Undesireable: Chapter 8
TITLE: Undesirable (A vampire novel)
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: (this chapter) none.
WORD COUNT: 5318
Chapter 8
The blood fled my face, and I felt like I'd been slapped on the cheeks with a cold hand. "Lord Jeffrey -- I…" my voice dried up and I coughed. "I… I'm not in Chicago." I finally forced out. Why is he calling me? How did he get this number?
"Oh, Mouse," said the man, in a long suffering tone of voice. "I'm well aware of that. You are, I believe, in the Greyhound Station at St. Louis, if this time table in my hand can be at all trusted."
SHIT! "I'm out of your territory," I said. "You aren't my patron."
He tsked. "That's not the way it works, George. I am indeed your patron, whether you like it or not. Though I am sadden to hear you reject me so out of hand. Have I been so terrible to you? I regret I didn't have a chance to impress how very important you are to me, my dear. Come back to me and allow me a chance to prove my good intentions."
My eyes bugged out. What the hell… He's courting me!. Courting me in the creepiest possible way, but definitely courting me. The mere idea of it was bizarre. It was in such antithesis to what I'd expected out of vampire behavior my head couldn't quite encompass it. All the sex aside, a relationship with a vampire has nothing to do with romance. Vampires are superior beings, at least in their own minds, and humans merely meals. At least that's the way it's supposed to be. That's the only way this ridiculous situation makes any sense. But I'll be an ass, if that wasn't a line straight out of some old-fashioned dating playbook. His good intentions?
And where the hell did he get off with that attitude anyway! He gave me away to three other people last night without even a moment's thought or passing flicker of jealousy. He had no right to act like a jilted boyfriend now.
"It's not personal," I said, squelching the rogue pang of guilt for having hurt this monster's feelings. "I just want to go home. Can't you just forget I exist? Can't we just let it be --" I groped for words and finding none picked an apt but awkward metaphor "-a one night stand?"
"No, my dear, it really can't be." Jeffries voice turned quite somber. "You can't go back to pretending you are Undesirable. Even if I were so perverse as to deny your worth, none of my brethren will. You will be championed, if not by me, then by another. It is unavoidable." He sighed. "Mouse, I understand that you might be overwhelmed by what has happened. I want to assure you, you have no reason to fear me. I'm not angry with you for running. Honestly."
You aren't? For a moment I was baffled, then it struck me how normal his voice sounded.
Suddenly his pandering made complete sense. This was his human voice -- that weird ethereal quality it had in person was gone. It was a fair guess to say that if he couldn't make his words resound in my mind, his mind powers did not work over a phone. And if his mind powers don't work, he couldn't cheat his way into my compliance. He had to actually convince me the old fashioned way - by lying through his teeth.
Sure enough, I could detect a lot of care in the way he spoke, as though he was adjusting every nuance of his voice to be as persuasive as possible. It was the same sort of thing I did when I was pitching software to skeptical school administrators. Oh yes, this was a hard sell. I felt a wave of cynicism.
"I blame myself more than I do you for this situation," continued Jeffrey. "You were supposed to have been oriented when you woke up, but there was obviously some major miscommunication going on with my people. It was never my intention to make you feel forgotten or unwanted…. And you are very quiet, are you listening?"
I was listening - and so were several of the people around me, at least to my side of the conversation. Pulling the phone tighter to my ear, I whispered, "Yes sir."
"Mouse, it isn't safe for you to be wandering across the countryside," warned Jeffrey. "Not all vampires are as generous and caring as I am. Some are downright abusive. They would pluck you up like a ripe plum, and devour you down to your core. Use you until you were too weak to walk, or even hobble you, just for the audacity of being a runner. And that says nothing for the long-term conditions of living under them."
I felt an icy chill on my skin and shuddered.
"The best thing right now is to get you back to me as quickly and quietly as possible. I'm not going to discipline you too harshly for running. No whipping or branding. Nothing permanent. I'm simply going to ground you until you are past this awkward transition period, and you come to accept your responsibilities. Understand?"
I nodded, then knowing he couldn't see the gesture said "Yes sir," again. I could feel the heartburn growing like a hot fist in my chest.
Grounding. That's what parents do. His whole tone was condescending. It was clear Jeffrey considered me a child, not responsible for my own actions, and that made me furious. I wasn't twelve, and I wasn't retarded either. I was a man and sure I might be screwing up, but I was screwing up by choice. I was screwing up on principle, not because I didn't know better.
But it wasn't really grounding that Jeffrey was offering, it was imprisonment. Like the harems of old with their high walls and women who never, ever saw a man other than their jealous, hypercontrolling husband. That's what I was being offered. Thing-hood. My every move controlled. I almost preferred the idea of being whipped. Fuck.
My eyes became watery with fear and misery and it felt like every goddamn person in the station was staring at me - seeing my humiliation spelled out over my cold sweaty skin.
"It really isn't so bad, George," soothed Jeffrey. "You were tossed into the deep end of the pool last night, and that was, in retrospect, probably not the best approach for you. You should have been seduced, not steam rolled. Upset, you panicked and ran. I can forgive that response given your history.
"In fact, you have been rather consistently mishandled when it comes to your vampiric duty. I'm well aware of how you got your classification, and I don't blame you for it. You were only a child being manipulated by adults who should have known better. Your mind has been poisoned with bad impressions. And I know what benefits you've reaped from your misclassification, and how seductive it must be for you to shirk all your responsibilities. You've been allowed, even encouraged, to nurture ambitions and philosophies that are fundamentally incompatible with your place in society. I don't blame you for this, but it will have to change for your own sake."
Yeah, I'd been allowed ambitions -- like my autonomy, my desire to pick my own career, to choose my own friends, to live where I want to live. Philosophies -- like my self-respect, my sexual integrity, my desire to be recognized as a thinking capable adult. Jeffrey wanted me to put those aside and embrace "my place" in society. Every pore in my body cried out no!
"It need not be painful. I will see you are nurtured and supported in your new duties. I predict you will come to love your new life very quickly."
