Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

too often the men he met were enthralled with their own successes or failures, regaling him with stories that held little interest for him. He tried steering the conversation to the arts and literature; deLancey was well-read and evinced great taste in music, but always returned the focus to what Melizander thought or felt.
    The intense scrutiny made Melizander both slightly uncomfortable and exceedingly flattered. It had been a great while since a man had taken such interest in him.
    Asher called for more brandy.
    Melizander found himself following the movements of Asher's mouth, less than the words it spoke. He wanted to taste him, to drink the brandy from his lips. He was growing hard in his trousers. Somewhere he had lost the trail of the conversation.
    Another round came. Melizander's eyes traced the reflection of the lamps along the curls of Asher's hair; he was particularly intrigued by where it curled over his collar along his neck. He yearned to place a kiss… just… so…
    Suddenly deLancey got down to brass tacks: "I want you— now!" His words slurred slightly… or maybe it was Melizander's hearing.
    "The Club has rooms—" Shame clawed at his guts.
    "No! Let's go someplace less… formal."
    Melizander wanted to be with Asher— alone. "Then let us go to my house."
    "Very well. My carriage is outside— I'm taking you home."
    ****
    Ashe was drunk. Literally.
    Never in two thousand years had he been intoxicated by liquor. It simply did not affect him— he was a daemon after all. But now his thoughts were muddled, his tongue fuzzy, and his legs unable to support him well.
    Seeing Xander Tristekedes had set off something within Ashe's brain. Feeling that occult tingle had made him curious to find out everything he could about the young mortal. But that magical aura had nullified Ashe's daemonic powers: he had attempted to exert his influence upon him— to no avail. Nor could he discern the man's thoughts. Tristekedes was somehow protected.
    Robbed of his advantage and determined to discover the source of the protection, Ashe had quickly decided to invite the young man to share a drink, then resorted to old-fashioned charm and seduction. Xander had been seductive and charming in his own right; his disarming smile would occasionally appear to chase away the dour, serious expression that seemed his usual mien. He had a genuine quality to his character that fascinated Ashe; it called to some jaded piece of his psyche. Forthright and honest, the mortal had good-naturedly answered Ashe's barrage of interrogation. Even revealing the estranged relationship he had shared with his father. I'm not the only one with a difficult sire.
    Xander had tried valiantly to turn the conversation away to more mundane topics, but Ashe had persisted. And learned nothing about how he resisted my powers . Not that the daemon had expected him to admit to being a great wizard. A wizard who just happened to stumble into the Phoenix Club. Ashe snickered at his own humor.
    The additional alcohol should only have loosened Xander's tongue, not befuddled Ashe's mind. But rather than remaining focused he had become increasingly distracted by the dark, handsome human across from him. Ashe was certainly no stranger to attractive men, but there was an enigma to Mister Tristekedes. A riddle hiding behind those dark, liquid eyes that Ashe wanted to swim in. A puzzle concealed by long, nimble fingers that had toyed with the stem of the brandy snifter. Ashe imagined those fingers on his skin and shivered. Too late he had realized what was happening; too soon he had succumbed to his desire for the mystery man.
    Reining in his wayward senses, Ashe escorted Xander to his waiting carriage. The night air was cool and rain-washed, helping to clear Ashe's head. Xander stumbled and clung to Ashe's arm. The mortal's eyes widened as he took in the state-of-the-art daemon-steam carriage. An attentive footman helped them into the rear compartment.
    Ensconced in the richly decorated box, Ashe flicked on a lamp and studied his guest. Xander was closely examining the interior, running his fingers across the upholstery; his gaze fell on the lamp and he motioned at it. "Those are bloody worthless… poor power design."
    "Screw the bloody lamp!"
    Ashe pulled Xander into his arms and claimed the young man's lips with his mouth. Xander's lips were lush and insistent, tasting of brandy and smoke. He held the mortal firmly, pressed close against his wiry frame; the