lean limply against the wall. He tried to catch his breath, but his racing heart couldn’t slow down; he couldn’t take deep enough breaths to stop the gasping. His body trembled, shaking.
Breath on his neck sent another delicious shiver through him.
“My sweet darling,” Gunther whispered into his ear, the timbre of his voice sending a thrill through Philip, his jaw trembling as he gulped in air. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”
Philip tried to speak, his mouth trying to form words, but nothing could come out—his mind still reeling from riding the waves, still anticipating the next to come rising from the swell of the last.
Gunther turned him around, and he gazed into those amazing eyes, their deep blue like pools of light beckoning him onward, and—
He smelled roses, and lilac, the soft breeze of a warm spring morning, the lazy buzzing of flies, and sounds outside, sounds he could barely make out; and he was looking up into those blue eyes, those oh-so-beautiful eyes, losing himself in them, wanting, needing to lose himself in them forever; for this was love, a love he’d never dreamed possible, a love he’d yearned for all his waking life, a love that would last for all eternity, until the sun burned out and time ceased; for love could never die, not a love like this, the kind of love others only dreamed of, couldn’t in their wildest dreams fathom or comprehend, stronger than death, stronger than life…
And Gunther was gathering him up, lifting Philip into his arms as though he were no heavier than a small child, and he felt the strength in Gunther’s arms, the coiled power in his muscles; yet he was gentle, caring, loving. His head tilted back, exposing his neck, and Gunther pressed his lips to the base of Philip’s throat. Philip’s body tensed as another wave crashed over him, all his breath rushing out of him in a guttural moan beginning deep in his diaphragm; and then they were moving, Gunther’s tongue flicking out, licking and tracing small circles in the hollow where Philip’s neck met his torso, pressing with an urgency, a need, a hunger, against his skin. Philip’s heartbeat came faster and louder, and then Gunther was placing him gently down on a soft bed, a mattress filled with down and feathers, the velvet and satin of the coverlet feeling like a soft caress against his naked body. He opened his eyes. Long white tapers burned in sconces on the wall, casting flickering shadows into darkened corners.
It all looked familiar to him somehow, but his mind couldn’t wrap itself around the thought, couldn’t focus as another wave crashed over him. His body trembled and shook as Gunther’s mouth moved down from the throat to the nipples again, licking and flicking and suckling on them.
Why did it all seem so familiar?
The thought nagged at his mind, even as Gunther’s mouth moved farther downward, as his tongue wrapped itself around the head of his cock.
“Mein Liebe…” he muttered hoarsely as he began gasping again.
No one had ever made him feel like this.
No one.
He felt his orgasm rise in his balls, his body beginning to go rigid with the coming explosion, his back arching upward.
“Not yet, mein Liebe,” Gunther whispered, gripping Philip’s cock with his hand, holding it tightly, tighter still as it tried desperately for release, pumping against the restraining hand, Philip’s mouth open and moaning; and then the pressure lessened, the orgasm dying away, his body starting to relax again. He began trembling, trying to catch his breath.
My God, my God, this is too much…
Gunther stood up, smiling down at him, unbuckling his belt and the button of his jeans. Philip reached out and touched the hard-muscled abdomen, tracing his index finger around the navel, then tracing a path up to Gunther’s right nipple, tugging on it. Gunther’s eyes closed for just a moment; then he reached down and began sliding the black denim down legs carved from marble, each muscle visible beneath the skin, a light dusting of golden down on them. Black cotton underwear covered his huge, straining cock, which he grabbed and held for just a moment so Philip could get a good look at its size, and then he was sliding the underwear down, setting it free. It slapped up against his lower abdomen. Philip stared at the massive pink cock, longer and thicker than any he had ever seen before, and he wanted it; he wanted it inside him, wanted to feel it piercing him, feel it plunging deep inside to his very core. He wanted Gunther to ride him, to fuck him senseless, to make him his slave, his bitch, his pig, his slut. He wanted to run his tongue over the heavy pink balls, to take them into his mouth and suckle on them.
Philip reached a trembling hand up to it and touched it. It quivered in response, and a clear drop oozed out of the end.
Gunther stood over Philip, his legs spread, his hands on his hips. “You want my cock, mein Liebchen?”
Philip nodded. “Yes, please, may I have it?” He looked up into Gunther’s eyes, those oh-so-blue eyes, and—
The scent of lilacs and roses swam up his nostrils, and he looked over to his left, seeing heavy tapestries moving in the soft, warm breeze. Daylight streamed in through the open doors leading out to a balcony. He could hear the sound of people talking, the sound of shovels and scythes as the fields were being worked. He heard a horse whinny, a dog barking. He was lying naked on a bed, a bed covered in smooth silk and satin and velvet. A mirror on the far wall reflected back light from candles on the opposite wall; there were candles everywhere, lighting the darkened corners of the room, where the gentle sunlight didn’t seem to reach. The long white tapers flickered on the mantel, and just above the mantel hung a huge oil painting, framed in gilt wood. The painting was of a man with long, curling blond hair cascading down onto his shoulders. His clothes were from another time, another place: a miltary-looking uniform—he’d seen something like that before, once before, in a textbook in a history class, and the face belonged to—
“Gunther,” he breathed.
What the hell…?
He struggled to sit up, but Gunther pushed him back down against the mattress. Gunther was smiling, his oh-so-blue eyes—he looked into them again and felt himself lost in their blueness, as though he were being sucked into them, surrounded by blue and by magic and desire.
What the hell?
“You need ME to find them?” Rachel laughed. “Yeah, right. You’re crazy.”
“I trained him, you see.” Nigel looked at her, reaching out a hand to brush a lock of damp hair from her forehead. “I taught Gunther how to use his mind, to develop the dormant powers everyone has locked inside their brain.”
“By making him not human.” She shook her head. What is wrong with me, she wondered, sitting out here in the cold with a crazy old man? Get up and go inside, girl, and forget this ever happened; forget the old man with his crazy stories about nightwatchers and vampires, about Philip being in danger. She should go inside to the warmth and back to her poetry; surely that would be a more productive way to spend the evening than sitting on her steps in the damp and the cold, listening to a crazy old man spinning ridiculous stories.
“Human’ is a relative term,” Nigel went on. “I was a human like you once, many years ago. Now I am a different kind of human, an immortal, one with powers unimaginable to most. But one needn’t be an immortal to unlock the power within the mind; it merely helps because it affords the luxury of time. Time, as measured by those who die, means nothing to those like me. I trained Gunther for decades, trying to make him understand the meaning of power, the great responsibility that comes with it. But alas, for me and for many others, Gunther was unable to leave his humanity behind.”
“His humanity.” Rachel shook her head. “Look, Nigel, you seem like a nice enough old guy, you know? But I’ve really wasted enough of my night sitting out here with you, you know?” She started to rise again, and this time he didn’t stop her.
She took a step up, turning her back to him. As she reached for the doorknob—
Music exploded in her head, intense, more intense than she had ever heard. It was as though a stereo had kicked on inside her mind, and the notes,