Larry’s cell phone rang. He leaned forward, grabbed the bag he’d been using to prop up his ankle, and pulled the phone from a side pocket. “Ronnie Chester,” read the display. Oh, thank God.

Even as he thought it, Larry remembered that Ronnie couldn’t help him any more than the Life Swappers had. He glanced across the ice, and sure enough, Jimmy had already stopped skating. His face was a mask of innocent curiosity.

Larry thumbed the “talk” button anyway. “Hello,” he said, half surprised at being allowed to speak. His voice sounded reassuringly firm.

Ronnie’s didn’t sound reassuring at all. “What is it this time, Szymanski?” he growled.

Something shifted inside Larry’s head. He tried to hold onto his thoughts, but DeVere always had been faster than him. In the space of one second he went from desperation to confusion. Why was his pulse racing, Larry thought, and why did his agent sound so angry? “Uh, what do you mean, Ronnie?” he asked.

“Don’t play games, Szymanski. I know you tried to call me at 1:18 last night. I heard the phone; I just didn’t want to answer it. Now, what was so urgent it couldn’t wait till morning?”

Unease trickled through Larry’s mind, but it passed when Jimmy smiled at him. “Nothing, Ronnie. Uh, I mean, nothing happened last night. I didn’t call you. I was asleep at 1:18.” He smiled back at Jimmy and pleasure warmed his belly.

Ronnie sighed. “You do understand how caller I.D. works? It was you, Szymanski. What were you, drunk? Did you stay out partying all night with DeVere?”

Larry laughed. “No, Ronnie! I went to bed early and slept through the night.”

“Too bad. I’d forgive a middle-of-the-night phone call if it meant you two were getting along.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Jimmy’s turned out to be a pretty good kid, even if he is a little weird.” Larry waved at his friend to show he was only joking.

“Glad to hear it.” Ronnie paused. “So, last night’s call...?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know.” Larry rubbed the side of his neck. “Maybe I was sleepwalking. But hey, Ronnie? How come you didn’t answer the phone? You told me you always keep it with you, even at night.”

Ronnie grunted. “I do keep it with me; I just don’t always answer it.”

Larry felt a twinge of deja vu. Then Ronnie hung up, and the truth slammed in on him like a ton of bricks. He tried to ignore his pulsing cock and glared instead at Jimmy.

The monster had gone back to his spins now. Watching him, Larry imagined his own thoughts whirling out across the ice and collecting around Jimmy like cotton candy around a stick. Once DeVere had all he wanted, he’d slurp it down and Larry wouldn’t even know what he was missing.

“I wanna break this spell that you’ve created,” moaned the guy in the song, and Larry sympathized. He even sang along in his head, trying to match the singer’s determination: “Bury it, I won’t let you bury it, I won’t let you smother it, I won’t let you murder it.”

But of course, “murder” might be just what DeVere had in mind. One morning the Life Swappers could show up at his apartment to find no one around to answer the door. It would be noon, at least, before they called the cops; and by that time Larry would be dead and DeVere long gone. Sure, the vamp would have to take on a new identity after that, but if he could live forever, he’d probably done it hundreds of times already.

Still, all that work establishing a human identity, just for a chance to kill a dumb old hockey player? It didn’t make sense.

Ronnie would probably say Larry should be flattered.

When they went out for dinner that night, Larry didn’t order his usual beer. Instead he drank Coca-Cola, seven tall glasses of it. Then he had four cups of coffee with dessert.

DeVere must have known what he was up to, but he didn’t make Larry stop. All it would have taken was a simple thought or, if he was in a teasing mood, a command disguised as a suggestion. “Hey, ease up on the caffeine” would have done the trick. The Life Swappers wouldn’t realize Larry had to obey. Larry himself might not know.

He still hadn’t figured out why DeVere let him in on the joke sometimes and kept him in the dark at other times. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop. Maybe if he just surrendered, DeVere would go easier on him.

