StarCrossed 2: Opposite Ends of the Spectrum

Excerpt:
The jarring change from pavement to dirt under the old Ford truck's tires woke the incubus demon. He was immediately sick, the drugs used to knock him out wreaking havoc with his unique physiology. He did his best to keep the vomit outside the cage. After the last of his stomach's contents was purged, Dekin Swain rocked back on his heels, shaking, and looked around.

Dekin was in a metal-barred cage, the top and sides covered with thick canvas. He couldn't tell where he was going, except that they were on a dirt road. Pebbles crunched raucously beneath churning tires. This disturbed Dekin. When he'd last been conscious he'd been living, working, and hunting in the windy city of Chicago. He was quite sure he'd never come across dirt roads in Chicago before.

The old truck hit something that felt like a moon crater, and Dekin's head smacked the top of the cage. He cursed and kicked at the cold, hard iron in frustration. Someone had figured out what he was. After twenty-eight years of successfully avoiding detection in the mortal world, surviving quite easily among the human population and feeding off their promiscuous ways, he'd finally been caught. The last thing he remembered was following the graying film agent into an alley, the promise of money greasing the air despite the fact that coin wasn't the draw for Dekin -- sex was. Even old, tired, forty-something sex.

Things had started much as they always did, with the guy feeling up Dekin's willowy body, grabbing his ass, kissing his neck, running fingers through his waist-length, sandy-blond hair. Telling him how fucking beautiful he was. Dekin had smirked. He knew he was beautiful. He knew he could be working as a high-class, highly paid model, posing for artsy fashion spreads in GQ and Esquire. But those jobs were far too high profile. Under lights and constant scrutiny, Dekin knew that somewhere, somehow, his true self would eventually be exposed. The dirty, gritty world of the porn industry was far more private, far less questioning, and allowed Dekin to feed without raising eyebrows.

Where had I made a mistake? he wondered. Dekin couldn't recall anything after having knelt down in front of the guy. By the grinding in his gut he knew he'd been knocked out cold before getting a single sip of erotic essence. Dekin liked to play a dangerous game of self-starvation, fending off hunger until it was so keen that once he did feed it was euphoric far beyond the normal high. He was a junkie for it, stretching the time between feedings longer and longer, waiting for that perfect rush.

It had all backfired on him.

The truck engine cut off and died with a sputter. The vehicle rocked as the driver climbed down from the cab and slammed the door. Someone else was there to meet them. A discussion ensued. Dekin strained to hear their words, hoping for a clue as to his whereabouts.

"Put him near cage six."

"Are you sure? Kind of close to Red, ain't it?"

"Hey, am I payin' you to ask dumb questions? No. Put him near cage six. Leave the tarp over him. I'll deal with it in the morning. Him and Red are gonna be shown together, so they might as well get used to being close."

A smaller engine gunned. Dekin's cage shifted and bounced as he was unloaded from the truck bed to be forklifted to his final destination. He flattened against the bottom of the rattling cage, sweat beading his neck and spine. Fear stung his eyes.