A few days after my dinner date with Micah, I get a call from the blood lounge. I forgot to settle my tab the night I met Micah there, clearly distracted. I get to the lounge late in the evening, and the place is hopping with activity. Every booth is occupied, and many of the couches as well. Some vampires drink from eager humans, while others take shots or otherwise drown themselves in alcohol. The scent of blood on the air is sharp, but I have no interest in feeding from anyone other than Micah. We should probably talk about that.
I approach the bar and pay my tab with little fanfare to Hannah, the butch lesbian bartender, whose red crew cut and muscles drive the ladies wild. It isn’t until I say my goodbyes and turn to leave that I realize someone has approached me. I frown with distaste as I realize it’s Donovan, one of the vampire blowhards I used to see Micah hanging with before we first spoke.
“Can I help you?” I ask coolly.
“Where’s your boy toy?” Donovan sneers. He stands directly in the way of the exit, like he’s trying to trap me at the bar, and my stomach tenses with unease.
“I’m sorry, but I’m just leaving.” I try to move past him, but he steps in my way and gets up in my face.
“You know what I’m talking about. Where’s that whore Micah?”
“Excuse me?” My fangs itch to descend as I regard the asshole’s smug face.
“Ever since you drank from him, he’s been MIA. What’s that about? You exclusive?” He clearly puts his disdain in the final word.
“That’s none of your business,” I say, trying to leave again, but once again he blocks me.
“Except it is my business. Because before you stole him, he was our blood slut. And now he’s stopped coming around, and that seems like your fault from where I’m standing. You owe me a slut.” I stare at him for a moment, gobsmacked by his crudeness.
“You are disgusting. I’m leaving now.” I use my supernatural speed to dodge around him before he can stop me, but he grabs my shoulder as I pass him. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss.
“What are you going to do? Kill me like you did Alistair?” He stares straight into my eyes, daring me to lose control. My chest constricts, the room feeling like it’s spinning.
“Boys,” my savior, Hannah, interjects. “No fighting in my lounge. And Donovan, learn some fucking manners.”
Donovan seethes for a moment, then steps back and gives his best apologetic look to Hannah. “Sorry, Han. Just settling some personal business.”
“You’re very familiar for someone who’s one misstep from getting thrown out,” Hannah says coolly, her eyes flashing black and her fangs descending.
“Alright, alright,” Donovan throws his arms up in the air and turns away to head back to his bozo friends. “Some people can’t take a joke.”
I watch him go, breathing in and out to steady myself, then turn back to Hannah to apologize, but she cuts me off.
“Don’t worry about it, Julian,” she says, as if she read my mind. “It won’t be long till he pisses me off one too many times and I bar him from the lounge.”
“He’ll just go make problems elsewhere,” I say bitterly. “He clearly doesn’t care about the first law.”
“You gonna tell Vasilia he’s making trouble?” Hannah steps away for a moment to take an order then begins making the drink, looking at me over her shoulder.
“Hadn’t thought about it,” I say, not committing. “Thanks for the assist just now. I appreciate you.” She salutes me as I say goodbye, going back to her customers. I feel Donovan’s eyes on me, and a quick glance confirms he’s watching as I leave. The bastard disgusts me, but the thing that really worries me is his attitude toward humans. When Vasilia took power, they decreed the first law was to treat humans with respect rather than as disposable blood bags. They argued that for vampires to exist openly, we could only do so on good terms with the humans, or they’d rebel. Though Vasilia might appreciate the heads up, it spells trouble for me—and Micah—if Donovan and his boys decide to retaliate. I can’t risk it.
*
Over the next few weeks, I occupy my time mostly with completing some work for my show and seeing Micah. He cooks dinner for me one night, a skill I had been unaware he possesses. The food tastes muted, of course, but I can appreciate the refined touch he’d apparently learned from his grandmother. The week before the show, the handlers Felicia hired pack away my chosen pieces to transport to New York.
The morning of the 15th, I pick Micah up to go to the airport at 6:00 a.m. I wear a turtleneck and hat to shield myself from the rising sun, though the rain pouring down on the streets helps. He looks put together and well rested, telling me he’s used to early hours because of his work. The journey is uneventful, so I make a point to enjoy the feeling of his body heat and his exquisite smell next to me on the plane. We debark around noon and catch a cab into Manhattan. Micah spends the cab ride staring out the window, pointing out landmarks and looking generally delighted. I smile as I watch him, holding his hand.
The cab lets us off in front of the gallery, a chic space in the Village.
“Damn, I want my work shown in a place like this!” Micah exclaims, grabbing my hand and pointing at the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I bet it will be someday.” This is why I made sure he brought one of his sketchbooks on the trip—I want him to show it to Felicia and see what she thinks. I entwine our fingers together and lead him into the gallery.
