Eater of Lives(SPECTR #4) (9 page)

And what now?

Gray didn’t have an answer.

Caleb slumped down, butt hitting the gravel
of the roof tiles uncomfortably, and wrapped his arms around his
knees.

The moth people, whoever the fuck they were,
had been right. John would hold the SPECTR line no matter what.

Sean had gotten it wrong. John didn’t want
just to immolate himself on the altar of responsibility. His whole
damned life was one more sacrifice. Including Gray.

“
But I am not a part of his life, am
I?”

No. No, Gray wasn’t. And it
hurt
and
it shouldn’t, because Gray had caused Caleb nothing but pain. Gray
fucked up his life, first by taking Ben’s body, then by possessing
him, and…

…And it wasn’t fair, damn it. Gray didn’t
sign up for this, any more than he had. How could he stand there
and rail at John because no one had asked what he wanted, and not
admit no one had ever asked what Gray wanted, either?

“
I did not wish for this.”
Gray’s
presence was…tentative, almost. A tiger afraid of the lash, keeping
to a corner of its cage.
“I did not mean to hurt you. I am sorry
for it, and sorry for your pain, and I would undo it this instant
if I could. But I cannot regret it happened.”

Caleb closed his eyes. Of course Gray didn’t
regret it. Thousands of years of nothing but the hunt, of only
desiccated memories gleaned from the decaying neurons of the
corpses he inhabited to tell him about mortal life…

“
I never knew.”
Wonder, but tinged
with grief.
“I never understood the beauty of this world. Of
color and shape and texture. Of love. Until you. Thank you,
Caleb.”

Caleb took in a deep sip of breath, before
letting it out slowly.
You’re welcome
.

And he meant it. Damn everything, but despite
all the horror, he couldn’t entirely regret this either. Gray
was…well. Naïve and inscrutable and inhuman and scary.

But Caleb didn’t want him to die.

“
Nor do I wish to.”
Sorrow.
“I will
miss this. All of this. But I never meant to hurt you. If these
moths can fix things, can allow me to move on without harming you
further…I will submit.”

It wouldn’t be easy, of course. The moths
might be lying. Brimm had some of their books, and he’d wanted to
enslave Gray. Maybe these others did, too.

What had Brimm said? The old cliché of moths
to flames, which sounded more like a dig at them than a show of
solidarity. Perhaps he’d been their enemy, too, and stolen the
books.

And if they had told the truth, and did
exorcise Gray, it wouldn’t be the end of it for Caleb. John would
ask questions, when Caleb showed up without his passenger. Kaniyar
would. Worse, she’d bring in an empath and make sure Caleb couldn’t
get away with lying.

What kind of penalties were there for
releasing an NHE? He had the vague idea unauthorized exorcisms were
illegal, to keep down phonies who might hurt someone, or mistake
mental illness for possession. But the exorcist was the criminal in
those cases. Not that he thought these moth people were going to
hang around long enough to get caught.

Would Caleb be left holding the bag? Would he
escape a SPECTR cell just to end up in a normal jail? He didn’t
have any illusions about his ability to go on the run from the law
by himself.

Even if there weren’t any serious criminal
repercussions, John would be furious. He’d see it as a betrayal of
everything SPECTR—and therefore he—stood for. It would be the end
of their relationship, one way or another.

“
I am sorry.”

Caleb’s eyes burned, but he made himself
smile ruefully, even if no one else could see.
You brought him
into my life in the first place. Besides, I always knew falling in
love with a Spec was a mistake
.

Yeah, he’d known better…and still hoped
anyway.

But no fairytale end waited, not for any of
them. Gray would return to an endless string of corpses, except now
he knew just how pale and hollow such an existence really was.
Caleb would be lucky not to end up in prison. And John…

Maybe he’d get back with Will after all. Or
some other guy. Someone normal, like Sean had said.

Two days. Let’s give it two days. Help John
find the fucking wendigo. Then I’ll make the phone call.

