Chapter 7

Anthony

"Y ou're okay."

With those two soft words, something gave way inside of Anthony. He looked at Freddie for the first time, really looked, and saw that Freddie wasn't just a brick wall to bash his head against. There was a possibility that the brick might form a solid foundation.

Without thinking, he leaned into Freddie. Freddie froze, and Anthony's heart pulsed with anxiety. Had he misread the situation? Had he crossed a line?

"I'm…I'm sorry…" Anthony moved away.

Freddie's powerful arms wrapped around him, keeping him in place, holding him in the most solid of embraces. Freddie was cool against him, a balm for his overheated emotions. He looked up at Freddie's face. It was open and unguarded. Anthony hadn't expected that.

Anthony was not used to being comforted. He wasn't sure if he liked it. He liked to be the most competent person in the room, the one who was calm and collected, the one who couldn't be fucked with. But having Freddie pressed against him, being held tight to Freddie's chest, some knot of worry and fear had released. Anthony was fully at ease for the first time in a long time.

And so fucking turned on. He could feel Freddie growing hard against him, and his own body responded. Anthony looked up to see the softness in Freddie's face turn sharp with desire. Butterflies stirred in Anthony's stomach.

"Kiss me," Anthony whispered.

"Anthony…"

"Please." Anthony heard how desperate he sounded, but he didn't care. Freddie looked down at him, and his face flashed with indecision. For a moment, Anthony thought he would say no, but then Freddie ran his tongue over his lips and bent down.

He was gentle at first, his soft, warm lips grazing Anthony's. It was sweet, careful and caring in a way Anthony hadn't expected, belying the image of the musclebound brute Anthony had in his mind.

It was too sweet. Anthony pressed forward, needing more, desperate to deepen the kiss.

Freddie responded in kind, more urgent now, his tongue running along Anthony's bottom lip. Anthony opened his mouth and Freddie's tongue entered him, flicking and licking inside his mouth, searching and teasing. Freddie was strong, but he kissed with a coyness that was sexy as hell. Anthony closed his eyes as he lost himself in the warmth.

"You two should get a room."

Freddie spun around, shoving Anthony behind him. In front of them stood three men. Two of them wore leather and tight black jeans, their cuffed up pant legs revealing the shine of combat boots. They looked young, in their twenties, if that. The one in the middle was older and was bald with a goatee and a neck tattoo. There was something familiar about him.

"Have I died and gone to the Buffyverse?" Anthony couldn't stop himself. They looked straight out of central casting. "Or some alternative timeline where everyone dresses like Sandy at the end of Grease ?"

The middle one's eyes flashed with anger. "You're one to talk. Your hair's stiff enough to cut glass."

At the sound of his gruff voice, Anthony recognized who he was.

"You!" The words burst out of him as the realization hit him. "You're the asshole boyfriend who grabbed me at the hotel restaurant!"

"You're coming with us," Goatee said. "My master has business with you."

"No, he doesn't." Freddie clenched and unclenched his fists, keeping himself as a barrier between Anthony and the threatening men. Anthony didn't know what the hell they were up to, and he knew he should be scared, but he wasn't. Maybe it was Freddie, tall and muscular and strong, protecting him. Anthony hated feeling weak, but he was no fighter, and seeing Freddie standing there like a shield made his skin tingle with excitement.

"This doesn't concern you, bloke ," one of the others chimed in. "Go back to London, where you belong."

Freddie said nothing, but Anthony could feel the rage pouring off of him.

"You know these guys?" Anthony asked. "Who the hell are they? Who is their ‘master'?"

"Someone who could cause you a lot of pain if you don't do as we say." Goatee was trying to act macho, but all three of them were eyeing Freddie with caution. They spread out a little, taking fighting stances.

"Freddie?" Anthony figured Freddie could handle himself, but it was three against two. Three against one, really, since Anthony hadn't been in a single fistfight in his entire life.

"They're no one," Freddie answered.

"We'll see about that." Goatee gestured toward Freddie and Anthony, and the two toughs that flanked him moved towards them.

The one on the left swung at Freddie. It came fast and furious, and Anthony flinched, certain that Freddie would be hit in the face. But Freddie dodged it, and kicked the kid right in the sternum, sending him flying back.

