Frostbite Page 7

  Barely one step outside the store, Morgan felt the vibration of an incoming message on his phone. Lots of incoming messages. He clenched his teeth and waited for them to stop. Service at the cabin was spotty and the whole point of running away had been to be unreachable so he'd left his phone turned off until today. He'd known the silence could only last so long.

  His heart rate skyrocketed before he even pulled the phone from his pocket.

  Shit.

  Ezra pointed ahead. "There's a coffee shop over there. Let's go in." When he caught the look on Morgan's face, his enthusiasm withered. He looked like all the light had gone out of his world. "What is it?"

  Morgan turned off his phone again and shoved it back into his pocket. "It's nothing. Just my family."

  Ezra nodded in understanding. They really were a perfect match. He couldn't even tell Ezra to call his family when he could barely stand to read a text from his own.

  Morgan forced a laugh. "Since when do you drink coffee?"

  "Since never. Caffeine makes me unbelievably jittery. But they might have muffins. I like muffins. They're spongy. And cranberries look like little blood clots."

  He could have done without that last comment.

  "Fine. But only for a minute. I want to get back to the cabin." A few words and Ezra was back to sparkling at him. This time Morgan's laugh was sincere. "You're like a fucking puppy. I should get you a collar."

  Ezra's eyes widened, breath catching in his throat as he skidded to a stop. "Really?" he breathed. His lips glistened where he'd licked them.

  "It was—" a joke, was what he meant to say, but he hadn't finished the thought before it was followed by another, of Ezra on his knees, black leather around his throat, and that open and pleading look on his face again. It was the same look barely peering out of his dark eyes now. Maybe Morgan wasn't joking after all.

  He needed to kiss him. Immediately. So Morgan did. One hand found the back of Ezra's neck as he pulled him in, the bag of groceries slowly getting crushed between them.

  When he drew back again, Ezra's face was pink with pleasure. "What was that for?"

  "Because you're perfect." Morgan stroked his cheek.

  "I'm not..." He shook his head, wild hair falling into his eyes.

  "For me you are."

  7

  Ezra was in danger of falling in love. Hard. And ridiculous. And more than a little impractical given that he and Morgan were supposed to be enemies. Not that any of that was likely to stop him. In a way it was only an encouragement to make Morgan fall in love with him too, since Ezra was stubborn by nature. His family treated it like a fault, but if it got him what he wanted, where was the wrong in it? Especially when what he wanted was Morgan. Bad.

  "You promised me blood," Ezra whispered in Morgan's ear, hands smoothing their way up his back to clutch at his shoulders.

  Morgan didn't even give him the satisfaction of jumping, let alone turning away from the stove where he was cooking. He nodded. "Patience."

  "Not my strong suit." Ezra kissed his way along the artery and all that delicious blood just waiting for him to taste. "In case you hadn't noticed."

  "Shockingly I had. But you still have to wait. I'm a little busy." He waved a wooden spoon at the stove and whatever meal he had put together from the new groceries. It looked very brown but the aroma carried a metallic tang from the cans that had held it. Ezra hoped that meant it would taste like blood.

  Ezra glared at the saucepan that was apparently thwarting him before he hopped up onto his spot on the counter and opened the book he had stolen from Morgan earlier. He'd barely read a page before Morgan cleared his throat. Ezra lifted an eyebrow without looking up.

  "Is it safe for you to be here? Are they looking for you? Your family? Or the clans you were talking about?"

  An ice shard pierced his stomach, instantly killing his appetite. It would be so much easier if he could lie. "They were. I don't know if they still are, but I felt someone in the woods a couple days ago. Nothing since. I should be hard to find as long as I don't do anything too dramatic."

  Morgan laughed.

  "Not that kind of dramatic."

  "And your family?"

  Ezra winced. "I'll explain everything when I go back. And I'll deal with the consequences too." He bit his lip, hands gripping the edge of the counter. Still, he had no regrets. All he'd done was steal back time that should have been his. Mother had wanted him to take initiative; well now he had. When he snuck a look at Morgan, a frown had taken over his expression. He wanted to kiss him until he smiled again. "I don't have to go back right away. If there's something I want to do first. Or someone..." He leaned back and smiled. He held Morgan's gaze as he shifted his legs further apart. "It's almost New Year's Eve. Don't humans usually celebrate that with some kind of party too?"

