-blue clouds blanketing the sky. If

sunlight hurt Tyler, or if he was avoiding light because he didn’t want to be seen, then he

would probably be looking for them soon.

His heart thumped faster. Tyler hadn’t had a chance to fully gather his strength

yesterday. He was probably angry and hungry and --

“I’m going to stick the poker in the fire,” Devon said.

Andrew nodded. “Could you get me a large knife while you’re up?”

Devon rose. “Sure.”

Andrew watched Devon lay the iron poker in the hearth and then leave the room. He

hadn’t said anything about being a werewolf yet.

There’s still time. You told him you could see things. He didn’t seem surprised about

magic being real. He might not know what Tyler is, but Tyler doesn’t know what

is,

either.

It was an edge against his brother. For all of his experience, Tyler didn’t know that

Devon wasn’t human. He didn’t have Andrew’s sight.

If he grabbed Andrew again and began siphoning power, though, would he?

“Here you go.” Devon offered Andrew a knife, handle first. His hand trembled.

“Devon?”

“Yes?”

After Dark

145

Tell me. Please tell me

. “I can see past glamours. Tyler looked human one moment and

dead the next.”

“Oh.” Thoughts tumbled behind Devon’s eyes. “I wish I could do that.”

“But there are things you can do. Aren’t there?”

“I’m a fair writer. A good researcher.”

“And?”

Devon’s brows crept together. “I’ve told you everything there is to know about me,

Andrew.”

A collage of emotions pooled in Andrew’s stomach. Anger, that Devon didn’t trust him.

Surprise, that he was still not admitting anything after Andrew’d told him that he could see

through magical disguises.

“I think my last lover may have been like you,” Devon said. “Werewolves killed his

father and grandfather and ... I’m not really comfortable talking about him.”

“You ...” The chaos of emotions surged, sharpening his anger. The surprise faded,

replaced by hurt. That Devon could look him in the eye, lie to him, and bring up his ex.

Tyler had killed Garret and Julia, had spent years siphoning magic out of Andrew, and had

tried to help Grandfather be reborn in Sean’s body, and Devon didn’t feel comfortable

talking about his ex?

“We are kind of in the middle of something deadly,” Andrew said.

“I know. It’s just, he’s a very private person.”

Andrew felt sick. At a time like this, Devon cared about his ex’s privacy? “When this is

over, why don’t you go back to him?”

“Andrew --”

“Fuck. Why wait? Get out.”

“No.” Devon’s eyes flickered green-gold.

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L.M. Prieto

Andrew blinked. He was wearing his glasses. If Devon’s eyes were really changing, did

that mean he was going to change shape? Had ... had Devon killed his last lover?

No. Devon’s tone had been thoughtful, not ominous.

“I think my last lover may have

been like you”

was information, not a threat. Devon was just upset.

If Devon’s eyes were changing, it meant that he was upset. At what, though? Having

his secret threatened? That Andrew wanted him to leave? Did Devon care that much about

him? Andrew had heard that wolves mate for life. Did werewolves?

“I love you,” Devon said. His velvet-soft voice sounded scratchy. “I don’t know what it

is that you need to know, though.”

“And your ex?” Shit, Andrew didn’t want to ask that, though obviously a part of him

did.

“He thought I was keeping something from him, too.” Devon looked away.

Andrew studied him. Devon’s breath had quickened, and there was a slight tremor in

his body -- and that was it. No hint of fur or teeth. No crouching in preparation for an attack.

Just a man looking wounded.

This was tearing Devon up. Andrew was angry, but he hadn’t meant to do that. “I’m

sorry.”

“Andrew --”

“It’s okay.” Devon wouldn’t -- or couldn’t -- tell him. Fine. Andrew would try to work

around it.

Andrew removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table. He moved the knife from

one hand to the other. It would be dark soon. When Tyler attacked, Andrew would at least

be able to see him clearly. One good stab --

No, several. In movies, the monster always got back up.

Devon slumped onto the couch. His eyes shimmered, green with gold flecks near the

irises. Pale fur crept out of his skin.

After Dark

147

“If I knew what it was, I would tell you. I would’ve told him. Devon’s nose, mouth, and

chin elongated, growing into a muzzle. I --”

“Devon.”