Inside is Felicia herself, talking to a somberly dressed gallery employee. My work has been placed around the space, some canvases mounted on the wall and some still on the floor while the gallery staff measures out the distance between pieces.
“Julian!” Felicia calls in excitement when she notices Micah and I. “So glad you’re here. And this must be Micah?”
“That’s me,” he says, reaching out a hand to shake hers. “Very nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she says as she shakes his hand. “I’ve never met a friend of Julian’s before.” She gives me a knowing look, one I’ve been getting a lot since Micah and I began seeing each other, or whatever this is. “We’re still setting up, but feel free to take a look around and let me know if anything jumps out at you.”
“You know I’m not picky. As long as they’re on the wall by the time of the opening, I’ll be happy.”
“Mister nonchalant,” Felicia teases, a familiarity she doesn’t normally show me. I wonder if she thinks I’m warming up, what with Micah being here. She might not be wrong. “We still have another six hours before doors. Feel free to do whatever you want in that time, but if you can be back at least fifteen minutes before the opening starts, that’d be great.”
“Is there somewhere we can leave our bags so we don’t have to stop at the hotel?” As soon as I ask it, a gallery aide appears to grab our luggage.
“We’ll put it in the secure room,” the aide assures me, and I thank them.
“One thing before we go,” I say to Felicia, though I’m looking at Micah, who has drifted away to look at my paintings. “I was wondering if you’d be able to do a quick sketchbook review for Micah. He has a talent, but schooling hasn’t been an option for him since high school. I’d be curious to see what you think.”
“Of course,” Felicia agrees warmly. “Why don’t you have him leave the sketchbook here, and I can take a look while you’re out?”
“That would be great. Micah,” I call out, “Felicia’s happy to look at your work. Would you like to grab your sketchbook and leave it with her?” His face lights up, and he grabs the well-loved book from his backpack.
“Thanks so much, I really appreciate it,” he says as he hands it over to Felicia. “It’s okay if you hate it, I promise I won’t be offended.”
“If Julian thinks you have talent, I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about,” she says with a kind smile. We say our goodbyes after that and head out the door.
“Are you hungry? We could grab lunch and then take the subway to MoMA, if you’d like.”
“That sounds great,” he says, pulling out his phone to look up food options. “There’s a cafe just a block away with good reviews.”
“Lead the way,” I say, but he turns to me instead, grabbing both my hands.
“Thank you, Julian.” He stands on his tiptoes to deliver a quick kiss to my lips, one that doesn’t last nearly long enough before he’s showing me the direction of the cafe.
*
Micah loves MoMA. We spend a full three hours exploring the vast collection, and his face lights up over and over as he recognizes pieces he loves and discovers new works that speak to him. He goes on several rambling tangents about his favorites, from Francis Bacon to a short treatise on Fauvism. Seeing this side of him, his unbridled enthusiasm for art, moves something deep within me that I normally don’t allow to surface. I want to see this joy on his face every day; I want to be the one to cause it.
He cries as we stand in front of Monet’s Water Lillies. The crowd moves around us, oblivious to his tears, but I hold him close to me and let him take in the triptych that covers most of the room. I press a soft kiss to his hair.
“Sorry,” he says after a few minutes, leaning into my side. “It’s just so beautiful. Thank you for taking me here.”
“I’m happy you like it,” I tell him, and he wraps his arms around my waist, resting his head against my chest. I kiss the top of his head, letting the other tourists pass around us. None of them matter. Only Micah matters.
*
Fortunately, it seems Micah made as good an impression on Felicia as he has on me. When we arrive back at the gallery, she greets him warmly and offers to discuss his portfolio as I do a last check of the layout. I don’t really care how my work is hung, so it takes me only a minute or so to determine the gallery did a good job displaying the pieces. As I stand awkwardly by the bar they’re setting up (serving alcohol and bottled blood suspended over tea lights to keep it warm), I can’t help but sneak a glance at Micah and Felicia to see how he’s doing. She’s gesturing emphatically at various pages in his sketchbook, and he looks half pleased, half embarrassed.
He catches me staring, and smiles at me from across the gallery, giving me a reassuring nod. After a few more minutes, Felicia hands him back his sketchbook and he makes his way over to me.
“Helping yourself to some blood?” he asks, but I shake my head.
“I prefer it from the source,” I tell him honestly, pulling him close to me by the waist.
“Flirt,” he says with a laugh as he leans his head against my shoulder. “She likes my stuff. Thinks I should try to get it displayed at some cafés.”
“That’s fantastic.” I turn so we’re face to face, and he leans up for a kiss, which I happily return. The softness of his mouth feels just as exhilarating as always. I steal a few more moments of closeness with him before I pull back, knowing if I let it go on any longer, I’ll lose my composure in public. “I’m so proud of you,” I tell him instead.