No, wait. Ohhh, no. That was brainwashed thinking. Jimmy could control Larry’s mind whenever he chose, but whenever he didn’t choose, Larry had to fight.

That was what the caffeine was for. He must have pissed six or seven times that night, but at least he didn’t fall asleep. He just paced in the dark or sat at the desk under the Liz Taylor print, drumming his fingers. Once he tried going into the living room to watch TV, but Jimmy stopped him in the hall and sent him back to his room with a boner. After that, Larry didn’t even dare turn on a light.

But for crying out loud, why was the bathroom okay but the living room off limits? It wasn’t like Larry could escape from either room; DeVere had ears like a bat and apparently never slept. So, was he just trying to make Larry as miserable as possible? No, that didn’t seem right. He could have been a lot harder on Larry, if he’d wanted to, right from the beginning. Remember the pink pants?

None of it made any sense. For all Larry knew, DeVere didn’t even want to kill him...well, permanently, anyway.

Larry hadn’t seen many horror movies as a kid because he’d been a lot more interested in hockey, and he sure as hell wasn’t some kind of Stephen King groupie. Most of what he knew about vampires came from an English class where he’d been assigned to read Dracula but had bought the Cliffs Notes instead. He’d only read one scene from the actual book, and only because the Cliffs Notes made it sound hot: Dracula kept a pack of “brides” in his castle, and they were vampires like him; but they were his slaves, too. They tried to fuck or kill the hero (maybe it was both), but Dracula stepped in and made them stop. Fucking cockblocker had ruined the whole scene for Larry.

Anyway, Jimmy didn’t sleep in a coffin or fear garlic like the vamps in the book; but maybe he did collect, well, not brides but...grooms? Maybe that’s what he had in mind for Larry. Hell, he could have a whole man-harem stashed away somewhere, just hanging around waiting for him to drop by with a tasty snack. If that was the case, Larry just hoped the snack was female. If it was more men-

A horrible new thought occurred to him: DeVere might turn him into a vampire slave and then send him after the rest of the Wolverines. He might turn him against his own teammates!

Larry imagined himself knocking on Frank’s door, or Bud’s, or Paul’s. He’d invite himself in, maybe watch a game and share a few beers—only Larry wouldn’t get drunk because now that he thought about it, Jimmy never got drunk. Frank or Bud, though, would end up passing out. Then Larry would crawl on top of him, straddling his leg and leaning in to breathe the sweat and the salt and that little whiff of blood underneath it all. He’d ease Frank’s collar aside and bend in, his lips drawing wide over strong, sharp canines. Then he’d plunge and suck, plunge and suck, while Frank moaned beneath him. Larry’s cock would stiffen inside his jeans, so he’d pull it out with one hand while he held Frank close with the other-

No, wait, Frank’s hands would be on Larry’s cock, because Frank would be enjoying this just as much as Larry. He’d be begging for it, even though he didn’t know it yet. His blood would pump into Larry’s mouth in a thick, hot flood and their jizz would spurt into a single puddle on Frank’s leg. Then maybe Larry would bend down to-

Suddenly he came to his senses. His jizz was spurting, right into the boxers wadded around his ankles.

Sickened, Larry forced himself to let go of his cock, then pushed away from the desk and stared into the corner of the room. The camera light was off. Wait, now it was on. Now it was off again.

It was winking at him.

“Why are you so out of it today, Larry?” Jimmy looked more concerned than frustrated, even though Larry had just fumbled his fifth throw of the morning. “Didn’t you get any rest last night?”

You know I didn’t, Larry thought, but he literally couldn’t get the words out. All he could say was “no,” even with his back to the cameras. You’d think Jimmy would let him speak freely when he wasn’t being filmed, but maybe that would spoil the game. Whatever it was.

“It must have been all the caffeine you drank last night,” DeVere said, skating literal rings around Larry. “I thought that was a bad idea.”

“So why didn’t you stop me?” Larry was surprised he could say that out loud.

