Page 9 of Grave Throbbing
From habit, he reached up to check for any out of place strands as he approached the door. He forgot they were pinned beneath the platinum wig and held in place by the eyepatch, which he snagged with his pinkie finger. He almost yanked the entire costume off his head. Thank goodness for vampire reflexes.
Even when he was trying to keep a low profile, smooth was not Key's middle name. It was Baoth, meaning vain or reckless. Vain because he was dressed as the sexiest villain on television. Reckless because most people would walk up to their century-old crush and say hello, but Key had chosen to blow him anonymously in a coffin glory hole instead.
Harley sat at a table in the middle of the wide front window with his back to the door. The position screamed "vulnerable," but it had taken Key trial and error to discover what Harley seemed to know on instinct. From his seat, Harley could watch the street and the entire room through reflections in the glass or the mirror over the cash register. Key felt Harley's eyes on him the moment he walked through the door and met his gaze in the reflection in the mirror.
Harley hadn't changed from the rockstar t-shirt, Lycra pants, and lace-up boots he'd worn to the club. He had one foot up on the bottom rung of his bistro chair, the other braced against the floor. His curls had been slicked back with grease the first time they'd met. If Key had to guess, he still wore it that way most of the time, from the scent of ambergris in the air, but he'd styled it loose and flowing to his shoulders tonight.
Key almost laughed at himself when he reached the cash register. If he could smell Harley, Harley could smell him. Hell, he had bitten Harley and swallowed his cum. Harley could probably pick up hints of himself all over Key's face, since he hadn't even rinsed off. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as he ordered and paid for his drink, a twenty-ounce were-panther with a hint of otter. The vampire cashier glanced at Harley, sniffed at him, and winked. "Eventful evening."
He nodded. "So far, so good."
"No dragon blood for you?" Harley asked as he sat down.
Key grinned. "Fitting, but no." Dragons were a myth left to fantasy television, or so Key hoped. With the existence of vampires and were-creatures already common knowledge, Key doubted Empress Marcella would have kept them a secret.
"I like your costume." Harley gave him another appreciative look before taking a sip from his cup.
So, it was like that. No questions, just casual conversation with the vampire Key had been aching to find all these years.
"Thank you. You, too." A lot of folks had purchased the same eighties-style t-shirt popular on a streaming series, but Harley's looked like it belonged in the eighties.
Harley dropped his shoulders and his whole body seemed to relax with the gesture. "I'm so glad it's you, Ciarán."
"You really didn't know?" Greed owed him another ten bucks. She'd bet Harley knew who he was the whole time, but he'd heard the hesitation in Harley's movements before he committed to taking his clothes off.
"I'd hoped." Harley's tone was full of longing.
Key forgot all about bets as he fell into the depths of Harley's gaze. "Yeah?"
The cashier interrupted him by whispering his name and dropping his cup on top of his receipt on the counter. The whisper sounded like a shout to his vampire hearing in the otherwise empty store. He was back in a flash, the first sip of warm blood on his tongue as he sank into his seat. He'd already supped on plain human blood back at the club, but he needed more energy for this conversation. Besides, were-panther was heaven, and the otter added just a hint of gamey spice.
"Tell me about Key."
Key assumed he meant the obvious, where he'd gotten the nickname, but he also sensed more to the question, as though Harley wanted to know where he'd been all this time.
He started simply. "It's a nickname. My little sister gave it to me."
"Greed?"
Key nodded. "Shortened from Margaret, plus she is a greedy little wench. It's fitting, believe me."
He took another sip of the drink to hide the heat in his cheeks. He was thankful for the eyepatch hiding some of his face. "That's not fair. I blamed her for what happened, but it's not her fault. I'm the idiot who ran."
"From me?" Harley tilted his head to the side with the question.
"Yeah. You, the empress, the council, everything." Key studied his cup, fingering the seam.
In minutes, he covered the last century for Harley, taking him from the night of the party through the ritual in Madison, where the two-spirited vampire severed his sire bond with his sister. He left out the most important part, though. They'd talk about his bite once he was convinced Harley wouldn't run.
"I found the courage to tell Greed about you three years ago," he said instead. "That's when we moved here."
"Three years." Harley took a long drink from his cup before he continued. "You knew I worked for the council. Why didn't you come to the courthouse?"
"I thought if we met again under normal circumstances—"
Harley almost choked as he burst out laughing.
"Tonight was not normal circumstances," Key amended. "You caught me off guard, so I improvised."
