Blood Claim Laura Mykles (best classic novels txt) 📖

voices from before were drawing closer, and Malcolm had the sudden need to prolong this game, extend the claiming of his prize just a bit more.

"I might know someone.” Malcolm reached out and ran his thumb over the eyebrow scar in what could only be described as a caress. Lust and the faint scents of precum mixed with blood filled his nostrils and invaded his mind, shaking his iron control. Taking this prize would be better than he had imagined. It was almost worth killing William to be able to claim it. “Why don't we go someplace private and discuss it?"

Hunter drew back. He cast a glance at a trio of people approaching from the end of the block, taking in the destroyed bench and the deep tire marks in the dirt and grass. “I don't feel like taking the time explaining this to the police right now."

He backed away from Malcolm and hurried down the sidewalk, away from the new arrivals. “I was thinking someplace more public.” Walking backward, the usual bouncing step in his restless stride and a flirtatious, sultry look in his eyes, he smiled at Malcolm. “For now. Coffee?"

* * * *

The little diner was clean, cheery, and the food homemade. It was three blocks from his apartment, and Hunter was a regular there when he wasn't out of town on an assignment. The staff was mostly older women, social and good-natured. He was well known and liked there. People would remember seeing him and whom he was with if anything bad happened to him later.

The short walk from the park was a quiet one. He tried to walk beside the stranger, but the taller man's stride was difficult for him to match. He ended up doing his usual skip-and-bounce step. It kept him swaying back and forth on the sidewalk and made conversation difficult. His companion didn't seem to expect a lot of talk anyway, so Hunter just led the way.

He spent most of the time fighting off two urges. One to run far away, to get lost in a crowd somewhere—and the other, stronger urge to pull the seductive, mysterious, and admittedly dangerous man into the bushes and explore the firm body attached to the slick, sensual tongue that had lavished his lips earlier. The man's taste was like his scent, masculine and indefinable.

The front of the shop was partially plate glass windows. As they approached the diner, Hunter couldn't completely suppress a gasp when just his image was reflected in the sparkling clear surface. Behind him was only a wall of unbroken darkness dotted with starbursts from streetlamps. He walked more slowly, letting the man's physical presence register at his back, large and now more menacing than sexy. The plate glass still showed only one pale, dark-haired, startled face in the distorted reflection. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the presence he felt was really there despite what the window was telling him. One look in the amused, steely gray eyes told him the man was aware Hunter had noted the missing reflection and he was patiently waiting for a reaction.

Shaken, Hunter pulled open the door, walked briskly to a table away from the windowed section, and sat down in a booth. “Want coffee? I come here for the coffee. Well, for the meatloaf really, but the coffee is great."

Hunter expected the man to sit opposite him, but he automatically slide further into the booth as the large man shoved the table forward with a nudge of his black designer boot and sat down beside him. Nervous, but turned on by the man's boldness and close proximity, he waved at a waitress, coaxing her closer to the table.

"I like it here. The waitresses are mostly older ladies, and they like to play mother hen to all the single guys that come in.” He smiled and mumbled, “Kind of let's me pretend I still have a mom now and then.” That was a piece of personal information he hadn't meant to reveal, but he couldn't take it back. “If that makes me sound weak, I don't care. I miss my mom. She died unexpectedly.” All the same, he was relieved when the man only gave a single nod by way of acknowledgment.

He held the man's neutral gaze for a moment, then studied the design on the laminated tabletop. “I miss my dad, too. They were great people. They taught me to be who I am."

"Photojournalists, too, I gather?"

"Yeah. But they taught me more than how to take a good picture.” He unwrapped his own prized camera from under his layers of outer clothing and placed it on the table between them, checking it for signs of damage from his recent activity in the park. He couldn't resist turning the lens toward the man and letting his fingers play over the shutter button. They itched to press it, but this close, the man was sure to hear it.

"I grew up traveling the world with them while they worked, seeing sights and living places other kids my age would have nightmares about. But not me. I loved the excitement near the war zones, on the fringe of riots, in a dark seedy alley in some poverty-stricken village. I dreamed about spending my life traveling, taking photographs, exploring the world few others see."

"Embracing the dark side?"

The man captured Hunter's gaze and held it trapped in his chilling, steel gray stare. It seemed to Hunter that the doors to hell could lie beyond those fathomless eyes.

Hell or maybe a dark version of heaven? He heard an invitation into that darker embrace in those low tones, smooth as fine brandy. Lust flared in the pit of his abdomen, and he became acutely aware of the wet patch on his boxers clinging coldly to his skin where his cock had wept during the car attack. He imagined he could smell his own scent. He gave the man a bold, honest look. “Flirting with it, maybe."

"That can have consequences