Ante up, p.4
Ante Up, page 4
Peter called out again when he came. It was a wonder nobody complained to the hotel management about the noise.
But Ante had other interests. He draped himself over Peter’s lithe, loose body and whispered in his ear. “May I fuck you?”
“Yes! God yes, please.” Peter shook his head as if to clear it. “Rubbers and lube in the bathroom.” He waved a hand in the general direction.
Ante could neither catch nor transmit anything, but he didn’t want to explain why condoms were unnecessary. He reluctantly stood and sauntered to the bathroom, conscious of Peter’s gaze behind him.
Following Peter’s shouted instructions, Ante unzipped the black bag beside the sink and rifled through it. Toothpaste, toothbrush, dental floss, nail clippers…. Ah. Condoms and lube. He hurried back to the bedroom, then paused to lean against the doorway and take in the view.
Skin dark against the white sheets, Peter sprawled decadently across the bed, slowly working his fist on his shaft. His cheeks were still flushed as he granted Ante a lazy smile. “If you do that with your tricks, you’ve earned every penny you take from them.”
“Another satisfied customer?”
Peter glanced down at his own crotch. “Not completely satisfied. Not yet.”
Climbing back into bed with Peter was like entering a cozy home after trudging through the snow. Peter wrapped his arms around Ante and nibbled lightly at his ear. “I scratched you up pretty bad.”
“I noticed.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I do not mind a… bit of a sting. It balances the softness, yes?” He didn’t mention that the little wounds would heal as soon as he had his next few mouthfuls of blood.
“I don’t think there’s much soft about you.” Peter looked completely serious for once.
Ante flexed his hips, rubbing his hardness against the crease of Peter’s thigh. “Not now.”
They kissed for a while after that, Peter kneading Ante’s ass and Ante running fingers through Peter’s silky hair. Then Peter dug the little bottle of lube from its secure place under the pillow and handed it to Ante, who took his time opening Peter with his fingers. Finally Peter made an impatient growl, grabbed Ante’s cock, and rolled on the condom.
Ante drew things out as long as possible, sinking into Peter’s body with agonizing slowness. He knew that the heat would nearly overwhelm him, but he wasn’t prepared for the impact of Peter’s huge soft eyes or the thrill of Peter’s encouraging whispers: “Like that, Ante. Fuck, that’s so good. Just like that.”
And when Ante was fully engulfed by him, Peter’s heels digging into his ass, he allowed himself to lick Peter’s neck.
That was a mistake.
Yes, Ante had already savored the salty and sweet taste of Peter’s skin—but not while he was moving inside the welcoming tightness. It was just too much, the sensations flooding him, drowning him. He forgot a century and a half of caution as he was overcome by the hunger to be in, the need to consume even as he was being consumed.
His fangs dropped and he bit.
This time Peter screamed. He clutched Ante tightly, and Ante was dimly aware of hot, sticky fluid bathing his belly even as he drank, even as he emptied himself into Peter.
It was only after he climaxed that he noticed what he was tasting, and then he tore himself away. He stumbled off the mattress and stood looking down at Peter, his lungs working fast even though he didn’t need to breathe.
Peter gaped up at him, his face gone pale.
And they both spoke at once: “What are you?”
Ante realized his fangs still showed. It was too late to do anything about that, especially with Peter pressing a hand to his own neck, where scarlet dripped from two small holes.
“Y-y-you…,” Peter stuttered. “You bit me. You drank my blood!”
Blood. Ante pounced onto the bed. Peter tried to push him away but was no match for Ante, who held Peter’s hands aside while giving his neck a few rough licks. Then Ante stood again. “That stops the bleeding,” he said. He felt very naked.
Peter didn’t seem especially concerned about the current state of his neck. He sat up shakily. “You bit me. You have fucking fangs and you bit me and you drank my blood!”
“Just a bit. A few mouthfuls. Not enough to harm you.” The disclaimers sounded weak even to Ante’s ears.
“Fangs.”