“-- wish I knew.”

“It’s okay. If you can’t ...” Wait. A. Moment. If he knew? He wished he knew? “Devon.”

His voice was secret-soft. “Don’t you know that you’re a --”

Click.

The front door opened.

Andrew turned.

Tyler stood in the doorway, bright yellow jack-o’-lantern eyes focused on Andrew.

Tyler smiled. His teeth were jagged, like a dozen broken needles.

“I could hear you two arguing from outside,” he said, closing and locking the door.

How ...?

Andrew wondered, and then he saw a small black flashlight and a miniature

eight-ball attached to a set of keys in Tyler’s hand. Sean’s keys. Shit.

“Were you two breaking up?” Tyler asked. His voice was soft. Concerned-sounding.

Andrew hated him.

“No,” Devon said. He had risen from the couch and was inching towards the fireplace.

“I think werewolves mate for life,” Andrew said. Tyler’s eyebrows rose. Thirty-plus

years of studying his brother told Andrew that Tyler had no idea what he was talking about.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Devon mirroring the confused expression.

Oh, my God. He doesn’t know he’s a werewolf.

Tyler tossed the keys from one hand to the other. Red-orange light pulsed around the

small metal shapes whenever they touched his hands. “That little stunt hurt, Andrew. Sadly,

I have to take care of you quickly. Devon, though? I’m going to make that last.”

Devon darted for the fireplace. Tyler flung the keys at him.

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L.M. Prieto

No! Andrew threw himself between Tyler and Devon. Pain lanced across his left arm.

Wincing, he turned.

The keys slammed into Devon’s head, casting a red pulse over him. Devon slumped to

his knees. He swayed, but remained partially up.

“Wow,” Tyler said. “He has lots of stamina. Congratulations, Andrew.”

Andrew threw himself at the son of a bitch. “You fucking --”

Tyler grabbed his neck.

Pain erupted in Andrew’s throat. No! Andrew stabbed Tyler’s chest, his shoulder.

The knife made a wet sound as it sank into Tyler. Red-black spots flowered out of the

wounds, leaking thin ribbons of blood.

Tyler’s eyes narrowed, making the pale light shining from his eyes glow. “He can’t

move, Andrew. He’s just sitting there, watching me kill you.”

No.

Andrew stabbed Tyler’s face.

The eyes

, he thought.

Aim for the eyes!

The knife skidded over Tyler’s cheek, tearing open the skin. The veins webbing across

his face shimmered, glowing an angry red.

Hissing, Tyler grabbed Andrew’s hand and squeezed the wrist. His fingers were cold,

leaching the warmth from Andrew’s skin.

No, damn it, no.

Pain lanced up Andrew’s arm. Devon. He had to buy Devon time. If he could fight the

spell --

Andrew’s fingers twitched. The knife slipped away. Tyler pivoted, forcing Andrew to

move.

Pain threaded through Andrew, making him lightheaded. He blinked and blinked, and

when he could focus again, he saw Devon over Tyler’s shoulder. Devon was still a couple feet

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149

from the fireplace. His head was partially down, but his green eyes were bright, watching

Andrew back.

“I’m rather sentimental,” Tyler said. “Knowing that I was the last thing Julia saw was

just so incredibly intimate. I want to share that with you. I want you to see Devon as you

die.”

Pain flared along Andrew’s left arm. The scar. That first scar. “You fucking bastard.”

Tyler chuckled. His veins shimmered again, and then the skin of his face crept back

into place. “No loving sentiments, Andrew?” He reached up and tore the bandage off

Andrew’s forehead. “Even I told Julia I cared for her.”

You lied. I you’d really cared about her, you wouldn’t have hurt her. You would have

come afte me and left her out of it and --

Devon twitched. His head crept up. He was fighting off the spell. “Devon.”

“And--” Devon shuddered. His shirt and jean seams stretched and then tore, exposing

pale fur.

He was changing. Really changing. He --

He can move.

“Devon.”

I love you

. “Run.”

“That’s more like it,” Tyler said. He pressed his fingers over Andrew’s forehead.

No. Andrew grabbed Tyler’s wrist. He’d look into Andrew’s life, just like Andrew had

looked into his. He’d find out about Devon.