Love my new life - as a fuck toy. A kept man. A brainless himbo, with no more ambition than to keep my body looking good so that I could please my Patrons clients. Forget my degree. Who needs an education, when you earn your keep with your ass and your veins. Forget my career. My personality. My mind. I was a food bag. A cock sheath. Liquid snack, bed warmer, MRE, crimson candy, fang bait, cum bank. Red velvet fucking cake.
I was screwed. I hated this. I slammed one impotent fist against the tile wall, then covered my head with my arm.
"I'm sure you are scared," Lord Jeffry went on soothingly, "But it will be alright. Everything is in hand. According to this schedule, your bus will stop next at the airport. My men are waiting to pick you up there. I have a chartered flight waiting, and we'll have you home by midnight. No scene. No shame. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir." I said one more time. My throat was so tight I could barely speak. Shuddering, I thought of the way Jeffrey had used me the night before. How physically helpless I felt when he tore out my wrist on the sofa. The way he'd slid into my mind and manipulated me into doing everything, feeling everything he wanted, regardless of my feelings on the matter. And now I felt caught in his attention like a fly in a web.
"Excellent, my dear Mouse. I shall see you soon." He hung up. Reluctantly I let my hand fall from my ear, the open phone brushed against my thigh. I leaned into the coolness of the wall. My legs felt wobbly, like my joints were set too loose.
I could practically feel his hands on me. Phantom fingers running down my side. Thumbs digging into my thighs. A thickness stabbing rhythmically up into my body owning me from the inside out. Teeth burning the skin of my throat. Pleasure treacherously eroding my will.
And that's when I knew I couldn't do it.
I couldn't walk willingly into that. I couldn't give up everything that made me, me. I couldn't just let myself be brainwashed. I had to fight, with every last bit of my being. Even if it was hopeless. Even if it meant pain and suffering. As long as there was a chance I could make it home, I had to take it. I had to hold on to every last moment of my freedom.
I wiped my face against my shoulders and struggled to straighten up. Turning a defiant eye to the bus goers who were watching me, wondering what the fuck my problem was. They averted their eyes when I challenged them with mine. Yeah, sure I might be short and slim and I'll probably never weigh more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds, but I'm no pushover. I've got spirit, damn you all. And I'm not going down without a heck of a fight. Do not fuck with the midget.
Jeffrey was trying to intimidate me - and doing a pretty damn good job of it. But he had no jurisdiction here. Despite his words and what he'd put in my file he wasn't my Patron. He couldn't just kidnap me off a bus in some other Vampire's territory. He was a hell of a lot more eager to have me back quietly than I was. This was all a mind-fuck!
What's more, I felt no particular compulsion to follow his orders. Perhaps across the room he could control my mind and body, but he was hundreds of miles away now, and that power didn't work over a phone. This was my choice after all.
My bus was loading up. I turned my cell phone off and boarded with the rest, aware that I was being watched with some curiosity. I did my best to shrug it off and chose a seat all the way in the back near the engine. I wanted to be as far from a door as possible, and I wanted no one to look at me. I figured I could duck into the toilet when we reached the next station. It wasn't the best place to sit. The seats didn't recline in this row and the toilet let off a whiff of nastiness every time someone used it, but somehow having a wall at my back just felt safer.
I was quickly hemmed in by a huge guy who shoved his long legs out into the aisle. He had to be at least 6'4" and have a good hundred pounds of lean muscle on me. Already on edge, I found him annoyingly imposing. Larger than life and completely in my face. His hair was long, pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, a mix of light brown and sun bleached blond. He had a short, trim beard, and weather-roughened skin, and he turned to me with a great big toothy smile and introduced himself as Stan.
Now up to this point I'd been pretty good at being antisocial, but Stan wasn't having any of that. He couldn't seem to bear for there to be a minute's silence and so he filled it with chatter. My head was stuffed with my own business and I really didn't want to hear about his, but he gave it to me anyway. Something about getting back to Kansas City after a wedding. Honestly, that wouldn't have been too bad if Stan weren't insisting that I give him quid pro quo. I just couldn't ignore him or end the conversation no matter how hard I tried.
"George," the guy said, mouthing my name like it was some kind of savory tidbit. "I know a guy named George. Had to bail him out three times. Petty theft. Ever have to be bailed out?"
Jesus. "No." I said.
"That's good, cuz you know, you wouldn't do so well in jail, if you know what I mean. You probably shouldn't commit crimes."
"Yeah, probably shouldn't," I agreed blandly. My heartburn kicked it up a notch. His eyes gleamed at me and he bared those orthodonture perfect teeth again.
"My George, he's huge," said the lean giant cheerfully. "He could take those mofos down. I can take him down, though. You just gotta know where to kick, and down they go." He made a chopping gesture and pantomimed a tree falling complete with sound effects. "Gotta black belt in jujitsu."
He actually nudged me to get a response when I didn't give one right away. "Good for you." God I wished I had a newspaper or something to at least pretend I had something better to do than listen to him.
"Girls love the jujitsu. So I was wondering, why the suit?" He switched subjects so unexpectedly I got mental whiplash.
"What?"
"Business suit on a Saturday night on the fucking Greyhound bus." Several other people had turned around in their seats. Apparently this was something others had been wondering as well. Everyone on the bus was dressed casually except for me. Even without the tie on, this was still business attire, and rather expensive business attire at that. My mom paid almost $300 for this suit as a present to get me through my job interviews three years ago - and I probably stained it beyond hope on this trip.
"Coming back from a seminar," I said. "I wasn't in town for fun so I didn't bring casual clothes." Actually, I had a shirt and a pair of jeans, but it was packed in my suitcase. I just hadn't had a chance to change since this whole debacle had started.
"You took a seminar?"
"Taught one."
"Teacher, huh. That's cool. That's cool. I'm a groundskeeper for this really sweet thirty-five acre estate up in Kansas City, near Line Creak Park if you've been there. Best boss a guy could ever want - never awake." He laughed. "But her harem, whooey. They're awake, and they are some fine looking women I tell you. They don't mind getting a bit of dirt on them either. And they like putting it out." He nudged me again.
