Page 24 of Caroled
Tenrael flexed his thighs, rising and falling, his head thrown back and neck tautly corded, the fading scars exquisite. Multilingual words tumbled from his lips like a cascade of jewels. Charles wondered vaguely whether his own heart could withstand the strain and decided it didn’t matter. He would willingly die like this.
But then Tenrael bent forward—such a gorgeous, flexible creature—and captured Charles’s mouth in a fierce kiss. They were joined at mouth and groin, a complete and infinite loop, as perfect as anything ever created.
Charles swallowed Tenrael’s cries when the demon came. And a few heartbeats later, Tenrael swallowed his.
Come and I Will Sing You
It was an unusuallychilly night by San Francisco standards. The fog hadn’t crept in and the stars sparkled above the city lights. Charles and Tenrael had met with a coven of witches that afternoon, more out of politeness than need. The witches had given them tea and some of the women had flirted shamelessly, suggesting more than once that Charles and Tenrael should join their Beltane celebration in the spring. Although nobody discussed the celebration in any detail, Charles had the impression it involved sex.
Later, as early evening set in, Charles and Tenrael walked through Golden Gate Park without seeing anything remarkable. If there were any snakelike monsters, they were sleeping away the dark and cold, and Charles didn’t blame them.
“I need a heavier coat,” he complained, shivering.
“The Bureau will buy you one.” Tenrael grinned. He and Charles had already spent a small fortune at City of Paris, but since Charles hadn’t received any irate phone calls from Townsend, Stella, or anyone else at HQ, he figured nobody minded. Collins was right: there were advantages to being employed by a relatively flush federal agency.
Speaking of Collins, Charles had been hoping for another report by now. “Let’s go find a phone booth and somewhere to eat.”
They’d been avoiding Bianchi’s, since Charles felt a little guilty about having no information on Bertha’s wayward nephew. He and Tenrael should probably have gone out again last night after cleaning up from the vampire, but it had been so nice to get into the big bed and have Ten curl around him, both of them smelling of rose soap and sex. Besides, Charles had been a bit sore from his bites and Ten a bit sore from fucking, and he figured the world would go on spinning if they took the rest of the night off.
They found a diner on Balboa Street, not far from Abe and Thomas’s house. If it had a name, Charles couldn’t discern it; the outside sported only large Coca-Cola signs and placards advertising the daily specials. The crowd was mostly tired people who’d worked late—similar to Bianchi’s—although a few more-animated customers were probably planning to catch the late show at the cinema next door. Conveniently, the diner had a phone booth at the back.
Still shivering, Charles decided to warm himself first. When he ordered tea, chocolate cake, and tapioca, the Russian-accented waitress looked somewhat askance at his choices. She also didn’t seem pleased that Tenrael ordered nothing. Maybe she was simply having a bad day. Or maybe she was just the disgruntled type; she didn’t smile at any of the other customers either.
“I miss your house,” Tenrael said quietly after she’d stomped away.
Charles paused before admitting, “Our house.”
That made Tenrael beam. “Ours.”
“You’re not comfortable at the St. Francis? I can have them switch us to another hotel.”
“No, it is very nice. But it is not home. I miss cooking for you and kneeling beside you as you read in your favorite chair. I miss the way you smell after your morning walks on the beach.”
Charles wanted to scoff at the absurdity of a domesticated demon but found himself smiling warmly instead. He missed those things too. Before he met Tenrael, he’d liked his little bungalow well enough, but he’d never yearned for it when he had to be away on assignment. It had been a convenient, comfortable place to stay. Now, though, it was more than that. As Ten had said, it was home. And that was because Charles no longer lived there alone.
“Did you ever think about the future, Ten? Before you met me, I mean.”
“No. Except for during my captivity, I was content with my existence. I never questioned whether I might want something different or something more. I never considered what would happen beyond any one night.” He grinned. “Demons are not generally contemplative creatures.”
Charles wished he could take Tenrael’s hand and hold it atop the table. “And now you are.”
“I have tried to explain. Whatever being I used to be was destroyed during my confinement. You have helped me create a new self.” He spread his hands, palms up. “I like this new version of me.”
“So do I.”
Tenrael smiled at that, and a moment later the waitress arrived with Charles’s tea. “The rest soon,” she barked.
“All right. Thank you.”
“You do not want soup? It is good soup.”
“I’m sure it is. But we’ve eaten already, you see. I just wanted something sweet.”
As soon as she was gone, Tenrael laughed. “You are a terrible liar. She did not believe you.”
Charles shrugged. Falsehoods tended to stick in his throat. Another entirely unhelpful inheritance from his father, he guessed. “Doesn’t it bother you, though? Not being a… a normal demon, but not quite fitting in as a human either?”
Tenrael regarded him with his head slightly tilted. “If I were a normal demon, you would have had to destroy me. You most certainly would not lo—would not be my master.”