  Finally, Morgan moved the pan off the burner. "Yeah. I haven't been to one in years, though." He slotted himself into the space Ezra had made for him, hands gliding up his legs from ankle to thigh. Kneading into the muscle.

  Ezra hooked a leg around Morgan's hips to draw him in even closer. "So let's have a party."

  EZRA'S HANDS TREMBLED. He and Morgan had both stripped off their shirts and now there was no avoiding the fact that some of the bruises peppering Morgan's chest and arms were from him. The wound on his forearm had faded even more. Now there was only a faint pink swelling to show where it had been. Ezra snatched back his hands. "I can't."

  "You won't hurt me." He sounded so sure when he said it like that.

  Ezra wished he felt half that sure.

  He licked his lips. Seated on Morgan's lap like this, he felt small yet too big all at once. He wished he was even smaller, weaker, less. For the first time, he wished he was only human. Human hands could still bruise, but not like his.

  Morgan didn't say a word. His hands rested on Ezra's hips like that was their home and his thumbs were rubbing circles over the skin, tracing the lines of the tattoo that wrapped around from his back. Morgan arched his neck. His pulse was a tantalizing tremor beneath the skin.

  Ezra bit his lip so hard he tasted his own blood. It didn't satisfy.

  "We don't do this anymore," Ezra whispered even as he leaned forward the tiniest bit. "It's considered uncouth. Not to mention dangerous." Blood came in bags and bottles, completely removed from the source unless one went to the trouble of finding a dedicated donor. Everything controlled. Everything traceable. Another sacrifice to the wars. What better way to poison someone than through their food? But now he couldn't stop thinking of the way Morgan's skin felt against his mouth, the warmth of it, the way it had resisted before his teeth broke through and blood flooded his mouth like bliss. Saliva filled his mouth now. He wanted that again. "What if I can't stop?"

  "You will."

  "I didn't last time. You hit me." He didn't blame Morgan for that. If anything, he was grateful. The desire to drain Morgan dry felt like a pit he could happily leap into. He didn't trust himself even if Morgan did. He knew himself too well for that. "I would really rather you tied me up first."

  "I'll bet you would."

  "The chains then?" he said hopefully. The length of chain still sat coiled on the table where he'd left it earlier as a suggestion, an open padlock beside it.

  Morgan laughed and shook his head. "No, just you, baby. I trust you. After you've fed, if you still want it I can tie you to whatever you want."

  "Anything?"

  The look in his eyes was as feral as Ezra felt. "Anything within reason. I'm really good with my knots. Now bite me."

  Ezra shuddered with need. His hands still shook as he set them on Morgan's biceps and nuzzled into that soft, sweet place where neck met shoulder. He licked at it tentatively, tasting. Salt and skin and blood so close. Morgan groaned in assent. One of his hands twisted itself into Ezra's hair, alternately tugging and combing through, the waves of sensation lulling him.

  There was a moment of resistance again, like biting into a plum, before the skin split, and
Ezra lost everything but the rush of blood on his tongue and the thrill of Morgan's whole body gone rigid beneath him. They crushed each other with their hands, their arms. The noises coming out of Morgan's mouth were nonsense, beautiful nonsense, as though he were speaking Ezra's own thoughts back to him. And there was blood. Hot and fast and alive on his tongue. It had never been so alive before. Sharp as sun on cut glass.

  Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, he pleaded. Never stop.

  His fingers dug deep into Morgan's back as he pulled him closer, lapping at a drop of blood that had escaped, chasing more of that taste. Everything he'd had before this had been flat, but this was bright. And red. It filled him like stars bursting.

  "Shit yeah." Morgan's voice was muffled in his ears. The blood rushing between them nearly drowned it out.

  Ezra sucked harder. He was dizzy. Head spinning. His need was gone but the hunger was only getting stronger, the desire to take and take just because he could. He'd been made for this. His arms twined tighter around Morgan's body. If the hunter struggled, Ezra couldn't tell. They were pinned together chest to chest, Morgan's heartbeat so close it felt like his own.