DeVere chuckled. “You’re a grown man, aren’t you, Szymanski? You can do whatever you want.” He closed in tighter, then stopped and slapped Larry’s cheeks between his hands. “Now, listen. For the last two days we’ve had only a few hours of practice because of your ankle. We can’t lose a third day just because you couldn’t sleep, so wake up! I want you on top of your game today.”

The thing in Larry’s head twitched again and suddenly his tiredness vanished. He felt almost grateful. After all, this was the first time DeVere had ever used his control to benefit someone other than himself. Well, someone in addition to himself. The point was that Larry really did benefit. For the rest of that day, he executed every move as flawlessly as DeVere himself.

Sometimes Larry forgot his situation long enough to be proud of himself. He just felt so perfect, so much in control. But every time the thought occurred to him, he remembered the truth: he wasn’t in control; he was under it. And every day seemed to drag him deeper. For fuck’s sake, DeVere hadn’t even made him forget his situation today; Larry had done that all on his own...he thought. How could he be sure anymore?

His cock throbbed again, and he had no idea whether DeVere had made it happen or whether he’d done it on his own.

Just then, another line from the song sprang out at him: “I want to play the game, I want the friction.”

Dammit, just a minute ago that guy had been resisting for all he was worth; now he sounded like he was actually enjoying himself! Why had he caved? And more importantly, was the same thing happening to Larry? That would explain last night’s fantasy. But it was just too soon...wasn’t it? Oh, Larry knew he’d lose in the end no matter what; but he had to keep fighting as long as he could. Even if he did want that friction.

What would it feel like, to have another man’s cock in his ass? Almost unconsciously, Larry glanced down at Jimmy’s crotch. He’d seen it before in all those dreams, so he knew the vampire had a good-sized package. It was cocked to the left and kind of narrow. It might fit all right if-

Larry caught himself and glanced up, horrified. DeVere grinned.

Then the lyrics came barreling in full force:

I wanted freedom Bound and restricted I tried to give you up But I’m addicted

Now that you know I’m trapped Sense of elation You’d never dream of Breaking this fixation

Jimmy lifted his chin as if in agreement.

Larry chugged caffeine at dinner again, staring straight into DeVere’s eyes and silently daring him to do anything about it. He didn’t; he just chattered nonstop about the exhibition, their performance, and all the friends and strangers who’d be in the stands. That was the first time Larry heard most of his teammates were coming. DeVere had sent them invitations and free tickets, and almost all of them had said yes. What the hell?

Maybe the Wolverines just wanted to laugh at their captain; but then again, they’d actually liked DeVere when they met him in Detroit. Maybe they wanted to see him as much as Larry.

Another horrible struck hit him: what if DeVere had already enslaved the rest of the team? He’d only have to bite a few of them himself; once he’d turned them, they’d take care of the others for him. Larry could picture the Wolverines falling like dominos, with himself last in line.

It was a ridiculous idea; but all of his ideas were ridiculous these days, and some of them had turned out to be true.

Jimmy smiled at him and Larry’s stomach fluttered.

After the Life Swappers left, Larry and Jimmy headed to their separate rooms. Larry turned out the light, then settled at the desk just as he had the night before. This time, though, he dropped instantly into sleep.

Larry knew he was asleep because he felt himself rising like a mist, leaving his body at the desk while the rest of him drifted toward the door. He had no hands to turn the knob, but it didn’t matter; he just oozed through the crack between the door and the frame and floated on into the hall.

Jimmy’s door stood open like an invitation.

Larry wasn’t sure how much control he had over his movements, but suddenly he wanted to go into Jimmy’s bedroom. He wanted to see whether the vampire actually slept or not and maybe- hell, he didn’t know. Spy on him?

That didn’t make any sense, but Larry had already drifted through the door, and the half-fearful anticipation of what he’d find drove everything else from his head.

DeVere’s windows were open and light from outside flooded the scene. This wasn’t the murky gold of Larry’s room, though. The moon hung level with Jimmy’s window and painted everything molten silver.