Ante nodded, then shrugged. “Vampire.” He sighed. “I didn’t mean to bite. I’m sorry. I usually have more control than that.”
“Vampire.”
“Yes.”
“For real.”
Ante lifted his upper lip to better reveal his fangs. “Real.”
“But that’s not—”
Before Peter could finish his sentence, Ante tasted Peter’s blood still lingering in his mouth and remembered his own revelation. “What are you?” he demanded.
“Wh-what do you mean? You’re the one with the fucking Dracula teeth!”
“Boli me kurac!” Ante roared and then, acknowledging the rare lapse into his native tongue, made an effort to calm himself. “I have fed from hundreds of humans. Thousands. I know what humans taste like. They don’t taste like you.” Peter’s flavor was better. More complex, with a slight effervescent tingle like champagne bubbles on the tongue.
Peter shrank against the headboard, looking terrified and lost. “I don’t know what you mean,” he whispered.
And it was the damnedest thing, but Ante believed him.
IT seemed less awkward to do explanations with clothes on, so Ante got dressed as Peter pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a faded red T-shirt. They stood with the bed between them, smears and splatters of drying blood staining the white sheets.
“Your, uh, fangs are gone,” Peter finally said.
Ante let them drop before quickly retracting them. “It’s easier to talk without them. I tend to lisp.”
“That’s…. Can you do, uh, other stuff?”
“Other stuff?”
“Like turn into a bat? Or a wolf?”
Ante sighed. “No. I cannot turn into anything. My senses are sharper than humans’ and I am stronger. I do not age. Crosses and holy water have no effect on me, but sunlight burns, and decapitation or a wooden stake through my heart will destroy me.” He didn’t bother to catalog and dismiss the many other ridiculous myths: he was perfectly capable of crossing running water, if rice was thrown at him he would not stop to count the grains, and he did not care to sleep in a coffin.
“Holy shit. How old are you?”
“I was born in 1840.”
“Holy shit! And I thought I looked young for my age.”
“How old are you?” asked Ante, guessing Peter would say twenty-two or twenty-three.
“Two months ago I turned thirty. I’m gonna get carded until I’m eligible for the senior discount at IHOP. Are you from Transylvania?”
“No,” said Ante with a snort.
Peter looked slightly disappointed. “Oh. I thought maybe…. The accent.”
“Croatia. Several hundred miles away from Transylvania.”
“Oh.” Head cocked and brows drawn, Peter crept around the foot of the bed, moving closer. “But you really do drink blood?” His fingers went to the small wounds on his neck, already scabbed over.
“Yes. I need very little. I was not even hungry tonight, but you….” Ante looked away.
“I’m tasty.”
“Yes.” Which brought them back to the question of Peter’s identity. But Ante decided they’d better work through the vampire details before addressing that mystery. And it was interesting, because now that Peter had recovered from his initial—and understandable—shock, he appeared fascinated by Ante rather than scared or repulsed.
“Were you always a vampire?” Peter asked. He stood quite close, near enough to touch.
“No. I was born as—” He’d been going to say as human as you, but that was wrong. “I was an ordinary man.”
“What happened?”
“I… died.” When Peter was clearly unsatisfied with that explanation, Ante sat heavily on the bed. He looked up at Peter. “You truly want to hear this?”
“Hell yeah, I do. An origin story from a vampire—that’s an experience I’ve never had.” The mattress dipped as Peter sat next to him, so close that their thighs touched, which was interesting.
“You are not afraid of me?”
“If you were going to rip my throat out, I guess you’d have already done that.”
“I will not. The bite—”
“You got carried away in the throes of passion. I get it. Anyway, it wasn’t exactly a painful experience, you know?” He grinned, and Ante noticed that they both smelled of sex and each other. And then Peter laid his hand on Ante’s knee. “You, uh, died?”
“There was a war—”
“Which?”
“It does not matter. There is always a war.” Money had been especially tight at home after a poor harvest and harsh winter. Their land wasn’t really enough to support the entire family, and Ante had been the only one of his siblings without a spouse or children. So he had become a soldier.