* * *

John sprawled on his back, sound asleep, when
Caleb came in an hour later. Caleb undressed quietly, before
standing by the bed and looking down at his lover. Thanks to Gray,
he saw perfectly well in the dark: John’s hair, tousled from the
pillow; the little line between his brows, as if even sleep didn’t
bring him any peace tonight. The curve of muscle under tight skin,
vanishing beneath the blankets.

God, why couldn’t John have just been a jerk?
But no, he had to be sweet as well as sexy. The kind of guy who
gave his extra jacket to a homeless man because they’d taken his
old one for evidence. Who’d held Caleb on the worst day of his
whole life, when Melanie shot him, and shown him he wasn’t alone.
Who’d been there for his friend April, when bigots targeted her,
and who’d shown such gentle compassion for the ghoul victims in
Brimm’s attic.

Damn him.

John’s eyes fluttered open when Caleb’s
weight depressed the mattress. “Babe?”

“Yeah.” Caleb swallowed against the sudden
constriction in his throat. “I’m sorry we argued earlier.”

“Me too.” John slid his hand across the
sheets, and Caleb took it, twining their fingers together. “I love
you. You know that, right?”

“I love you, too.” Caleb moved closer, put
his arms around John shoulders. They lay against each other, thighs
and chests pressed together, and it was so much better than
anything else he’d ever felt, Gray’s presence turning each sense up
to eleven. Caleb’s cock twitched in response.

“Mmm.” John pressed tighter against him. “Is
this where we have makeup sex?”

No. This was where they made love, probably
for the last time. But Caleb couldn’t exactly say it aloud, could
he? Instead, he kissed John, sucking lightly on the other man’s
lower lip, the scratch of stubble on their chins rasping
together.

John moaned and slung his leg over Caleb’s
hip, the hard length of his cock rubbing against Caleb’s. Pleasure
wrapped around the ache in his chest, feeding back and forth,
sweetness and pain and regret. “Let me go down on you,” he
whispered.

“I’m certainly not going to say no.”

He took his time, kissing John’s throat,
shoulder, collarbone, chest. Shaping the other man’s ribs with the
fan of his fingers, struggling to commit to memory every freckle
and mole, every scar, every curve of bone. Memorizing taste and
feel and touch, against the darkness to come.

“
What if I cannot remember, once I am no
longer in a living body? What if I forget what this was like? What
it was to love?”

Then at least it won’t hurt any more.

Caleb traced the dips between John’s abs with
his tongue, then licked down the crease between thigh and hip,
drawing a moan as his reward. He rubbed his face against John’s
thigh, inhaling deeply, trying to hold the scent of male musk in
his lungs for as long as he could.

“Your hair feels amazing,” John murmured,
fingers trailing through the long locks. Caleb got to his hands and
knees, turning his head from side to side, brushing his hair over
John’s thighs and cock and balls. “Oh, yeah. Like silk.”

Caleb captured the head of John’s cock in his
mouth, sucking lightly, tonguing the slit, before sliding down.
Salt and bitter musk on his tongue, and John’s breath gone ragged,
fingers tugging harder at Caleb’s hair. His teeth burned, but Gray
wouldn’t risk manifesting, so he concentrated on working John’s
hard on with his mouth and didn’t worry about suddenly sprouting
fangs.

“
I wish I could have done this.”
Been
a participant, not just a watcher, albeit one who experienced the
sensations as well.
“Just once.”

Me too
. And weirdly, he meant it.

John’s gasps came closer together, his hips
bucking slightly. Caleb redoubled his efforts, sliding one hand
between John’s legs to tug on his balls.

“I’m close…”

One last slide of lips and tongue, and John
arched under them, crying out hoarsely. Caleb swallowed, wanting
everything, wanting more, wanting this not to be the end.

Wanting every damn thing he couldn’t
have.

He pulled away, letting John’s cock slide
from his lips with a pang of regret. John tugged him close, kissing
him. “Let me catch my breath and I’ll return the favor.”

Caleb found his erection fading. “You don’t
have to.”

John slid his hand down, cupped Caleb’s
softening dick. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just in a weird mood, I guess. And
tired.” He kissed John tenderly. “I wanted to make love to you, and
I did. Don’t worry about the rest of it.”

“If you’re sure,” John said uncertainly.