Pain stabbed Andrew’s head.

The feeling echoed through him, making him lightheaded again. Everything grew

dark ...

No.

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L.M. Prieto

Andrew blinked. And blinked. And blinked, until things steadied around him. Tyler’s

hand blocked the room, but between his fingers Andrew could see Devon.

Devon’s wolf ears were flat against his head. He drew his legs under him, pushed

himself up --

And then slumped back down. His lips pulled back, exposing teeth.

Fight it! You can fight this!

Tyler pushed Andrew back, slamming him against the cold wall.

The Bean. He needed to focus his thoughts. He couldn’t fight Tyler, but if he could

concentrate on something, maybe he would make Tyler have to pay attention to that instead

of what had happened recently.

Coffee

, Andrew thought.

Loose tea. Chocolate-covered --

Tyler’s fingers shifted, almost massaging him.

-- espresso beans.

Something wet and warm crept down Andrew’s face.

Raspberry mochas.

“You really like coffee, don’t you?” Tyler asked.

Pumpkin chai lattes.

Movement. Pale fur drawing closer. Green eyes shining, glint of claws reaching out --

“Devon is

what?

” A low snarl erupted behind Tyler, and the fingers tore away from

Andrew.

Andrew slumped to the ground. Pain throbbed in his head, his arm.

“He’s a werewolf,” Tyler said. “He’s a fucking werewolf.”

The snarling grew louder.

Andrew looked up.

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151

Tyler and Devon were across the room. Devon had moved between Andrew and Tyler

and was forcing his brother back, down the hall, into the kitchen. Black-red spots trailed

Tyler.

He’s trying to protect me.

Andrew didn’t know if Devon could actually kill Tyler, but

he was trying to buy Andrew time.

Red-orange light pulsed out of Andrew’s arm, sending pain spiking through him.

He clutched his arm.

We’re still connected. I have to --

Across the floor, Tyler’s blood prints pooled together ... and then crept towards him.

Tyler probably wasn’t afraid of Devon tearing him to pieces. He’d just use Andrew and

come back. He had to do something.

What? Cut off his arm? Stick his arm in the fire and hope he could burn the scar away?

Bite it and --

Wait.

Tyler’s arm. Get his arm and put it into the fireplace.

Andrew looked around. He’d had a knife a moment before ... The knife lay a couple

feet from him. Tyler’s blood snaked around it and moved towards him.

Andrew rose. There wasn’t much blood. The wounds on his head were probably open

again, though. If Tyler’s blood got into him--

Don’t think. Act.

Andrew darted forward. The blood mirrored him, moving back around the knife.

Andrew grabbed the handle.

Crash

. The sound of furniture breaking. A sharp yelp of pain --

Devon!

The blood leapt onto Andrew’s hand.

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L.M. Prieto

He slamming his hand against the wall and wiped the blood off. Pain, and then intense

heat, flared across his skin. Andrew stepped back. The blood remained on the wall.

Devon

. He headed down the hall.

Fur and blood dotted the floor. Near the table, Devon knelt over Tyler, teeth imbedded

in Tyler’s throat and Tyler’s hands slipping into Devon’s head.

Careful

, Andrew thought, approaching them.

Careful, careful, don’t hurt Devon,

don’t --

Devon’s ears twitched. He shifted, focusing green-gold eyes on him.

“I need Tyler’s left arm,” Andrew said, making his voice gentle. He couldn’t tell if

Devon understood him.

“Ngth!” Tyler thrashed beneath Devon.

Devon shook his head, casting Tyler’s black-red blood across the floor. The blood

rippled and then pooled together.

Shit. Andrew dropped down beside Devon. Shit.

He grabbed Tyler’s left wrist and, slipping the knife across Tyler’s elbow, yanked the

blade towards himself.

“Ngth. Ngth!”

There was a wet, squelching sound. The blade broke through Tyler’s arm. Andrew

dropped the knife and rose.

“Ngth.” Tyler lowered his arm stump, letting it bleed. The red-black liquid circled

around Devon.

Andrew turned and ran down the hallway. A pained yelp erupted behind him.

Devon

. He wanted to go back. He couldn’t abandon Devon --

If he went back, though, it would buy Tyler time.

