Page 71 of Envious Of Fire
Raya next to him, body pressed against his, eyes, lips, teeth.
Kaleb cries out as he releases unexpectedly into Markadian’s mouth, and just as appropriately, he strikes a high note upon the violin, singing like an angel’s song freed from the strings. It seems to last forever, as long as a musical note can possibly last, as waves of pleasure rush to every end of his body, to every hair, to every cell that comprises his mortal form.
It is the most merciful relief he has ever known.
“I do wonder,” says Markadian, still on his knees, as if it is Kaleb who is the god, “if it would be greedy of me … to request your sweet music … every night … for the rest of my existence?”
Kaleb lowers his violin and bow, stares down at the god on the ground, the taste of power growing in his racing heart. “Be as greedy with me as you like, Markadian.”
17.
We Could Be Gods.
—·—
The Devil’s Mouth is a cave hidden in a long-abandoned quarry, and from the roof of its dilapidated entrance hang two thin, sharp stalactites, like vampire fangs.
A bit too nail-on-the-head for Kyle’s taste.
Dry, thorny vegetation cling to the stones as Kyle follows Lazarus through the tunnels. Though his eyes adjust with ease to the darkness, Kyle still moves with caution. The tunnels are ever changing, from narrow passages to wide-open corridors, back and forth, until Kyle is certain he won’t be able to find his way out on his own.
Perhaps that’s the point.
Lazarus makes a sharp turn left, and when Kyle follows, his foot finds the edge of a chasm he hadn’t noticed. Tiny rocks are sent skittering from his shoes, soaring down into the unknown depths. “Clumsy,” says Lazarus, still holding the naked human in his arms. “Another reason you should give in to what you are and feed with purpose. Your agility will never fail you. Nothing will ever catch you by surprise again.”
Kyle doesn’t respond, but from then on, he keeps one hand on the wall, not wanting to prove the vampire right by falling to his early doom.
As they walk down a long tunnel, Kyle begins to hear it—the rhythm of a drum, steady rhythm, deep and booming. Over the drumming echoes a peal of twisted laughter, followed soon by more laughter, several people, then the tinkling of glasses asif in a toast, then a crash of wood and metal with another sharp, chirping squeal of delight. The closer they approach the sounds of the partying, the drum booms heavier, like Kyle’s heartbeats.
Then the tunnel opens to an enormous chamber fortified by old wooden beams and metal supports, like the central hub of a mine, so tall the ceiling is gone, so wide and deep that Kyle can’t yet see the distant walls, with other tunnels that spider out to deeper areas of the cave system. Between large crates and old forgotten equipment and mine carts overflowing with chunks of stone, there are men and women in various states of undress lounging around, dancing, or openly engaging in various acts of intimacy—and Kyle can tell in an instant that not one of them is human. All of them with perfect, straight, long hair. All of them so tall, it makes Kyle feel like a child walking among adults, except they look as if they can’t be bothered to flinch at death. Unnatural eyes. Overgrown, talon-like fingernails and elongated features. Each one notices Kyle at once as he passes by with Lazarus along the path cutting through the shameless revelry, their strange eyes zeroing in on him with interest.
“My family,” says Lazarus, the only introduction Kyle fears he will get of the collection of reveling vampires in this cave, “for now,” he adds just as nonchalantly.
The enormous chamber is like a landfill of collected junk through which Lazarus leads Kyle, between fallen piles of wood beams and metal parts, between piles of treasures and glittering things and junk, between cases of wine and boxes of jewelry and assortments of oddities, wigs, mannequin parts, potted plants in varying degrees of life, until they reach the heart of the room where there sits a campfire. Though there is space for nearly twenty, only two male vampires are by the fire together, one of them seated and naked and lying back, the other, much older in appearance, long nose and pointy chin, bald, standing in a red robe. The two are already staring at Kyle, likely since beforehe even came into view, made acutely aware of his unfamiliar presence by scent or sound or otherwise, yet neither speak, neither move, they only stare. The giant campfire glows against the strange, unnatural texture of their skin.
Lazarus stops. “Where would you like your pet?”
It’s the one in the red robe who replies, at once becoming animated and merry. “Oh, Lazarus, my precious comrade! This is an unforeseen gift! You have returned him home! Such folly, I was unable to find him amid the toilsome tunnels.” Kyle can’t place his accent. He wonders if it’s not just entirely made up, a role he’s playing, even the lofty way he speaks. “I do fear I had taken too many left paths and ended up where I had begun. No, devils be good, I presumed foolishly he made it out, fled into the hot sands, bested me at our game.” He chirps with laughter, then covers his mouth with his spindly fingers. “We will have more fun together now. I am delighted, yes, so delighted, abundantly. Thank you.”
“I’m not the one you should be thanking,” he says, then gazes back at Kyle meaningfully.
“Oh?” Salazo tugs his robe tighter around his body, sets his stare upon Kyle once again. The effect is chilling, for as alien as his eyes are. “He is the one who captured my runaway pet?”
That sets Kyle off. “No, I … I didn’t capture him. I wasn’t trying to—” But when Kyle spots the cold look on Lazarus’s face, he falls silent.
“It is superb you did,” Salazo goes on, as if not hearing the protest or else ignoring it outright. “Had you not stopped my pet, he would certainly have fled all the way back home, out of my grasp forever, free … Oh, how so very heartbreaking that would have been!” Even with his eyes glued to Kyle’s, there is a distant terror in them, as if the idea of losing his pet is the worst thought he’s ever had. It passes quickly. “You smell of human.”
“Of human he isnot,” responds Lazarus playfully, perhapsmaking light of Salazo’s stylistic language. “His name is Kyle. He is vampire, yet rarely drinks blood, starving himself.”
“Why on earth?”
“You will have to ask him yourself.”
Salazo spends hardly three seconds studying Kyle before losing interest and turning back to Lazarus. “Back to his cage, that is where I would be pleased to have my pet, of course. I left him some human food. He will be hungry after his run. Oh! I just remembered he shall taste ever so much sweeter now, with all of that adrenaline in his veins, sweat upon his tasty body …” He claps his hands with glee. “I hope he wakes soon. Ithirst.”
Lazarus nods, then asks: “Has Drake returned?”
“Drake has not,” says Salazo absently, staring at his pet.