My heart skipped a beat. "You work for a vampire?" Shit.
He looked at me rather keenly for a moment then began rattling on jovially. "Yeah, my patron actually, but she's a lesbian, she don't even like to look at men, which is too bad, 'cause I'd do her in a heartbeat."
I felt a bit of relief at the lesbian statement. That, at least, would be one vampire not after my ass.
"It's really convenient though," Stan went on. "'Cause when I want to go up to see my aunt or my cousins, all I gotta do is go to the office and say to the girl, 'hey hon, get me my papers,' and she does like that. None of this two business day wait shit or nothing. And the office girls, I tell you, they ain't all lesbians either. Not by a long shot. Best place to work, ever -- So why are you going by bus?"
"Why are you?" I countered, feeling more than a little attacked by the abruptness of his question.
"Money."
I shrugged. It wasn't lying when you didn't open your mouth.
He waited a bit expectantly, but seeing no details were forth coming he supplied some more of his own. "I'd fly but I can't afford that. My patron don't pay that well. You'd think with all that money she'd throw a bone or two at me, but no. Stingy bitch. It's because I'm a guy I bet." He frowned.
"I thought all vampires were bisexual," said the woman in front of us. She turned around, leaning her elbow on the back of the seat and peering around the headrest. She looked to be about fifty, a bit heavy in the jowl, looking a lot like some of my mom's friends.
"Yeah I used to think that too, 'fore I got this job, but I guess they are all bisexual like we are all bisexual, if you know what I mean."
The woman rolled her eyes. "I remember a time when they thought no one was bisexual. Just as silly back then, I say. You can't make people what they aren't."
"Vampire can," said my seatmate. "They can make you whatever the hell they want."
"Yeah, but who ever sees a vampire. I'm talking about all these sex clubs and stuff. All the tv shows. Movies. Everyone's gotta be bisexual these days. I said to my husband, the day I'm turned on by a girl is the day she grows balls and a tally. But you know, you say that and people get all in your face about being prejudiced. It's ridiculous. You all probably think I'm being rude, but it's my opinion."
"I don't think you are rude," I said.
"I don't mind people being bisexual," she went on defensively. "But I'm not. And I'm tired of people just assuming I am." I looked her over. She looked frumpy and middle aged and I rather suspected that she wasn't fending off many come-ons from either gender. Stan put on a hokey faux-serious face and nodded gravely. Emboldened she went on, "Like just back in Springfield, someone handed me this flyer for some stripper bar, and I told her 'get that thing out of my face I don't wanna see no naked women.' And she called me a 'sexist bitch'!"
"Still got that flier?" asked Stan with some interest.
Just then the bus slowed and made a steep turn. I perked up. I could see the lights of the airport around us. Just then I stood up and made my move. "'Scuse," I tried to push past my seatmates legs. It was a bit of a struggle because he didn't immediately pick up on what I was trying to do, but I grabbed the door to the toilet to steady myself and he got the picture. I ducked inside just as we pulled into the station and locked the door firmly behind me.
For the next few minutes I sat on the toilet, my knees practically scraping the door, smelling the pungent perfume of the antiseptic soaps, and the underlying foulness of human waste. The bus had shuddered to a stop. And there it stayed, while time stretched all out of proportions.
My faith in my plans faltered.
This was my best chance to give up. Let it go. Stop fighting and have faith that I would find some way to work within the system. I was awfully tempted, just out of sheer emotional exhaustion. This was what everyone wanted. Even Wally. Who am I to go against the entire world? I felt the pressure of expectation like the push of the tide, eroding my will.
It would be a shock like Jimmy Weaver. Yeah, that was bad, but I got over it, didn't I? I met Wally, who was worth a thousand Jimmys. Hell, I hardly ever think of Jimmy and the hole he left in my life. But now I was losing Wally and I honestly didn't think anyone could replace him. He's the perfect friend. If he weren't so flipping straight, I swear I'd marry the dude.
Shit. No. I don't want to give him up. Not any of it. I just want to go home.
But would I be able to? Realistically, practically? Two days was starting to seem like a very long time. Could I really just keep going and get all the way there without someone stopping me? Better to rip the Bandaid and get it over with. Wally… there was always a chance Wally could move. Or visit at least.
All I had to do was open the door. Such an easy physical act. I put my hand out, torn between pulling the lever and the relief that would come from getting caught, and bracing my hand against it to hold my resolve steady.
Was I doing the right thing? Or was I just making the inevitable much worse?
I should just do it. But no, I didn't want to. I couldn't.
But an angry vampire is a very, very scary thing. Right now he wasn't going to torture me, but he might if I pissed him off. Dear god, I didn't want to be tortured.
I stood up and snapped my hand out, pulling aside the latch. Face the music. Let the system take care of me and hope that it wasn't as bad as I feared. It was in everyone's best interest, after all.
Just as I opened the toilet door, the bus lurched and moved away from the curb. I felt a wild stab of anxiety, and desperately wanted to will the time back. No! I've changed my mind!
The moment passed quickly and my will solidified. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. The decision was postponed if not outright made. I still had a chance of getting back to my own apartment, where all my things, my family, my friends, my life lay. Where Wally was. I was going home. I was going to make it.
My busmates seemed just the same as when I'd gone into the toilet. To them the stop had been just one of many, and less interesting than most. They were chatting to each other incessantly, gossiping and story telling, all blissfully ignorant of what was happening to me. At least so I thought.
Stan moved his legs to let me back in, and the middle-aged woman turned around again. "That was weird."
"What?" I asked. My stomach fluttered.
"Some black guy just ducked his head in and looked around, then left," she replied. "I wonder if he got the wrong bus or something."
Probably Jim or Ted, either of them would have been able to recognize me. My stomach sank, but then I felt a ray of hope. Maybe Lord Jeffrey would think I'd gotten out of the bus at the last station, and he'd concentrate on searching St. Louis for me. That was the best possible scenario.
"Looked like harem material," said Stan, matter-of-factly. "Maybe someone ran or something."