“You got hurt?”
“Badly. A bayonet.” He shuddered. “I was left on the battlefield. I think perhaps my comrades assumed I was already dead. Then night fell and a vampire found me. Wars are good places for vampires. She killed me.”
Peter looked so distressed that Ante chuckled. “It was not such a terrible thing. I was dying anyway, and her bite did not hurt. It was… good, almost. To die in someone’s arms instead of alone in the mud.” And Helena had been as tender with him as a mother with her child.
“And then?”
“Three nights later I awoke and I was… a creature from a nightmare.”
Peter’s hand was still on Ante’s knee, but now he frowned. “Will I turn into a vampire too, now that you bit me?”
“No. If all it took was a simple bite, there would be a great deal more of us in the world.”
“Then how?”
“We are made with deliberation and care. As we die, before we take our last breath, we must swallow some of our maker’s blood. And we must be buried and left undisturbed until we claw our way from the grave on the next full moon.” And that was a memory he did not care to revive.
“Shit. Was this lady vampire waiting for you when you dug your way out?”
“She was. She had been quite lonely. We traveled together for a few years.”
“What happened to her?”
Ante grimaced. “She was caught outside one morning.” He still wasn’t sure it had been an accident.
Peter was silent for several moments as he processed the tale. Then he nodded. “So you ended up in Vegas?”
“Eventually, yes.”
“And you survive by nibbling on drunken gamblers and emptying their wallets.”
“Yes.”
Another nod. “Fair enough.” Peter stood and walked to the window, where he stared out at the lights. Then he turned back to Ante. “Are there other vampires in town?”
“Yes. Dozens.”
“Do you have, like, meetings? Clubs? Secret handshakes and funny hats?”
“I avoid the others when I can.”
Although Ante didn’t explain, Peter nodded as if he understood. And when he remained silent after that, Ante got up and stood in front of him. “So what are you, Peter?”
Peter appeared distressed again. “Nothing. Not a vampire. I’m just a guy.”
“No, you are not.”
“But I am! I mean, I didn’t die or anything. I grew up—well, it wasn’t exactly a normal childhood, but it was well within the limits of human dysfunction.”
“You do not taste human.”
“Then what the fuck do I taste like?”
“I do not know.”
“Bullshit!” Peter shouted. “I probably just ate something weird, or there was some kind of… spice or something in that soup.”
Ante gazed steadily at him. “No. It is not something you ate. And it is not just your flavor. Whatever you were doing with those people at the slots—”
“No!” Peter marched to the other end of the room and remained facing away, but not before Ante caught his expression—doubt and fear mixed with a hint of despair.
And suddenly Ante felt ashamed of his cruelty, even if it hadn’t been intentional. It was bad enough to discover that you’d just been fucked by a monster, but to learn that you were one as well? Ante remembered all too well the turmoil he’d experienced when he first rose from the grave, but at least he’d had Helena to soothe and guide him, to explain what he’d become and how he must survive. Peter didn’t even know what he was, and Ante couldn’t tell him.
“I am sorry,” Ante said quietly.
Peter didn’t turn around.
After a moment Ante sighed. “It is nearly sunrise. I must go.” An untruth. Peter’s windows faced west, and Ante would have been safe in this suite for several hours more.
He walked through the suite and paused at the door to the hotel hallway. “I am sorry,” he repeated loudly. “I wish you well. Good luck to you, Peter.”
His sensitive ears caught Peter’s murmured response. “You too.”
Chapter Five
AS soon as the sun set, Ante left his room and checked out of the Lucky Chalet. He stood in front of the main entrance for several minutes, watching cars drive by. Then he walked to the Strip, where he wandered the gaming floors and watched the fountains dance, the volcano erupt, and the pirates fight. He gazed at laughing tourists with their plastic cups full of booze. He sat in a bar and watched the TV screens flash.