“I am. Just hold me for a little while,
okay?”

“Of course.” John’s warm arms wrapped around
him, drawing him close. Strong and secure, and God, he would miss
this. “Any time you want, for as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Caleb said quietly. Resting his
head against John’s shoulder, he closed his eyes, and hoped sleep
would bring at least a few forgetful hours.

* * *

John sat at the kitchen table as dawn broke,
rubbing his eyes and wondering if he had developed immunity to
coffee after drinking so much of it.

He’d lain in the dark for a long time after
making love with Caleb, but even though he was exhausted, sleep
refused to return. Thoughts chased each other around in his head.
Had one of the tips he’d dismissed held some vital clue? Had he
made a mistake? Had the wendigo found another victim, and how much
time remained before the possession became permanent and it went on
a killing spree?

Did it have more time than Caleb and Gray, or
less?

What if the books didn’t have anything in
them to let him to exorcise Gray? What would Kaniyar do with Caleb?
Or Forsyth?

No. He would find a way. Somehow.

But what if he didn’t?

In the end, sick of questions he couldn’t
answer, he slipped out of bed, dressed in the dark, and headed
downstairs. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something
useful, like examine all his notes on the wendigo yet again.

While making coffee, he discovered the
shredded remains of Caleb’s painting stuffed into the trash.
Pulling out one of the bright fragments of color, he stood staring
at it a long time, surprised at how terrible the destruction made
him feel. Had Caleb done this because of their argument? Or because
he needed to lash out at something, anything?

John didn’t know. He just knew something
beautiful had been taken out of the world, and its loss left an
ache in his chest.

He’d ask Caleb about it later. Try to talk it
out. And convince him to never, ever destroy one of his paintings
again.

After pouring coffee, he sat at the table and
took out his tablet and the pad of paper he made notes on. By the
time Will came downstairs, he’d looked at the damn crime scene
photos a dozen times, and read the forensics reports twice.

“Morning!” Will said cheerfully, his smile
bright in his dark face. “Is the coffee for everyone?”

Will had always risen with the dawn, no
matter how late they’d stayed out partying the night before. How
many times had he teased John about any morning sluggishness?
“You must be the only guy in the world who doesn’t like sex
first thing after waking up,”
he’d say.

John put aside the old memories. He didn’t
regret his time with Will, but Caleb? Caleb was the guy who came
along once in a lifetime.

And Gray?

Goddess, he couldn’t think about it, not now.
Focusing on Will, he said, “Help yourself.”

Will poured his cup, humming and swaying his
hips a little, all the signs of a spectacularly good mood. “Is the
expo going well?” John asked.

“Not bad. I’ve got some orders lined up, but
there are some up-and-coming designers showing today I’m excited to
see.” Will came over and leaned his hip against the table. “What
about you? You’re looking pretty wiped out. Case giving you
problems?”

“You could say that.” John listlessly swiped
to the next photo, which showed the silver jacket they’d found on
Ray.

“Huh.” Will leaned closer; the scent of his
cologne washed over John, bringing on another moment of déjà vu,
because of course they had sat or stood this close in this place,
many times before. “I didn’t think they put those rags into
production.”

“What do you mean?”

“May I?” Will asked. When John nodded, he
picked up the tablet and zoomed in. “It’s the jacket I was thinking
of, all right. See the label? Design F Studio. They showed it at
the expo last year—the centerpiece of the collection. Of course it
bombed.” Will shuddered as he handed back the tablet. “And no
wonder. The thing looks like it came straight from the costume
department of a 1950’s b-movie full of spacemen and screaming
blondes. Honestly, it might have, if Francois just added the fur
and his label. I don’t know what the man was thinking.”

A little curl of excitement started in John’s
belly, but he stamped it down before he got his hopes up. “Only a
few of these were made?”

“Possibly only the one. They didn’t receive a
single order, and all the critics shredded it. Rightfully so.”

“Are they showing at the expo this year?”

“Only because they’re local. And after last
year’s disaster, they got an awful slot near the beginning of the
week, long before anyone really important arrived.”

A local firm. A jacket which had never been
mass-produced. Did the wendigo work at the design studio?