  Ezra moaned. So good.

  This wasn't just blood, it was Morgan. Distilled down to his finest form. Chocolate and cinnamon and metal. Heart pumping each perfect mouthful to Ezra one beat at a time as though it would go on forever.

  But it couldn't.

  It didn't make pushing himself away any easier. He didn't know how long it had been since the first giddy rush of blood but he didn't dare risk more.

  He took his time, prodding at the wound with his tongue until it was clean and already beginning to heal, but he couldn't help the mournful cry as he raised his head. He pressed a hand to his mouth to cover his bloodstained lips. He still wanted more. Craved it. Everything made sense as long as his mouth was full of blood.

  "Shit." Morgan's voice came out slow as honey. His eyes were heavy lidded. He looked a little pale.

  Ezra froze. He'd taken too much. He knew he shouldn't—

  Morgan kissed him hard, tongue sweeping into his mouth and stealing every other thought from his head. All Ezra could do was hold on. "Shit. That was intense," Morgan said against his lips. "We definitely have to do that again."

  Ezra nodded. No argument there. He felt loose limbed and warm, a cozy fire coursing through him along with the blood.

  Then he was lifted. The sudden movement made his head spin even more and he clung to Morgan, wrapping his legs around his waist so he wouldn't fall on the way into the bedroom. The bed looked untouched, the coverlet squared and tucked in neatly. Morgan must have done it earlier when they'd gotten up. Something about it made him want to giggle. It was so like Morgan. Ezra hit the mattress and bounced as Morgan dropped him and covered his body with his own. His weight pressed him flat. Ezra lifted his head for another kiss.

  Instead of giving it to him, Morgan pulled back and smiled. There were promises in that smile even if Ezra couldn't tell what they were. He reached down, touch trailing down Ezra's arms as he captured first one hand then the other, shifting them so they were over Ezra's head. "I knew you could do it." He still didn't give Ezra the kiss he was after. His mouth hovered closer, the warmth of his skin a vibration against Ezra's skin as it moved lower, almost brushing his ear, his jaw, his neck. "Good boy." His voice was a low rumble.

  Ezra shivered and arched upwards, pressing into Morgan. The brief rasp of friction had him seeing stars. He felt drunk. Maybe he was. On blood and touch and attention. On the way Morgan smiled at him like he could do no wrong. It made him want to be better, to do better. To earn that smile a thousand times over. But not tonight. Tonight he wanted to be his worst even more. To push and push and push until something stopped him. To find that limit. They'd spent so many days pushing against each other and Morgan hadn't disappointed him yet.

  He yanked his hands free and pulled Morgan's mouth back to his as he flipped them over, climbing on top of the hunter, snapping his teeth. "Fuck me."

  "You didn't say please."

  Ezra shoved him down for another kiss, biting Morgan's lip until he hissed in pain and remembered that Ezra was a monster greater than anything he'd ever seen before. Not docile or sweet. The taste of blood still fading from his tongue. "Fuck me." He rocked their hips together with a whine. It felt good, but it could feel so much better. He reached for Morgan's fly.

  He never got that far.

  Ezra went over with a cry as Morgan tossed him sideways, face hitting the sheets, arms hitched up behind his back as Morgan straddled him. He wriggled against the restraint. "God, you're gorgeous when you're vicious." Morgan's hand followed the curve of Ezra's ass, moving between his legs as he reached down to cup him. Ezra moaned into the sheets, lifting his hips to give him better access, but the touch was retracted. Morgan leaned down. He traced the outline of Ezra's ear with his tongue before he spoke again. "But you still didn't say please."

  Ezra turned his head so he could just see Morgan out of the corner of his eye.

  Morgan raised an eyebrow expectantly.

  "Make me," Ezra hissed, smiling wide enough to bare his fangs.

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  8

  Ezra leaned against the railing, hands gripping tight to the wood. It was a ghost of the sensation of earlier, but not half so nice.

