“I am okay, really, but can I have a hug?”
We both held him while his tears flowed.
36
JAMES
I fuckinglovedsucking cock.And being bossed about, and having my hair pulled. And, well, the other stuff which I still find embarrassing to even think about, let alone write down. God knows what our electric bill was for all the washing I did, but Edwin didn’t care. He simply wanted me happy.
And I was, kind of. It was really fucking hard to let the bad thoughts come and then make a conscious effort to override them the way Dalziel had suggested. But it did usually work. Cormack was gone. He could never hurt me again. Edwin and Trace had never once done anything remotely frightening — even when I’d panicked — and had been the perfect examples of men I could and should hang about with.
Bursting into tears like some kind of saddo shook me that first time. I’d gone in search of food after my shower, then it hit like a brick to the face while Trace was slicing cheese for my toastie. Edwin said it was probably sub drop, something else I’d had to Google. He beat himself up for not giving me more aftercare, but Trace said we should stop being negative, learn from it, and move forward. Suited me. I didn’t like the fussing, although I never minded a cuddle. Weird to think how I avoided most forms of physical contact growing up as they so oftenended with a punch, or knocking the ‘deaf kid’ into a wall or something, but now I sought out hugs from these two. Cuddle slut was another term I’d recently learned. When it came to my guys, it was me to a T.
I still wanted to get laid though. Wanted so badly to slide my cock into Edwin the way Trace did and watch his face contort in ecstasy. Wanted to do the same to Trace. Dreamed about it.
But I wasn’t there.
Yet.
37
EDWIN
The summer slipped by.August became early September and the nights noticeably drew in. Trace and James enjoyed barbecues in the little triangular patch of garden Trace had appropriated as his private space. Of course, I enjoyed them too, but without the food, unless I persuaded James to offer a vein while their burgers were cooking. James was livelier in the evenings than at any other time. Something about the slide of day into night brought him alive, no matter his insistence he loved the sun. He smiled more easily and was definitely way more relaxed around Trace than ever. I loved watching them grow closer, laughing as they argued over the best way to chop onions, or slice a crusty loaf of bread — on the diagonal, even my vamp arse knew that much — or on more serious nights, the frightening amount of pollution in the sea, microplastics in general, the melting ice sheet, and other subjects I felt woefully ignorant of. James made the point I should care, because if humans disappeared due to ruining the planet, my food source disappeared right along with them.
Chastened, I made an effort to catch up on world affairs. These men reallyweregood for me. I’d spent the past century wallowing in what I now realised was mourning for Bertie andmy mother, coupled with shell shock — now called PTSD — that I’d made no effort to address, attempting to paper over the cracks in my heart with one meaningless fuck after another, one pub, one nightclub, one chase across the moors in search of a missing person, rather than stop to smell the proverbial roses and see what I had right under my nose. I had Baxter, the best sister a fellow could ever dream of, a father figure in Dalziel who guided me and kept me from expiring from my worst mistakes, my other vampire siblings, and a number of other supernatural acquaintances of all varieties who had the potential to become friends. I owned my own home, I was gifted enough at art to keep my bank account thoroughly in the black, and the Council paid me for services rendered. It was about time I pulled my head out of my bum and acknowledged how lucky I was.
And, somehow, the scent of a blood so sweet it had made my senses reel and my sluggish heart pound had turned into a relationship with one of the best men I’d ever met, or was ever likely to, even if my immortal life offered me more scope than most. Make that two men, because Trace had also become someone I didn’t want to imagine ever living without.
Andthat,I realised, was a me problem, because Trace couldn’t help being mortal. Although he enjoyed it when it happened, he wasn’t fussed about being fed from too often, so it wasn’t as if I could take him on as a second shadow, even if that might have been doable. I wasn’t about to pressure him to take the bite in order to stay with me long term either. I’d be fucking blessed to spend decades with James who would barely age. If I’d still been human, I’d have been pushing up daisies by now, so I shouldn’t complain about finding love in any format. I’d been pathetically grateful when Dalziel had turned me, because I’d known even then that doing myself in wasn’t how I wanted to be remembered.