“You’re too nice. It’s your opening; I’m the one who’s proud of you.”
Felicia interrupts the moment apologetically.
“It’s time to open the doors. There’s already a few people outside.”
“That sounds great. Thank you, Felicia.” She signals the gallery staff with a thumbs up, and the aide who took our luggage earlier unlocks the door.
And in walk Vasilia and Lenore.
Manners taking over even through the nerves, I approach them immediately and bow. “My lord. My lady. I’m so pleased you came to see my work.”
Vasilia is wearing an impeccable white suit with a daring neckline, and Lenore looks stunning as usual in a black cocktail dress. Felicia looks on in awe from behind them, clearly not expecting vampire nobility.
“You look as if you didn’t expect us,” Lenore says, a teasing lilt to her voice. She extends her hand, and I kiss it.
“You both look well,” Vasilia says to Micah and I, nodding their head in Micah’s direction. “I see you two are serious.” Micah looks at me with a nervous smile, and I squeeze his hand, hopefully in a reassuring manner.
“We are enjoying our time together,” I say diplomatically. Of course, Micah and I haven’t had the discussion yet about how serious we are. Vasilia is just prying for their own amusement, most likely.
“Tell me about your work, Julian. I’d love a private tour,” Vasilia orders more than asks. I nod, giving Micah’s hand one last squeeze.
I show Vasilia the pieces one by one, describing the inspiration behind them, when I created them, and any other details I can think of that might interest the lord. They listen and nod along as if my art interests them, though they’ve never shown any indication before that they cared. As we reach the far end of the gallery, they turn to me, fixing their piercing gaze on me.
“I’ve been hearing rumors about trouble you’re having.”
And that’s what I’d been afraid of. My stomach clenches and I try not to wince.
“It’s minor,” I attempt to assure them.
“And you dare decide for me whether a threat is minor or not?” Their eyes are merciless, trapping me in their gaze. I freeze for a moment before I can gather my nerves enough to speak.
“I apologize. I misjudged.”
“You did,” Vasilia agrees. “I will spare you punishment this time. The worm Donovan has already been reprimanded.” Just vague enough to leave me unclear on whether or not Vasilia killed him.
“Thank you, my lord,” I say, my voice shaking slightly.
“Julian… Unlike many in our coven, I do not hold your past against you. I wish your fear would not stop you from trusting me in my duties.”
“I do trust you,” I say, wishing I had a drink in my hand to fidget with. “My fear was for Micah’s safety.”
“You’re not solely responsible for his wellbeing,” Vasilia chides me. “He’s under my protection, just as every human entangled in our affairs is.”
“I understand,” I acquiesce, head bowed. “You have my sincerest apologies.”
“Good,” they say. “Now, I could use a drink. Thank you for the tour.” And with that, they wave at Lenore and leave me to meet her at the bar.
Micah slips in next to me as I stand there, trying to get a handle on my nerves. His hand on mine is powerfully grounding, just like when I had that episode at my home in front of him.
“You good?” he asks, leaning against my arm. “Are we in trouble?”
“I might be a little bit, but you’re definitely not. I think Vasilia likes you.”
“Me?” He looks shocked, and I hold back a laugh.
“I think they’re rooting for us,” I confess. I hope it’s not too serious, but the smile on Micah’s face tells me I have nothing to worry about.
“We should probably have, like… some kind of talk, at some other time, about what this is.” Micah takes my hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, and the tension between us grows taut.
“I agree,” I say, meeting his eyes, deep brown and lined by heavy lashes. “But there are other things I want to do first.” Micah licks his lips, drawing my attention to his plush mouth. “I really wish we weren’t in public right now.”
“You’re telling me,” he groans. “Come on, introduce me to your friends.”
I look around, surveying the growing crowd inside the gallery. A few people I recognize hover, looking like they’re waiting for their turn to speak to me. It’s a strange feeling—these gallery shows are the only time my company is in demand from others.
Micah seems to do well with the small talk that follows. I introduce him to art collectors, vampire socialites, and other creative types. His smiles are easy, but his gaze lingers on me more often than not. I can’t help but feel the energy between us, the way we gravitate toward each other. I talk again and again about my work, but it’s rote at this point, as my thoughts are entirely occupied by Micah. His lingering touch on my hip after everyone but Felicia has left sends a shockwave through me.
“Well done, Julian. I’d call that a huge success.” Felicia holds out her hand and I shake it, grateful to her, but all I can focus on is Micah in my peripheral vision. The air is heady from the scent of blood as the staff clean up the bottles. I thank Felicia in a daze, and when she leaves, it’s just me, Micah, and the gallery staff, who bring out our luggage and then pay us no mind.
“Why do you look like you need a bite?” Micah asks in my ear, leaning in close.
“Cab,” is all I manage to get out. “Now.”
Akiva Lee 