I froze in horror and prayed that he wouldn't turn and ask me point blank.
But the woman in the seat ahead just clicked her tongue and stole his attention. "How can you tell if someone's harem?"
"Looks," said Stan. "You see enough harem types and you know the look. That guy was way too handsome not to be harem. See now personally, I'd think that vamps would go for a more of the namby pamby girlie boy look, like those Korean pop stars my niece wets her panties over. But no. Most of the guy harem are pretty beefy. It's the symmetry that gives it away. You see someone walking down the street and they are young, well dressed, and look drop dead handsome or gorgeous, you can just about lay money that some Vampire is sticking its fangs into them. I can nail one every time. The occasionals, now, those can fool you."
"Occasionals?" she asked, her eyes were wide. Stan was probably the most reliable font of vampire information that she'd ever encountered. For that matter I was starting to get a bit interested, and not just because of my current situation.
Stan was clearly relishing his expert status. "Yeah, every vampire's got, like, what, a dozen or so full time harem. Then they got maybe fifty - hundred part timers that they call up every couple months or something. The okay meals. The ones they bulk out with so they don't overtax their harem. That's what I'd be if my Patron wasn't such a lez. See -" He reached down into his pocket and pulled out his bloodtrust card. "I'm orange."
"So what are regular harem?"
"Yellow pretty much. Occasionally an Orange will slip in."
"I thought they'd be White," I spoke up, forgetting myself for a moment.
"Nah, White's like this special case thing. Not sure what makes someone white - but it's not stunning looks, I'll tell you. I've seen, what," he lifted and hand and flicked up his fingers. "Four Whites and, yeah, they're hot in a kind of cute chick down the street way, but they get treated like fucking VIPs. Girl doesn't want us to mow so she can sleep til 4 in the fucking afternoon, we don't mow, never mind how that throws our fucking schedule into the shredder. Spoiled fucking brats, the lot of them. And they don't put out either. God help you if you try to put a move on one."
The woman shifted her weight so she could lean even farther out into the aisle. "Maybe it's a personality thing," she suggested.
"Who knows." Stan shrugged, then steamrolled on. "Now sometimes a vamp comes from some little Podunk place, and you'll actually see a Red show up as harem and you know at that point, they are just picking random joes off the street. Those Vamps are bad fucking news, because they are so desperate to get out of whatever the hell situation they are in, they like to take it out on whoever they can get away with. See a vamp fawning on some ordinary pimply eighteen year old, best thing you do is find some reason to be elsewhere. Now Browns and Blacks - just forget it. No one touches them. Undesireables they call them. The only time you'll see one of them in a Vamps home is if they are part of the catering crew, or an electrical contractor or something."
"Well I'm just glad to be Green," said the lady. "By the time they started insisting we carry these cards, I was already forty, so I never really got categorized. Though I wonder sometimes what color I would have been if I were younger, I'm just as glad I don't have to do all those permit things the younger folk do."
"Oh you could have been yellow," Stan said, shamelessly. I rather doubted it, but I kept my opinion to myself.
She flushed a little and smiled. "Think so?"
"Oh I can see you used to be a looker," Stan flattered. "See you got good lines. High cheekbones, big eyes. Excellent bone structure." He went on to sweet talk her some more which she drank in, even though it was complete bullshit.
Then with his typical abruptness Stan blindsided me, "So what are you, George? I bet you are orange. Though you know, you are an awfully cute little thing. Very symmetrical. You yellow?" He narrowed his eyes… and this really wasn't something I wanted him considering.
"Black actually." I said dryly.
"You are shitting me!" said Stan, straightening up in surprise. "No way. Okay, let me see, bub."
"Jesus, Stan. Why are you so interested?"
"Why are you so defensive? We gotta long bus ride ahead of us. Show up. I've never seen a black card before. Hand em over, or I'm assuming you are lying."
I shifted my weight and retrieved my bloodtrust card from my pocket. At least the card looked legitimate. And who knows, maybe this would get him off my back. I flashed the card at Stan, but before I could pull my hand back he snatched it from me and turned it over. "Wow, it really is black."
"Give it back."
"Holy shit! 86?" He showed the card to the two in the seat ahead of us. "Never saw that number before."
Well yeah, because no one else has that number, I didn't tell him.
"I've never seen a number over 50. And wow, you got like five of them. You got weird numbers man. What the hell ancestry are you?"
"Can I have my card back?"
But Stan was being a prick. He held the card out of my reach in a very high-school bully sort of way. "Hang on, cowboy. Not gonna steal it." He turned it over and looked at the back side. "You're from Oregon?"
"Yes." I said dully, keeping my hand held out and trying my best to Jedi-mindtrick him into handing it over.
Stan just stared at me incredulously. "You are going to take a bus all the way to Portland? On a business trip?" He lifted a brow at me. "Wow, you are way more hard core than I am. I don't mind 10, 12 hours, but two days, I'm guessing, to get all the way there? Your boss is a fucking asshole."
Fuck it. That's enough!
I leaned over his lap and snatched the card away and put it back in my pocket. Stan offered up a gee-shucks-what expression that morphed to hurt when he realized I what I was doing. Fighting free of his long legs, I grabbed my bags and deliberately made my way to the front of the bus. "Jeez, louis, man!" he called after me.
There I found an "open" seat next to a three hundred pound man. It was well worth it to have his elbow poking my arm for the journey to our next layover. My new seatmate poked his head out of his novel long enough to give me a half-curious, half-annoyed glance. I nodded my head back at him and tried to smile charmingly. He snuffed out a breath and then returned to his book.
Much better.
I turned around once, a couple minutes later, to glance at my old seat. The woman we'd been speaking to was now reading a novel. Stan still had his legs in the aisle blocking off the toilet door. He was hunched forward. I noticed that he had his cell phone out dangling it in the gap between his knees. He appeared to be texting rapid fire with both thumbs. I was about to turn back around when he looked up.
For a moment our eyes met. Then Stan gave me the hugest, smuggest, most knowing smile I'd ever seen.