  The wind blew cold. It stole every bit of warmth that Morgan had planted in him earlier while teasing him into an inferno—over hours it had seemed like, hours at the other man's mercy—but the ice in the air helped keep his mind clear. He was smooth and blank as the snow piled up around the cabin. Their footprints from the trek into town were nearly gone already. The wind had scoured them away, but it couldn't cover everything.

  There was a presence in the woods tonight. And it was close.

  While he waited for it to find him, Ezra drew out the knife he'd taken from Morgan's things. The hunter was passed out, sprawled diagonally across the bed, and wouldn't miss it. He hadn't even stirred when Ezra slid out from beneath his arm and tiptoed from the room.

  Ezra wondered, if he disappeared tonight, would Morgan miss him once he was gone? He wanted to be missed. He wanted the hunter to remember the way his skin felt and the exact color of his eyes and the fact that his left fang was the slightest bit crooked, because there wouldn't be a day that went by when Ezra smelled chocolate and didn't think of him.

  He pressed the tip of the knife, a hunting knife with a partially serrated edge, into the soft wood of the railing until it made a small groove. Then he made another mark beside the first. He'd made a line of tiny grooves—at least two dozen—before he felt the presence again. It was even closer this time.

  Ezra made the next mark with shaking hands.

  The forest was a blue-black blur even to his eyes, but the wind tossing the tree branches made it look like it was writhing. Some great beast rippling around him in a living wall.

  Something rustled and cracked in the dark. He almost dropped the knife.

  "Come out, come out, wherever you are." He descended the porch steps. They were still ice slicked and snow crusted so he moved slowly with the knife held out before him. It was as much for his own protection in case he slipped as it was to be threatening. The blade was silver coated and would work just as well on him as it did on any other vampire, but it comforted him to have it. He wasn't defenseless this time. He'd prepared, even if only with a knife and hypervigilance.

  Another crack sounded in the trees.

  Vampires had a song all their own, the slow waltz of blood and old magic, so different from the constant and frenetic thrum of humanity. There was no mistaking it.

  "Come out. I know you're there."

  This time the presence obliged.

  It emerged from the trees like a streak of light and Ezra stumbled backwards, almost all the way to the steps before he caught himself. Retreating didn't project strength. He'd meant to be strong. There was no chance to shift his stance before
it collided with him.

  Ezra swung wildly with the knife, his growl a mixture of fear and exertion.

  A hand caught his wrist. "Careful there, little brother." The tone was amused. Ezra had missed that voice and dreaded it in equal measure these last few days. "You almost hit me." Seraphine smiled dashingly as she tossed the hair from her eyes.

  No. It was too soon.

  Ezra had barely begun to mist before Seraphine caught his wrist to anchor him.

  "Shh, Ezra. It's only me."

  He pulled against his sister's grip on his arms. "I know that. Let me go."

  She held him a moment longer just to prove she could, then dropped her hands and took a step back. The knife had stuck itself into the snow a few feet away. He didn't remember dropping it.

  Seraphine looked as she always did—beautiful and calm. The warmth of her amber skin washed out by moonlight. No nonsense with her strong jaw and short dark hair swept back from her forehead. It was mussed from the wind and she ran a hand through it to put it back into order, tucking the ends behind her ear on one side. She smelled faintly of blood, but he couldn't see any sign of it on her black suit.

  Ezra shifted back a step and froze again when her eyes narrowed. "What's going on here, Ez? Four days we've been looking for you and not a word. You look well enough."

  "I can explain—"

  She folded her arms. "Do tell."

  "How much do you know?"

  "Assume I know just enough to make me unhappy." She looked it. Then again, Seraphine made an art out of displeasure. His eldest sister ruled the family's day-to-day management with an iron fist and an equal amount of zeal, whether it was a business contract or the lives of the other siblings. Nothing happened without her knowing about it. That was the official story. Seraphine always took it as a personal slight whenever anyone got something around her. It was twice as bad when that someone was Ezra. More than ten years and she still hadn't forgiven him for the time he'd accidentally stowed away on a plane carrying one of their blood shipments. In his defense, no one had told him the plane was bound for the other side of the country. He had only wanted to see if the blood was really kept in an enormous jar like his friend Vox had claimed. It wasn't.