Jimmy lay on his back in bed, one arm across his chest and the other beside him on the pillow. His head was turned slightly away, but Larry could see that his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and regular. Maybe he really did sleep like a human. Huh.

Larry had never seen his captor look so vulnerable. He couldn’t think of anything to do but study him. The moonlight made DeVere’s skin paler and more perfect than ever, and there was just so much of it for Larry to study. DeVere’s sheets were slightly rumpled, pulled down to just below his navel, and it was easy to believe he might be beneath them. His chest was wider than Larry had realized, and every muscle of his torso was beautifully defined.

Jimmy was beautiful, more fully masculine and fully feminine than he’d ever been before. Larry ached to touch that pale, flat chest, to probe the narrow bands of muscle along his ribs. He wanted to see if Jimmy really was nude this time.

No, Larry wanted more than that. Vampire spell or not, right now, he wanted to fuck this man.

Did the thought still frighten him? He didn’t know and didn’t have time to decide because just at that moment DeVere’s eyes opened. He turned and looked right at Larry—not through him, but at him. He knew Larry was there.

At first Jimmy looked surprised, then pleased. Larry’s spectral self quivered with an emotion he couldn’t quite define.

Suddenly Jimmy’s expression changed. “You’re not ready yet,” he sighed. “Go away.”

Larry’s dream self slammed back into his body and he jerked upright. Awake again, he sat at the desk for several minutes, just hugging himself and rocking back and forth. How was he supposed to feel after a dream like that? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to ask DeVere.

By the next morning Larry had decided the dream disgusted him. In fact, he told himself, the only reason he hadn’t remembered how he felt until now was that he had been dreaming. He’d been sleep deprived, too. That had to count for something.

Anyway, Jimmy acted just like he always did, innocent and teasing and just a little bit bossy. Larry would have challenged him if he could, but whenever he thought about it, Jimmy tossed off a command or compliment that turned Larry’s attention right back to his dick.

Larry was used to the commands by now, but the compliments were new. They worried him when he remembered to be worried. His first reaction, whenever Jimmy told him how smooth his position was or how high he’d jumped, was delight at having pleased his teacher. It made his belly quiver and his dick rise, just a little. Then he’d smile to himself for several seconds while the feeling faded.

Eventually he’d recover enough to try ripping Jimmy apart with his eyes.

It never worked, but Larry knew he had to do something. He had to keep fighting, even though he didn’t know why it mattered.

Larry was still fuming when he slid into the Confession Closet that evening. He’d put off his report as long as possible because he couldn’t say what he wanted to say, and he was afraid of what DeVere might make him say. The vamp had already gone upstairs, but that didn’t make any difference. Larry was a slave now. He could travel half the world away and still belong to Jimmy.

The realization terrified him, but it pleased him too. Then it terrified him because it pleased him.

He glared at the camera, trying to will his thoughts through the lens, but it was useless. He couldn’t call for help or beg for mercy or leave any testament at all to the person he used to be. When the old Larry vanished completely, the new Larry wouldn’t care and no one else would even notice.

Well, no one but DeVere.

Larry sat in the Closet for several minutes, grinding his teeth and trying to think of something to say. He knew it was pointless; he could be dead by the end of the week, so what did it matter if he ditched a stupid Confession? Jimmy didn’t care; he hadn’t forced Larry to come here or given him anything to say. And no one else would even know until the editors decrypted the file. Well then, why couldn’t Larry just walk out?

He couldn’t because he’d signed a contract, and as long as he had even a scrap of dignity, he meant to preserve it. Larry’s word was the only thing he could still keep.

At last he told the camera he didn’t have anything to talk about today. Then he slunk out of the Closet and said goodnight to the Life Swappers. This was the first time they weren’t coming upstairs with him. Jimmy had claimed to feel sorry for them, having to haul their gear out of the bus every night and then carry it back down a few minutes later. He’d insisted they take a break tonight, and damned if they hadn’t said okay.