On to Chapter 9
Back to Chapter 7
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: (this chapter) none.
WORD COUNT: 5318
Chapter 8
The blood fled my face, and I felt like I'd been slapped on the cheeks with a cold hand. "Lord Jeffrey -- I…" my voice dried up and I coughed. "I… I'm not in Chicago." I finally forced out. Why is he calling me? How did he get this number?
"Oh, Mouse," said the man, in a long suffering tone of voice. "I'm well aware of that. You are, I believe, in the Greyhound Station at St. Louis, if this time table in my hand can be at all trusted."
SHIT! "I'm out of your territory," I said. "You aren't my patron."
He tsked. "That's not the way it works, George. I am indeed your patron, whether you like it or not. Though I am sadden to hear you reject me so out of hand. Have I been so terrible to you? I regret I didn't have a chance to impress how very important you are to me, my dear. Come back to me and allow me a chance to prove my good intentions."
My eyes bugged out. What the hell… He's courting me!. Courting me in the creepiest possible way, but definitely courting me. The mere idea of it was bizarre. It was in such antithesis to what I'd expected out of vampire behavior my head couldn't quite encompass it. All the sex aside, a relationship with a vampire has nothing to do with romance. Vampires are superior beings, at least in their own minds, and humans merely meals. At least that's the way it's supposed to be. That's the only way this ridiculous situation makes any sense. But I'll be an ass, if that wasn't a line straight out of some old-fashioned dating playbook. His good intentions?
And where the hell did he get off with that attitude anyway! He gave me away to three other people last night without even a moment's thought or passing flicker of jealousy. He had no right to act like a jilted boyfriend now.
"It's not personal," I said, squelching the rogue pang of guilt for having hurt this monster's feelings. "I just want to go home. Can't you just forget I exist? Can't we just let it be --" I groped for words and finding none picked an apt but awkward metaphor "-a one night stand?"
"No, my dear, it really can't be." Jeffries voice turned quite somber. "You can't go back to pretending you are Undesirable. Even if I were so perverse as to deny your worth, none of my brethren will. You will be championed, if not by me, then by another. It is unavoidable." He sighed. "Mouse, I understand that you might be overwhelmed by what has happened. I want to assure you, you have no reason to fear me. I'm not angry with you for running. Honestly."
You aren't? For a moment I was baffled, then it struck me how normal his voice sounded.
Suddenly his pandering made complete sense. This was his human voice -- that weird ethereal quality it had in person was gone. It was a fair guess to say that if he couldn't make his words resound in my mind, his mind powers did not work over a phone. And if his mind powers don't work, he couldn't cheat his way into my compliance. He had to actually convince me the old fashioned way - by lying through his teeth.
Sure enough, I could detect a lot of care in the way he spoke, as though he was adjusting every nuance of his voice to be as persuasive as possible. It was the same sort of thing I did when I was pitching software to skeptical school administrators. Oh yes, this was a hard sell. I felt a wave of cynicism.
"I blame myself more than I do you for this situation," continued Jeffrey. "You were supposed to have been oriented when you woke up, but there was obviously some major miscommunication going on with my people. It was never my intention to make you feel forgotten or unwanted…. And you are very quiet, are you listening?"
I was listening - and so were several of the people around me, at least to my side of the conversation. Pulling the phone tighter to my ear, I whispered, "Yes sir."
"Mouse, it isn't safe for you to be wandering across the countryside," warned Jeffrey. "Not all vampires are as generous and caring as I am. Some are downright abusive. They would pluck you up like a ripe plum, and devour you down to your core. Use you until you were too weak to walk, or even hobble you, just for the audacity of being a runner. And that says nothing for the long-term conditions of living under them."
I felt an icy chill on my skin and shuddered.
"The best thing right now is to get you back to me as quickly and quietly as possible. I'm not going to discipline you too harshly for running. No whipping or branding. Nothing permanent. I'm simply going to ground you until you are past this awkward transition period, and you come to accept your responsibilities. Understand?"
I nodded, then knowing he couldn't see the gesture said "Yes sir," again. I could feel the heartburn growing like a hot fist in my chest.
Grounding. That's what parents do. His whole tone was condescending. It was clear Jeffrey considered me a child, not responsible for my own actions, and that made me furious. I wasn't twelve, and I wasn't retarded either. I was a man and sure I might be screwing up, but I was screwing up by choice. I was screwing up on principle, not because I didn't know better.
But it wasn't really grounding that Jeffrey was offering, it was imprisonment. Like the harems of old with their high walls and women who never, ever saw a man other than their jealous, hypercontrolling husband. That's what I was being offered. Thing-hood. My every move controlled. I almost preferred the idea of being whipped. Fuck.
My eyes became watery with fear and misery and it felt like every goddamn person in the station was staring at me - seeing my humiliation spelled out over my cold sweaty skin.
"It really isn't so bad, George," soothed Jeffrey. "You were tossed into the deep end of the pool last night, and that was, in retrospect, probably not the best approach for you. You should have been seduced, not steam rolled. Upset, you panicked and ran. I can forgive that response given your history.
"In fact, you have been rather consistently mishandled when it comes to your vampiric duty. I'm well aware of how you got your classification, and I don't blame you for it. You were only a child being manipulated by adults who should have known better. Your mind has been poisoned with bad impressions. And I know what benefits you've reaped from your misclassification, and how seductive it must be for you to shirk all your responsibilities. You've been allowed, even encouraged, to nurture ambitions and philosophies that are fundamentally incompatible with your place in society. I don't blame you for this, but it will have to change for your own sake."
Yeah, I'd been allowed ambitions -- like my autonomy, my desire to pick my own career, to choose my own friends, to live where I want to live. Philosophies -- like my self-respect, my sexual integrity, my desire to be recognized as a thinking capable adult. Jeffrey wanted me to put those aside and embrace "my place" in society. Every pore in my body cried out no!
"It need not be painful. I will see you are nurtured and supported in your new duties. I predict you will come to love your new life very quickly."
