Blood: The Third Course

Chapter Thirteen

Winter had taken such a grip that if he chose, Spencer could spend over twelve hours out in the city. The sun set early and rose late, and most of the humans hated it. They came out of work to the orange glow of street lamps, and went to work the next morning before they had been turned off.

Before his turning, Spencer had lived by those street lamps, though he'd been on the opposite schedule to those working the nine to five daily grind. He was sure that, at one point or another, his friends had labelled him a vampire even before his turning, since he rarely saw the sun. A night owl, thriving in the dark.

These days, it was a necessity, and he enjoyed winter for the darkness it provided, but there was nothing like a hot summer night. The almost constant smell of summer iced ciders had been replaced with signs advertising mulled cider and wine as the holidays rapidly approached. Every night a different company held their Christmas party. Obnoxiously over-patterned sweaters were everywhere, as constant as the sweet spiced smell.

The cheap chain bars served it out of a box, emptied into a vat and heated, served in whichever glass was closest. The more expensive and flashy bars mixed their mulled concoctions themselves, served with a stick of cinnamon that no one in their right mind would do anything with other than throw away.

Spencer stood in the doorway of the bar, watching the uninhibited belly laughs of the already drunk, breathing in the scent of the desperate attempts at office flings. He licked his lips, tasting the mistakes to be regretted when January rolled around.

They weren't here. He knew from the moment he'd come in that August was not inside. The others took longer, searching through voices and tastes, but even after all this time, he knew August's absence in a moment. And he'd thought the connection was fading.

He'd fed once already, just a little something to ensure he wouldn't be distracted from his search. Even early in the night, he had tasted of those holiday spices. Now he stood, assaulted by the scent from all around him, it was not the other thoughts that overwhelmed his head, but his own. He moved to the side, bracing himself against the wall as they echoed in his head, flickers of images every time he closed his eyes.

"Spencer?"

Spencer spun on his heel, already beaming. He held a half-peeled orange in one hand, a thin and sharp peeler in the other. August did not look quite so amused, his nose wrinkled and his lips pressed tight.

"Hey!" Spencer said. "I thought you were out tonight."

"Why does it smell like a cheap bath salts store in here?"

Grimacing, Spencer put the orange and the peeler down on the counter.

"That bad?"

"I can smell it throughout the house."

"Shit, sorry. Probably should have opened a window or something."

"Or perhaps not massacre orange orchards?" August suggested with a glance to the five other skinned oranges sitting on the counter. "What are you doing?"

"Making cocktails."

"Oh really? And where are all these cocktails?"

Spencer smiled, a small embarrassed smirk as he avoided his eye.

"I drank them."

Chuckling, August stepped closer. He rounded the counter with slow, measured steps until he could trap Spencer against it. Placing a hand against the granite counter top on either side of him, he leaned close and inhaled deeply, his nose and lips just brushing Spencer's neck.