Realms of the Raven - Erotic Romance Author Maura Anderson

On My Grave
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Gary stood, still as a statue, in the cover of the overgrown blackberry brambles. The full moon dominated the sky and lit up the abandoned cemetery, so bright it could almost have been daytime. The once pristine and tidy graveyard was in ruins. The few headstones had been toppled or broken and the wooden markers had long since rotted away.

A small part of him mourned those now lost to history and memory, even their final resting places receding into the shadows. Another part of him envied them.

He noted idly that it was a cold night. The cycle of the seasons was continuing, as it had all his very long life. Unstoppable and relentless, the years crept by. Soon the snow would come and blanket the cemetery in the semblance of pristine purity, hiding the carnage that lay beneath.

Where was he? The young man was usually here by now. At first it had taken the man sitting on Gary’s unmarked grave to wake him. The man would sit, sheltered by the drooping limbs of the weeping elm Gary’s sister had planted, and daydream.

He couldn’t know Gary’s grave was there, let alone know what Gary was and that the ties of his kind to their mortal grave meant they could sense anyone and anything that touched it. For most of his kind it meant a tie to their relatives while they still lived and visited, along with the occasional caretaker tending the plot.

But no one had visited Gary’s grave even before the cemetery went to ruin. Only the occasional animal had sent the shiver of awareness down his spine and forced him to remember that he, too, was once human.

Then the stranger had begun to spend time here. At first annoyed by the strong reaction his body had to the intrusion, he’d tried to ignore it. Before long, the lure of the emotions that flowed off the young man in waves seduced Gary into acceptance, then longing.

Who was this visitor? Why did he go from sorrow to happiness to lust to despair?

The crack of twigs underfoot alerted Gary to his visitor’s approach. As the steps moved closer, Gary was careful to make sure he was tucked out of sight. He wanted to see the man, not be seen.

A figure, slender for all it was bundled up in a wool coat, pushed through the clinging brambles to the huge old tree. He slipped between the drooping limbs and almost tossed himself onto the ground near the trunk.

A shudder ran through Gary, so strong it raised goosebumps on his skin, something he’d not experienced in nearly a century. I wonder if that’s because I’m so close to my grave again?

Gary pushed aside the idle question in the face of the barrage of emotions that flowed off the young man. Loneliness, longing, a touch of sorrow—they were all entwined in a confusing morass. But so very human.

A quick tug and the man’s hat was off, revealing his dark blonde curls. Gary’s fingers twitched with the desire to run his fingers through that riot of hair. Instead he crept closer, eager to see the face of the man he’d come to anticipate and even long for.

The full moon’s light, combined with Gary’s inhuman eyesight, gave him a clear view of what turned out to be a face that was striking more than it was handsome. An aquiline nose and square jaw offset the softness of his plump, pink lips. Icy blue eyes, so pale they seemed unnatural, were framed by lush lashes—lashes that sparkled with tears.

The nearly forgotten heat of desire shot through Gary’s body. Desire he’d not felt in far too long. He wanted to dry the stranger’s tears, kiss those lips until they were red and swollen, ease his tongue between them into the warmth and wetness of the other man’s mouth. His mouth almost watered at the imagined taste of the other man.

He wanted to explore the other man’s body—with his hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock. What would he look like under that coat? What would his cock feel like?

Operating on pure instinct, Gary stepped forward, praying to a forgotten God that this fascinating man wouldn’t run.