Love my new life - as a fuck toy. A kept man. A brainless himbo, with no more ambition than to keep my body looking good so that I could please my Patrons clients. Forget my degree. Who needs an education, when you earn your keep with your ass and your veins. Forget my career. My personality. My mind. I was a food bag. A cock sheath. Liquid snack, bed warmer, MRE, crimson candy, fang bait, cum bank. Red velvet fucking cake.
I was screwed. I hated this. I slammed one impotent fist against the tile wall, then covered my head with my arm.
"I'm sure you are scared," Lord Jeffry went on soothingly, "But it will be alright. Everything is in hand. According to this schedule, your bus will stop next at the airport. My men are waiting to pick you up there. I have a chartered flight waiting, and we'll have you home by midnight. No scene. No shame. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir." I said one more time. My throat was so tight I could barely speak. Shuddering, I thought of the way Jeffrey had used me the night before. How physically helpless I felt when he tore out my wrist on the sofa. The way he'd slid into my mind and manipulated me into doing everything, feeling everything he wanted, regardless of my feelings on the matter. And now I felt caught in his attention like a fly in a web.
"Excellent, my dear Mouse. I shall see you soon." He hung up. Reluctantly I let my hand fall from my ear, the open phone brushed against my thigh. I leaned into the coolness of the wall. My legs felt wobbly, like my joints were set too loose.
I could practically feel his hands on me. Phantom fingers running down my side. Thumbs digging into my thighs. A thickness stabbing rhythmically up into my body owning me from the inside out. Teeth burning the skin of my throat. Pleasure treacherously eroding my will.
And that's when I knew I couldn't do it.
I couldn't walk willingly into that. I couldn't give up everything that made me, me. I couldn't just let myself be brainwashed. I had to fight, with every last bit of my being. Even if it was hopeless. Even if it meant pain and suffering. As long as there was a chance I could make it home, I had to take it. I had to hold on to every last moment of my freedom.
I wiped my face against my shoulders and struggled to straighten up. Turning a defiant eye to the bus goers who were watching me, wondering what the fuck my problem was. They averted their eyes when I challenged them with mine. Yeah, sure I might be short and slim and I'll probably never weigh more than a hundred and twenty-five pounds, but I'm no pushover. I've got spirit, damn you all. And I'm not going down without a heck of a fight. Do not fuck with the midget.
Jeffrey was trying to intimidate me - and doing a pretty damn good job of it. But he had no jurisdiction here. Despite his words and what he'd put in my file he wasn't my Patron. He couldn't just kidnap me off a bus in some other Vampire's territory. He was a hell of a lot more eager to have me back quietly than I was. This was all a mind-fuck!
What's more, I felt no particular compulsion to follow his orders. Perhaps across the room he could control my mind and body, but he was hundreds of miles away now, and that power didn't work over a phone. This was my choice after all.
My bus was loading up. I turned my cell phone off and boarded with the rest, aware that I was being watched with some curiosity. I did my best to shrug it off and chose a seat all the way in the back near the engine. I wanted to be as far from a door as possible, and I wanted no one to look at me. I figured I could duck into the toilet when we reached the next station. It wasn't the best place to sit. The seats didn't recline in this row and the toilet let off a whiff of nastiness every time someone used it, but somehow having a wall at my back just felt safer.
I was quickly hemmed in by a huge guy who shoved his long legs out into the aisle. He had to be at least 6'4" and have a good hundred pounds of lean muscle on me. Already on edge, I found him annoyingly imposing. Larger than life and completely in my face. His hair was long, pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, a mix of light brown and sun bleached blond. He had a short, trim beard, and weather-roughened skin, and he turned to me with a great big toothy smile and introduced himself as Stan.
Now up to this point I'd been pretty good at being antisocial, but Stan wasn't having any of that. He couldn't seem to bear for there to be a minute's silence and so he filled it with chatter. My head was stuffed with my own business and I really didn't want to hear about his, but he gave it to me anyway. Something about getting back to Kansas City after a wedding. Honestly, that wouldn't have been too bad if Stan weren't insisting that I give him quid pro quo. I just couldn't ignore him or end the conversation no matter how hard I tried.
"George," the guy said, mouthing my name like it was some kind of savory tidbit. "I know a guy named George. Had to bail him out three times. Petty theft. Ever have to be bailed out?"
Jesus. "No." I said.
"That's good, cuz you know, you wouldn't do so well in jail, if you know what I mean. You probably shouldn't commit crimes."
"Yeah, probably shouldn't," I agreed blandly. My heartburn kicked it up a notch. His eyes gleamed at me and he bared those orthodonture perfect teeth again.
"My George, he's huge," said the lean giant cheerfully. "He could take those mofos down. I can take him down, though. You just gotta know where to kick, and down they go." He made a chopping gesture and pantomimed a tree falling complete with sound effects. "Gotta black belt in jujitsu."
He actually nudged me to get a response when I didn't give one right away. "Good for you." God I wished I had a newspaper or something to at least pretend I had something better to do than listen to him.
"Girls love the jujitsu. So I was wondering, why the suit?" He switched subjects so unexpectedly I got mental whiplash.
"What?"
"Business suit on a Saturday night on the fucking Greyhound bus." Several other people had turned around in their seats. Apparently this was something others had been wondering as well. Everyone on the bus was dressed casually except for me. Even without the tie on, this was still business attire, and rather expensive business attire at that. My mom paid almost $300 for this suit as a present to get me through my job interviews three years ago - and I probably stained it beyond hope on this trip.
"Coming back from a seminar," I said. "I wasn't in town for fun so I didn't bring casual clothes." Actually, I had a shirt and a pair of jeans, but it was packed in my suitcase. I just hadn't had a chance to change since this whole debacle had started.
"You took a seminar?"
"Taught one."
"Teacher, huh. That's cool. That's cool. I'm a groundskeeper for this really sweet thirty-five acre estate up in Kansas City, near Line Creak Park if you've been there. Best boss a guy could ever want - never awake." He laughed. "But her harem, whooey. They're awake, and they are some fine looking women I tell you. They don't mind getting a bit of dirt on them either. And they like putting it out." He nudged me again.