So, having the privilege of loving Trace was something I would treasure for as long as it lasted. And when the inevitable happened, I would hope James and I would honour his memory by loving each other doubly hard for the remainder of time.
Wow. What a depressing avenue I’d wandered down. Trace and James had been working hard all day — a change for mostly-nocturnal James, but Trace had stuff to harvest. They’d showered and eaten and were slumped watching something mindless on TV. Even Terrance was asleep, with his head under his wing, perched on my bookshelf. I was restless and antsy, my thoughts not ones I wanted to share, but I didn’t think I could keep a poker face this evening. I needed to head out.
“D’you boys mind if I head out for some drinks?”
Both turned and looked at me. James said, “We could come too. If you like?” He sounded so unsure that I couldn’t say no. He’d so rarely left the property since his first breakdown that it would be cruel to deny him. I’d work on my poker face. I regarded Trace. “You too?”
“Sure, why not?” He bestowed on me his best lazy smile, the one that usually signalled the promise of some utterly filthy sexy times, but rose and stretched his arms over his head. “I’d better find something more appropriate than these old rags.” He squeezed my arse as he headed out towards his carriage to dig through what I knew was a very modest wardrobe. Didn’t matter what he wore, I still fancied him something chronic.
I regarded James, curled on the sofa in worn joggers and a thin sweatshirt. “You sure you’re up to it? You’ve barely slept the past two days.”
“I’m fine. Your blood keeps me going or something. I’m tired, but not stupidly so. A few drinks might be nice. We never go out together.” He stood and stared down at himself. “I’ll change as well. Been ages since I wore my new trainers.” He turned towards the bedrooms.
Ha, his new trainers. The only pair he had that weren’t falling apart, more like. The only pair he’d allowed me to buy him. I wished he’d let me spoil him a bit more, but at least I hadn’t picked a shadow who bled me dry with constant demands for ‘stuff’. His needs seemed ridiculously modest to me, but as Baxter pointed out when we’d spoken about this exact subject, both James and I had grown up poor. We’d just reacted to money in very different ways; me with glee and a sense of recklessness, him with cautious gratitude. “And you know damn well who I’m gonna say is the better man for it, treacle,” Baxter had chirped down the phone at me. “Surprise! It ain’t you, MisterI need ten pairs of identical pinstripe trousers.”
“I’m not that bad!” But my protestations fell on unforgiving ears.
“You are and you know it, Marsh. Don’t make me arm wrestle you to prove it.” Baxter was a strange woman, prone to kicking my arse physically as a form of amusement.
So I splashed some cologne behind my ears and on my wrists, brushed my teeth, and ran a cloth over my shoes as I waited to see which pair of jeans — so far the only clothing weakness of his I’d discovered — James would choose tonight.
This pub was notmy choice, but Trace had talked me out of the Dalston Superstore, stating it might be a bit much for James on top of the time it would take to get there, even assuming we could grab a taxi quickly. But it was nearby and served decent enough drinks, so I shoved down my not-so-inner diva and remembered not to flirt with the probably very het bar staff.
It started off innocently enough with a couple of rounds by the bar, then we managed to snag a table in the corner. Icould happily stand all night, but I was getting used to thinking of my less robust boyfriends; they’d been on their feet all day. The place filled up, a crowd of gobby youths with coarse language and questionable views piling in soon after we arrived, demanding and impatient as the staff raced to fill their orders. We ignored them and leaned in closer so James could hear us without struggling or trying to lip read.
We didn’t talk about anything significant, but discussed music tastes, who we wanted to win the latest tropical island reality show, even the weather. The latter was, of course, vitally important to Trace, but he seemed content with the long-range forecast and was happily predicting an autumn with enough time to finish all the harvesting that had been delayed earlier in the year by his move.
