“I love you too, mijo.” She tried to smile. “Please call me and let me know you’re okay. It’s killing me that I can’t do anything else for you. That I have to send you off to some muerto to get healed.”
“He’s not so bad,” Paul said awkwardly. “You might like him if you met him.” I know I sure as hell did—even though I shouldn’t.
“I’ll take your word for it. Now go!”
Paul went.
The ride to Coconut Grove was a blur and at first he couldn’t find the address Laurent had given him. Crap, had the vampire given him wrong information? Had he been too worried to give Paul his real daytime resting place? If so, I’m fucking toast. But at last, just as he was beginning to feel really ill again, he found it.
The “villa” was more of a mansion tucked well back from the main road. Paul reached it by taking a long, winding path paved with crushed white shells that shone in the moonlight and crunched under his bike’s wheels. There were albino peacocks wandering over the well-manicured green lawn on either side of the road, calling in harsh voices. The surreal nighttime vision made Paul feel like he was trapped in some kind of fever dream, except why would he dream of peacocks?
He was beginning to feel dizzy again but luckily he saw the carriage house off to the right. Ditching his bike in the bushes, out of sight of the main house, he stumbled to the carriage house’s door. This is it, he thought, raising his hand to knock. If he’s not here I’m screwed. Before his knuckles could connect with the expensive-looking carved wood panel, the door flew open and Laurent was standing there, silhouetted in the golden light from inside. Paul thought he looked like some kind of angel. “Paul! I was so hoping it was you.”
“’S me, all right,” Paul slurred. “Need…need your help.” He staggered over the doorframe and would have fallen if the vampire hadn’t caught him.
“Of course, anything I can do. Anything at all.”
“Good. Need…need you to suck me.”
“Are you drunk?” Laurent frowned. “I will be more than happy to take you in my mouth and pleasure you, Paul, but it saddens me that you felt you had to become inebriated to ask me.”
Paul wanted to laugh but his throat felt too dry. He coughed. “Not…not my cock.
Need you to suck my neck. P-poisoned.” Tilting his head, he tried to show what he was talking about and winced as a bolt of pain shot down his entire left side. “Dios… hurts,”
he moaned.
“Mon Dieu.” Laurent looked at his injury with evident concern. “I see what you are talking about. What happened?”
“Wolf’s Bane. Witch…scratched me. Blood…poisoning.” It was getting harder and harder to talk and things were fading in and out alarmingly. Paul was barely aware of it when Laurent lifted him and placed him gently on a large, soft bed. “Hurts,” he complained again.
“I can see that.” Laurent stroked his cheek, and despite the pain, Paul felt a shiver of need run through him at the light touch. “I am glad you came to me.”
“Nowhere…else…to go.” He could barely get the words out. “Please…dying…”
“Relax.” Laurent’s voice was warm and soothing. “Just relax. I am going to remove the poison.”
Paul had a sudden thought that worried him. “Hurt…you too?” he rasped uncertainly.
Laurent shook his head. “No, mon amour. I am born to the Blood—I cannot be hurt by any poisonous substance.”
Paul tried to laugh and couldn’t. “Didn’t think…I could…either.”
“Hush.” Lauren kissed his cheek lightly. “Look into my eyes for a moment.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not wish to hurt you any more than you are already hurt.”
Paul was so tired and the pain in his neck was so great it didn’t seem to be worth arguing anymore. Struggling to focus, he did as Laurent said. As before he noticed the startling intensity of the vampire’s pale green eyes. And then he felt like he was falling into a long, dark tunnel that someone had lined with feather pillows. It wasn’t a scary feeling at all. He just felt…remote. Removed from himself somehow. “Good.” Laurent’s voice sounded like it was coming from far, far away. “Now close your eyes and rest. When you wake this will all be over.”
Or I’ll be dead, Paul tried to say but he couldn’t get his mouth to form the words. His eyelids suddenly felt as if they had lead weights tied to them and he couldn’t keep them open a moment longer. He closed his eyes as the vampire had commanded and let himself drift away into the blackness behind his lids.
Laurent looked at the poisoned werewolf lying on his bed. Even ill and out of sorts he was beautiful. He was wearing faded jeans and a white mesh tank top. Through it Laurent could see his skin, a smooth, pale tan rippling with muscle. Brown eyelashes, much darker than the wheat-gold of his hair, looked like fans across his high cheekbones. His features were strong and well defined and Laurent could tell his nose had been broken more than once, probably before his wolf had begun to manifest itself.