My heart skipped a beat. "You work for a vampire?" Shit.
He looked at me rather keenly for a moment then began rattling on jovially. "Yeah, my patron actually, but she's a lesbian, she don't even like to look at men, which is too bad, 'cause I'd do her in a heartbeat."
I felt a bit of relief at the lesbian statement. That, at least, would be one vampire not after my ass.
"It's really convenient though," Stan went on. "'Cause when I want to go up to see my aunt or my cousins, all I gotta do is go to the office and say to the girl, 'hey hon, get me my papers,' and she does like that. None of this two business day wait shit or nothing. And the office girls, I tell you, they ain't all lesbians either. Not by a long shot. Best place to work, ever -- So why are you going by bus?"
"Why are you?" I countered, feeling more than a little attacked by the abruptness of his question.
"Money."
I shrugged. It wasn't lying when you didn't open your mouth.
He waited a bit expectantly, but seeing no details were forth coming he supplied some more of his own. "I'd fly but I can't afford that. My patron don't pay that well. You'd think with all that money she'd throw a bone or two at me, but no. Stingy bitch. It's because I'm a guy I bet." He frowned.
"I thought all vampires were bisexual," said the woman in front of us. She turned around, leaning her elbow on the back of the seat and peering around the headrest. She looked to be about fifty, a bit heavy in the jowl, looking a lot like some of my mom's friends.
"Yeah I used to think that too, 'fore I got this job, but I guess they are all bisexual like we are all bisexual, if you know what I mean."
The woman rolled her eyes. "I remember a time when they thought no one was bisexual. Just as silly back then, I say. You can't make people what they aren't."
"Vampire can," said my seatmate. "They can make you whatever the hell they want."
"Yeah, but who ever sees a vampire. I'm talking about all these sex clubs and stuff. All the tv shows. Movies. Everyone's gotta be bisexual these days. I said to my husband, the day I'm turned on by a girl is the day she grows balls and a tally. But you know, you say that and people get all in your face about being prejudiced. It's ridiculous. You all probably think I'm being rude, but it's my opinion."
"I don't think you are rude," I said.
"I don't mind people being bisexual," she went on defensively. "But I'm not. And I'm tired of people just assuming I am." I looked her over. She looked frumpy and middle aged and I rather suspected that she wasn't fending off many come-ons from either gender. Stan put on a hokey faux-serious face and nodded gravely. Emboldened she went on, "Like just back in Springfield, someone handed me this flyer for some stripper bar, and I told her 'get that thing out of my face I don't wanna see no naked women.' And she called me a 'sexist bitch'!"
"Still got that flier?" asked Stan with some interest.
Just then the bus slowed and made a steep turn. I perked up. I could see the lights of the airport around us. Just then I stood up and made my move. "'Scuse," I tried to push past my seatmates legs. It was a bit of a struggle because he didn't immediately pick up on what I was trying to do, but I grabbed the door to the toilet to steady myself and he got the picture. I ducked inside just as we pulled into the station and locked the door firmly behind me.
For the next few minutes I sat on the toilet, my knees practically scraping the door, smelling the pungent perfume of the antiseptic soaps, and the underlying foulness of human waste. The bus had shuddered to a stop. And there it stayed, while time stretched all out of proportions.
My faith in my plans faltered.
This was my best chance to give up. Let it go. Stop fighting and have faith that I would find some way to work within the system. I was awfully tempted, just out of sheer emotional exhaustion. This was what everyone wanted. Even Wally. Who am I to go against the entire world? I felt the pressure of expectation like the push of the tide, eroding my will.
It would be a shock like Jimmy Weaver. Yeah, that was bad, but I got over it, didn't I? I met Wally, who was worth a thousand Jimmys. Hell, I hardly ever think of Jimmy and the hole he left in my life. But now I was losing Wally and I honestly didn't think anyone could replace him. He's the perfect friend. If he weren't so flipping straight, I swear I'd marry the dude.
Shit. No. I don't want to give him up. Not any of it. I just want to go home.
But would I be able to? Realistically, practically? Two days was starting to seem like a very long time. Could I really just keep going and get all the way there without someone stopping me? Better to rip the Bandaid and get it over with. Wally… there was always a chance Wally could move. Or visit at least.
All I had to do was open the door. Such an easy physical act. I put my hand out, torn between pulling the lever and the relief that would come from getting caught, and bracing my hand against it to hold my resolve steady.
Was I doing the right thing? Or was I just making the inevitable much worse?
I should just do it. But no, I didn't want to. I couldn't.
But an angry vampire is a very, very scary thing. Right now he wasn't going to torture me, but he might if I pissed him off. Dear god, I didn't want to be tortured.
I stood up and snapped my hand out, pulling aside the latch. Face the music. Let the system take care of me and hope that it wasn't as bad as I feared. It was in everyone's best interest, after all.
Just as I opened the toilet door, the bus lurched and moved away from the curb. I felt a wild stab of anxiety, and desperately wanted to will the time back. No! I've changed my mind!
The moment passed quickly and my will solidified. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. The decision was postponed if not outright made. I still had a chance of getting back to my own apartment, where all my things, my family, my friends, my life lay. Where Wally was. I was going home. I was going to make it.
My busmates seemed just the same as when I'd gone into the toilet. To them the stop had been just one of many, and less interesting than most. They were chatting to each other incessantly, gossiping and story telling, all blissfully ignorant of what was happening to me. At least so I thought.
Stan moved his legs to let me back in, and the middle-aged woman turned around again. "That was weird."
"What?" I asked. My stomach fluttered.
"Some black guy just ducked his head in and looked around, then left," she replied. "I wonder if he got the wrong bus or something."
Probably Jim or Ted, either of them would have been able to recognize me. My stomach sank, but then I felt a ray of hope. Maybe Lord Jeffrey would think I'd gotten out of the bus at the last station, and he'd concentrate on searching St. Louis for me. That was the best possible scenario.
"Looked like harem material," said Stan, matter-of-factly. "Maybe someone ran or something."