The one on the right was on Freddie then, not looking back at the other punk splayed out on the ground. As he closed the distance, Freddie elbowed him in the jaw, and he stumbled back, dazed. He tripped over an uneven cobblestone and fell on his ass.

"Brian! What the hell?" The first one, having recovered enough to sit up, looked to Goatee for help.

"Brian? Your name is Brian?" Anthony asked. "Seriously? How mundane can you get?"

"There's nothing wrong with my name!" Goatee, or Brian rather, yelled back.

Anthony laughed, unable to help himself. "Doesn't exactly strike fear, you know?"

"You're lucky you have your little bodyguard," Brian growled, stepping forward. "Not that it matters. We can take him."

Freddie shifted his weight back and forth between his legs in his protective stance. "Those idiots are too young," he said to the bald vampire. "They're weak from the sun."

What the hell did that mean? They did look twenty-ish, but Anthony didn't understand what the sun had to do with it.

"I don't need them," Brian said. "I can handle you."

Freddie chuckled, and the low, resonant sound made Anthony's balls tingle. Jesus Christ. Could he turn off the lust for one second? They were in a fight!

Freddie cocked his head, considering the man in front of him. Brian was in shape. He had some muscles, but he was small compared to Freddie.

"No," Freddie said. "I don't think you can."

Brian hissed at them, actually hissed , and lunged for Freddie. He moved so fast that for a second, Anthony thought he saw him blur. Except that wasn't possible.

"Freddie!"

Anthony yelped as Brian's fist connected with Freddie's stomach. It was a killer punch, with his entire strength behind it, and it landed square on.

Freddie didn't even flinch. Before Anthony could blink, Freddie punched the bald man right in the jaw. Brian stumbled back, a surprised look on his face, and then launched himself at his opponent.

They were on each other, grappling and straining, as each tried to gain dominance. Anthony moved farther back, trying to stay clear of the fight. He couldn't do anything to help, he knew that, but the thought of Freddie getting hurt on his behalf made his chest ache. He felt so helpless.

After a few moments of what seemed like an evenly matched struggle, Freddie reared back and head-butted Brian, hard. As the bald man's eyes glazed over, Freddie wrapped his hand around his throat.

"Go back to New York." Freddie's voice was deep, and the ferocity made Anthony shudder. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that, but damn if it wasn't sexy as hell.

Goatee struggled to speak through his closed airway. His voice was harsh and guttural. "Our master wants him, and our master gets what he wants."

"He's mine." With a growl, Freddie threw Brian against the brick wall to their left. The goateed man let out a grunt as he hit the structure. A cloud of red dust sprang up from the impact. Brian slid down to the ground, looking conscious but dazed. A web of thin, spidery cracks was left behind on the wall above his head.

Just how hard had Freddie thrown the guy? Anthony looked back at him. He hadn't even broken a sweat!

Freddie turned to the other two punks, who had gotten to their feet. One of them hissed, and they both stepped forward.

"What is wrong with them?" It was frightening, but also confusing as hell. "Who the hell acts like that?"

Freddie ignored Anthony's question, holding his hand up to the two leather-clad punks, who stopped in their tracks.

"I'm older than you." Freddie's voice had a sense of command in it that made Anthony's blood hum. "By many years."

"Who the fuck cares how old you are?" The two were psyching themselves up for an attack.

"You haven't learned yet what we can do." Freddie made a claw shape with his right hand. Anthony stared, bewildered. What was Freddie doing? Why weren't they attacking? It was as if Freddie had some kind of control over them. Their muscles strained, like a predator launching itself at its future meal, but they couldn't move.

Freddie made a strange flicking gesture with his fingers. There was a strangled cry, and one took off running. The other went for the still-disoriented Brian. He pulled him off the ground and to his feet, although the bald man was unsteady, leaning against the kid.

"Tell your master," Freddie snarled. "Anthony is not for him."

The remaining punk made a low, harsh sound, like a hostile, caged animal, and hoisted Brian over his shoulder. He took off at a clip. Anthony stared as they rounded a corner and disappeared.

Their behavior made no sense. The animalistic sounds, the things they'd said. Anthony was tired of being in the dark about what the hell was going on. These weren't some stalkers or even mafiosos. This was something else. And Freddie knew what it was.

He turned back to Freddie, who winced at the look of fury Anthony gave him.

"What the fuck?"