And then with dawn scratching at his back, he checked into the Baja Inn, a seedy place in the shadow of the Stratosphere where he could rent a studio apartment by the week. Since he didn’t have a credit card, he provided a driver’s license with a fictional address and birthdate and a photo of someone who resembled him. He’d need another one soon; the birthdate on this one was no longer a good match with his apparent age. The burly man at the desk eyed him suspiciously but took Ante’s cash and handed him a key.
Inside the tiny apartment, Ante closed the curtains, pulled out the sofa bed, and clicked on the TV. Then he undressed and climbed between the sheets. They were clean but scratchy, nothing like the silky bedding in Peter’s suite. Ante’s apartment had a tiny bathroom, but he didn’t shower. He preferred to keep Peter’s intoxicating scent on his body for a few hours more.
For three days he didn’t leave the room, turning away the maid when she knocked. On the fourth night, he left, but only to walk to a drugstore, where he bought two paperbacks—one science fiction and one a biography of Teddy Roosevelt—and a little bottle of laundry soap. “You oughtta get a tablet,” said the salesclerk as she rang up his purchases.
“What?”
“One of them Kindle things. Or—what’s the one my granddaughter asked for?—a Fire. Better than these things.” She tapped his books. “Every book you ever wanted, right there in your hands.”
He handed her some cash. “Yes, I suppose so.” In truth, he didn’t want to be weighed down with an expensive device.
Ante took his purchases back to the apartment, where he washed his clothing in the sink and settled in, naked, with Teddy Roosevelt.
By the next night, he was getting hungry but didn’t want to feed. He could swear Peter’s flavor lingered on his tongue, and Ante didn’t want to wash it away. But he couldn’t allow himself to become too ravenous, not unless he wanted a disaster. So he set Teddy aside, got dressed, and ventured out.
He chose another casino slightly off the Strip. This one, the Fiesta, was old and didn’t have a discernible theme, which was somewhat of a relief. He didn’t know why it hadn’t been torn down and replaced with something glitzier, but for now he almost enjoyed the worn, garish carpet and the ghosts of a million cigarettes.
Ante found a young bearded man meandering the gaming floor, drinking beer but not playing. The man smiled and Ante smiled back.
His name was Axel, and he was a backpacker from Germany, currently taking a drinking break in Vegas before heading to the Grand Canyon. He was sharing a room with several people—backpacks and dirty clothes strewn everywhere—but they were currently all out playing. He had long legs and dirty feet, but a pint or so of his blood went down well enough. Ante didn’t steal his money.
Belly full, Ante left Axel and the Fiesta and returned to his apartment.
“WHERE have you been hiding?” Dorothy demanded, clicking her polished nails on the tabletop. “I’ve been searching for you for days.”
Ante shrugged. “I had German food several days ago. It is very filling.”
“Funny. Anyway, you need to come with me. Edie needs to see you.”
“I have told you several times—”
“It’s just one of the quick jobs. Least I think so. She hasn’t filled me in on the details. I don’t get why the bosses let you get away with so much.” She pursed her lips peevishly.
“I have to eat.”
“We’ll find you someone to snack on. C’mon.”
Ante unhappily heaved himself from the booth and trailed Dorothy out of the Rio and to a black SUV waiting in the parking lot. They climbed into the back seat and, without anyone saying a word, the driver pulled away from the curb.
Zortea, a sleek fantasy of glass and polished steel, towered over the southern end of the Strip. Ante remembered when an old-fashioned casino had squatted there instead—the kind with showgirls and a cheap buffet—but that building had been demolished nearly a decade earlier. Zortea’s lobby had a high ceiling, lots of blue-and-white Spanish tile, and three large terra-cotta fountains. The air smelled of lavender and lemons. The casino was up an escalator, on the second floor, as if the establishment were too classy to openly acknowledge gambling on the premises.
Dorothy and Ante crossed the first-floor lobby and entered an elevator. She swiped a key card, then pressed the button for the top floor. In the olden days, the Shadows had operated mainly out of casino basements. But someone had developed a liking for views, or maybe just realized that fluorescent lights did not flatter a vampire’s complexion, and operational headquarters had been moved to penthouses with north-facing windows.