I froze in horror and prayed that he wouldn't turn and ask me point blank.
But the woman in the seat ahead just clicked her tongue and stole his attention. "How can you tell if someone's harem?"
"Looks," said Stan. "You see enough harem types and you know the look. That guy was way too handsome not to be harem. See now personally, I'd think that vamps would go for a more of the namby pamby girlie boy look, like those Korean pop stars my niece wets her panties over. But no. Most of the guy harem are pretty beefy. It's the symmetry that gives it away. You see someone walking down the street and they are young, well dressed, and look drop dead handsome or gorgeous, you can just about lay money that some Vampire is sticking its fangs into them. I can nail one every time. The occasionals, now, those can fool you."
"Occasionals?" she asked, her eyes were wide. Stan was probably the most reliable font of vampire information that she'd ever encountered. For that matter I was starting to get a bit interested, and not just because of my current situation.
Stan was clearly relishing his expert status. "Yeah, every vampire's got, like, what, a dozen or so full time harem. Then they got maybe fifty - hundred part timers that they call up every couple months or something. The okay meals. The ones they bulk out with so they don't overtax their harem. That's what I'd be if my Patron wasn't such a lez. See -" He reached down into his pocket and pulled out his bloodtrust card. "I'm orange."
"So what are regular harem?"
"Yellow pretty much. Occasionally an Orange will slip in."
"I thought they'd be White," I spoke up, forgetting myself for a moment.
"Nah, White's like this special case thing. Not sure what makes someone white - but it's not stunning looks, I'll tell you. I've seen, what," he lifted and hand and flicked up his fingers. "Four Whites and, yeah, they're hot in a kind of cute chick down the street way, but they get treated like fucking VIPs. Girl doesn't want us to mow so she can sleep til 4 in the fucking afternoon, we don't mow, never mind how that throws our fucking schedule into the shredder. Spoiled fucking brats, the lot of them. And they don't put out either. God help you if you try to put a move on one."
The woman shifted her weight so she could lean even farther out into the aisle. "Maybe it's a personality thing," she suggested.
"Who knows." Stan shrugged, then steamrolled on. "Now sometimes a vamp comes from some little Podunk place, and you'll actually see a Red show up as harem and you know at that point, they are just picking random joes off the street. Those Vamps are bad fucking news, because they are so desperate to get out of whatever the hell situation they are in, they like to take it out on whoever they can get away with. See a vamp fawning on some ordinary pimply eighteen year old, best thing you do is find some reason to be elsewhere. Now Browns and Blacks - just forget it. No one touches them. Undesireables they call them. The only time you'll see one of them in a Vamps home is if they are part of the catering crew, or an electrical contractor or something."
"Well I'm just glad to be Green," said the lady. "By the time they started insisting we carry these cards, I was already forty, so I never really got categorized. Though I wonder sometimes what color I would have been if I were younger, I'm just as glad I don't have to do all those permit things the younger folk do."
"Oh you could have been yellow," Stan said, shamelessly. I rather doubted it, but I kept my opinion to myself.
She flushed a little and smiled. "Think so?"
"Oh I can see you used to be a looker," Stan flattered. "See you got good lines. High cheekbones, big eyes. Excellent bone structure." He went on to sweet talk her some more which she drank in, even though it was complete bullshit.
Then with his typical abruptness Stan blindsided me, "So what are you, George? I bet you are orange. Though you know, you are an awfully cute little thing. Very symmetrical. You yellow?" He narrowed his eyes… and this really wasn't something I wanted him considering.
"Black actually." I said dryly.
"You are shitting me!" said Stan, straightening up in surprise. "No way. Okay, let me see, bub."
"Jesus, Stan. Why are you so interested?"
"Why are you so defensive? We gotta long bus ride ahead of us. Show up. I've never seen a black card before. Hand em over, or I'm assuming you are lying."
I shifted my weight and retrieved my bloodtrust card from my pocket. At least the card looked legitimate. And who knows, maybe this would get him off my back. I flashed the card at Stan, but before I could pull my hand back he snatched it from me and turned it over. "Wow, it really is black."
"Give it back."
"Holy shit! 86?" He showed the card to the two in the seat ahead of us. "Never saw that number before."
Well yeah, because no one else has that number, I didn't tell him.
"I've never seen a number over 50. And wow, you got like five of them. You got weird numbers man. What the hell ancestry are you?"
"Can I have my card back?"
But Stan was being a prick. He held the card out of my reach in a very high-school bully sort of way. "Hang on, cowboy. Not gonna steal it." He turned it over and looked at the back side. "You're from Oregon?"
"Yes." I said dully, keeping my hand held out and trying my best to Jedi-mindtrick him into handing it over.
Stan just stared at me incredulously. "You are going to take a bus all the way to Portland? On a business trip?" He lifted a brow at me. "Wow, you are way more hard core than I am. I don't mind 10, 12 hours, but two days, I'm guessing, to get all the way there? Your boss is a fucking asshole."
Fuck it. That's enough!
I leaned over his lap and snatched the card away and put it back in my pocket. Stan offered up a gee-shucks-what expression that morphed to hurt when he realized I what I was doing. Fighting free of his long legs, I grabbed my bags and deliberately made my way to the front of the bus. "Jeez, louis, man!" he called after me.
There I found an "open" seat next to a three hundred pound man. It was well worth it to have his elbow poking my arm for the journey to our next layover. My new seatmate poked his head out of his novel long enough to give me a half-curious, half-annoyed glance. I nodded my head back at him and tried to smile charmingly. He snuffed out a breath and then returned to his book.
Much better.
I turned around once, a couple minutes later, to glance at my old seat. The woman we'd been speaking to was now reading a novel. Stan still had his legs in the aisle blocking off the toilet door. He was hunched forward. I noticed that he had his cell phone out dangling it in the gap between his knees. He appeared to be texting rapid fire with both thumbs. I was about to turn back around when he looked up.
For a moment our eyes met. Then Stan gave me the hugest, smuggest, most knowing smile I'd ever seen.
On to Chapter 9
Back to Chapter 7