hard time sussing out if Harvey was serious or not. Gabe’s discomfort grew. The idea of Harvey wanting him that much was troubling, but even worse, it also had perverse appeal.
Harvey took Gabe’s hand and pressed a kiss over his wrist. Harvey’s presence was like a constant low hum to Gabe’s special senses by now. He even missed the sensation when they were apart. It scared him to be so involved with someone. Time to time, he had the urge to run away, into the safe familiarity of being lonely and miserable.
And then for brief moments, like right now, something different and new shot through Gabe’s awareness. These unfamiliar pangs went as quick as they came, before Gabe could analyze them. Harvey let go of Gabe’s hand and pushed his chair back. “C’mon, Angel, let’s go out,” he said and marched out of the room without waiting for a reply.
Being Saturday night, Nightcrawler was packed, mostly with the living, but the persistent prickling sensation alerted Gabe to the presence of several vampires as well. He was more or less a regular there by now, but it still felt odd, like shark-diving without a protective cage. He had this itchy feeling urging him to act, fix what felt amiss, but that was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. In lieu of action, he practiced his tracking skills, picking out the vamps from the crowd. Visual clues didn’t help much. All the patrons looked alike; leather and tats were all around.
Gustav, the bartender—size of a small mountain—was a prime example. From the waist up, he only wore a leather vest and studded leather wrist straps, but his vast expanse of exposed skin was covered in rough renditions of mermaids and sea monsters. He and Harvey had a whispered conversation out of earshot. Gabe watched Harvey’s slender frame leaning over the bar, and Gustav stooped over him. Their pose said they were at ease with each other, and Gabe didn’t like it. He and Gustav were barely on civil terms.
Someone jostled Gabe from the other direction, and he turned to find out the source of the disturbance. The man was about Gabe’s age and coloration but much bigger. Not as big as Gustav, but several inches taller and wider than Gabe. He wore jeans and a leather jacket over a dark shirt. His face was ordinary, except for a small scar that cut through his left eyebrow. Also, he was fully human and smelled like a distillery.
“I’m sorry, man. You ’kay?” the guy slurred through a thick accent that reminded Gabe of his time in Eastern Europe.
“I’m fine,” Gabe assured him.
“Busy night,” the stranger added with alcohol-soaked chumminess. “I’m Joe.”
Not-so-average Joe —the thought skipped through Gabe’s mind as he accepted the proffered meaty hand and shook it. Joe had a firm grip despite his inebriated state. “Gabe. Do you come here often?” He didn’t remember seeing the man before.
“Few times. I go to many places like this back east.” His eyes went out of focus with some unspecified sorrow or longing. Or so Gabe thought.
“Can I buy you another drink?” Gabe asked, looking at the empty glass in front of his newfound buddy.
Taking the man’s grin as a yes, Gabe waved his glass in the direction of the bartender. Gustav peeled his attention away from Harvey and glared at Gabe.
“Can I and my friend get a couple of refills here?” Gabe asked, a shade too loud.
Gustav said nothing, but a minute later he plonked down their fresh drinks in front of them. He also took Gabe’s old one, even though it was still mostly full. Gabe didn’t much care, he’d always been a moderate drinker. Not so his new friend.
Joe leaned unsteadily toward Gabe. “He looks like a pirate, yes? A real pirate, not like those pretty boys on film.”
Looking at Gustav’s tats, Gabe thought Joe’s theory had merit. However, he had no desire to discuss Gustav with a stranger. “Where’s your accent from?” he asked instead.
A shadow passed over Joe’s
Harvey took Gabe’s hand and pressed a kiss over his wrist. Harvey’s presence was like a constant low hum to Gabe’s special senses by now. He even missed the sensation when they were apart. It scared him to be so involved with someone. Time to time, he had the urge to run away, into the safe familiarity of being lonely and miserable.
And then for brief moments, like right now, something different and new shot through Gabe’s awareness. These unfamiliar pangs went as quick as they came, before Gabe could analyze them. Harvey let go of Gabe’s hand and pushed his chair back. “C’mon, Angel, let’s go out,” he said and marched out of the room without waiting for a reply.
Being Saturday night, Nightcrawler was packed, mostly with the living, but the persistent prickling sensation alerted Gabe to the presence of several vampires as well. He was more or less a regular there by now, but it still felt odd, like shark-diving without a protective cage. He had this itchy feeling urging him to act, fix what felt amiss, but that was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. In lieu of action, he practiced his tracking skills, picking out the vamps from the crowd. Visual clues didn’t help much. All the patrons looked alike; leather and tats were all around.
Gustav, the bartender—size of a small mountain—was a prime example. From the waist up, he only wore a leather vest and studded leather wrist straps, but his vast expanse of exposed skin was covered in rough renditions of mermaids and sea monsters. He and Harvey had a whispered conversation out of earshot. Gabe watched Harvey’s slender frame leaning over the bar, and Gustav stooped over him. Their pose said they were at ease with each other, and Gabe didn’t like it. He and Gustav were barely on civil terms.
Someone jostled Gabe from the other direction, and he turned to find out the source of the disturbance. The man was about Gabe’s age and coloration but much bigger. Not as big as Gustav, but several inches taller and wider than Gabe. He wore jeans and a leather jacket over a dark shirt. His face was ordinary, except for a small scar that cut through his left eyebrow. Also, he was fully human and smelled like a distillery.
“I’m sorry, man. You ’kay?” the guy slurred through a thick accent that reminded Gabe of his time in Eastern Europe.
“I’m fine,” Gabe assured him.
“Busy night,” the stranger added with alcohol-soaked chumminess. “I’m Joe.”
Not-so-average Joe —the thought skipped through Gabe’s mind as he accepted the proffered meaty hand and shook it. Joe had a firm grip despite his inebriated state. “Gabe. Do you come here often?” He didn’t remember seeing the man before.
“Few times. I go to many places like this back east.” His eyes went out of focus with some unspecified sorrow or longing. Or so Gabe thought.
“Can I buy you another drink?” Gabe asked, looking at the empty glass in front of his newfound buddy.
Taking the man’s grin as a yes, Gabe waved his glass in the direction of the bartender. Gustav peeled his attention away from Harvey and glared at Gabe.
“Can I and my friend get a couple of refills here?” Gabe asked, a shade too loud.
Gustav said nothing, but a minute later he plonked down their fresh drinks in front of them. He also took Gabe’s old one, even though it was still mostly full. Gabe didn’t much care, he’d always been a moderate drinker. Not so his new friend.
Joe leaned unsteadily toward Gabe. “He looks like a pirate, yes? A real pirate, not like those pretty boys on film.”
Looking at Gustav’s tats, Gabe thought Joe’s theory had merit. However, he had no desire to discuss Gustav with a stranger. “Where’s your accent from?” he asked instead.
A shadow passed over Joe’s
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