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153

Burn him.

Andrew ran up to the fireplace. In the hearth, the instant log had broken

into three blackened chunks. The fire played across the smoldering wood, casting a pleasant

warmth over him.

He tossed the arm into the fire. The flames swept away from the flesh and then

wrapped around it.

The smell of cooking meat crept over him. The scar on his arm itched.

Uneven footfalls thudded down the hall.

“No!” Tyler said.

Andrew grabbed the fire poker and rose. He had to believe that Devon was only

stunned. In a moment he would come after Tyler, and then Andrew would be cleaning Tyler

out of the carpet for weeks. Yes. That was what was going to happen.

He turned. Tyler stumbled towards him.

The fire sizzled behind Andrew. Tyler twitched, and then his skin blackened.

“You don’t know what you have in the other room,” Tyler said.

“Devon. It’s just Devon.” Who wasn’t there yet but he would be there soon.

“You idiot.” Bits of skin flaked away, ashing across the carpet. “Do you really think his

kind will tolerate you? Why do you think Grandfather had to hide?”

“He was an asshole.” Andrew approached him. Devon had survived a vampire. Devon

had survived a silver bullet. Tyler was nothing.

Tyler slumped to his knees. “He was powerful.”

Andrew raised the poker.

“When he returns --”

Andrew slammed the poker into Tyler’s head.

There was a hint of resistance, and then the iron went into Tyler and Tyler fell back.

Andrew followed, shoving the poker in deeper.

154

L.M. Prieto

Son of a bitch. Bastard. Murderer!

Tyler’s flesh crumbled into simmering black chunks. Bits of it turned to ash, hitting

Andrew and clinging to his skin. His left forearm itched --

And then stopped.

Images darted through his mind. Passages from old leather books, some in German,

others in ...

Latin, Spanish, French, telling him that magic was elemental. It --

Devon. He had to get to him --

-- was a m rriage of desire and thought. Not everyone could fathom it, but the ones

who could needed to be careful. Where once magic was part of the Troika, now it was

hunted. It --

Andrew stepped back, breaking the spell. The ash danced around him, making him feel

oddly aware. The power that Tyler had siphoned from him was returning, and it was

bringing the knowledge that Tyler had used it for.

Later. Andrew returned the poker to the fireplace and retrieved his glasses. Later he

would investigate the information that was waiting at the edge of his consciousness. Right

now he wanted to find Devon.

In the kitchen, a human-shaped Devon lay on the ground. His breath was slow.

Uneven. Clumps of fur and blood lay around him.

Andrew knelt and studied him. There were several yellow-blue fingertip-shaped

bruises along Devon’s forehead. They faded to blue-gray, and then gray, and then they were

gone.

Devon stirred. Long lashes twitched, and dark green eyes focused on Andrew.

“Where’s Tyler?”

“He’s gone.” Andrew brushed Devon’s hair back. His forehead felt clammy. Damp and

cold.

Almost dead.

After Dark

155

Devon sat up, winced, and then touched his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Andrew moved behind Devon and helped hold him up.

“I’m afraid I’m useless in a fight.”

“No.” Andrew slipped his arms around Devon. Devon leaned into him. “If it hadn’t

been for you --”

Wait. Devon didn’t remember what had happened?

“Did I distract him?” Against him, Devon grew warm. “What happened to my clothes?”

“They got torn when you ...”

He doesn’t remember. He had enough control to want to

protect me, but he doesn’t remember. That’s why he couldn’t tell me.

“Andrew?”

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Devon turned to face him. “What is it?”

Andrew took a deep breath. Wolves had killed Devon’s parents. Andrew hoped he

could help Devon through this. “You’re a werewolf.”

Devon shook his head. “Andrew, I’m not --”

“Devon.”

“They killed --”

“I know. You’re not like them.” Andrew caressed Devon’s face. “You’re my Devon.”

L.M. Prieto

L.M. Prieto graduated from the Odyssey Fantasy Writer’s Workshop. She currently

lives in Campbell, CA.

You can find L.M. on the Web at http://www.luisaprieto.com.

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Early clinical and radiological outcomes after double osteotomy
After the II World War
After MT

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