Maybe DeVere had worked his spell on them, too. If so, Larry had even more reason to be afraid. God only knew what Jimmy had in mind for him tonight, if he wouldn’t even let the Life Swappers upstairs.

Larry tried to prepare himself for anything, but there was one possibility he hadn’t thought of: that he’d get a good night’s dreamless sleep. He was so relieved the next day that he could almost taste it. His body felt refreshed and his mind relaxed, especially after three hours passed without a single wisecrack from Jimmy.

Then it occurred to him that Jimmy hadn’t given him any commands or compliments, either.

Larry started to worry. He’d better test his boundaries, he told himself. DeVere was up to something, but maybe this time Larry could find the trap before it sprang on him.

That was how he explained it to himself, anyway. Larry was pretty sure DeVere hadn’t set him free; and if he had. Larry sure as shit wouldn’t worry about it. That was Stockholm syndrome bullshit. Nope, Larry just wanted to steel himself for whatever horrible new trick DeVere was about to play on him.

“Look, Jimmy,” he said as they leaned against one wall of the rink. “What’s going on with you today?”

DeVere looked up at him, his eyes dark and serious. “What do you mean?”

Larry had never seen such a somber expression on the vampire’s face. It scared him a little, but he forced himself to continue. “You’re acting different....Professional.”

Jimmy cocked one eyebrow, but otherwise his face was unchanged. “Are you saying I’ve been unprofessional before?”

Well, he’d teased a lot; but now that Larry thought about it, the closest DeVere had ever come to unprofessionalism (in the rink, anyway) was when Larry dropped him on purpose and he countered by knocking Larry off his feet. “Ummm....”

“Watch what you say, Szymanski,” DeVere warned. He didn’t make it a command, but the calmness of his tone was even scarier than a command. “Words can come back to bite you at the oddest times.”

Larry’s belly iced over. “Sorry, Jimmy,” he said quickly. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.” Just don’t ask me how I did mean it.

Five very loud heartbeats later, Jimmy smiled. “No, I’m sorry. You’re a better man than that, Larry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Let’s just put it behind us.”

Larry was only too happy to agree.

The afternoon passed just as the morning had done. Jimmy only spoke to comment on Larry’s performance and Larry hardly spoke at all. With nothing but music to break the silence (God only knew how tired he was of that song!), Larry’s nerves wound even tighter. It would almost have been a relief—no, it would have been a relief—if Jimmy had fucked with him somehow.

By mid-afternoon, Larry couldn’t take it any longer. He had to say something, even if it was the stupidest thing he could think of. He just had to...chat. “Where are we going for dinner this time?” he asked nervously.

Jimmy shrugged. “I’m not really in the mood to go out tonight.”

Larry studied his face, alert for any sign of menace, but DeVere seemed perfectly at ease. Larry decided to keep going. “How about the belly dancer place? I wouldn’t mind going there again.”

Jimmy glanced at him, one corner of his mouth curving up slightly. “No, I think we’ll just order in tonight. Chinese, maybe.”

Uh oh. There was no way Jimmy DeVere would ever sit around eating Kung Pao Chicken out of a carton. He was up to something, all right.

But it was Kung Pao Chicken, and Mongolian Beef, and stir-fried vegetables that only Jimmy tried. The meal passed as quietly as their practice, and Larry’s anxiety cranked even higher. The longer nothing happened, the more he expected something to happen. His stomach never stopped quivering.

When the last of the food was gone, Jimmy insisted they open their fortune cookies. Larry went first, doing his best not to cringe in advance. This could be It. The fortune could say something like, “You’re a dead man,” or “You belong to me,” or even just “Suck my dick.”

But no, it was nothing like that. Larry sighed as he read aloud: “’You will meet with an unexpected opportunity.’” That could mean anything or nothing, just like every other fortune he’d ever pulled out of a cookie. The trap hadn’t sprung, not yet.

DeVere cracked open his own cookie and smiled. “Funny, mine says almost the same thing: ‘You will meet with an expected opportunity.’”

Resignation settled in Larry’s belly like a weight.