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Belinda McBride - Blacque Bleu
Blacque/Bleu
Belinda McBride Blacque/Bleu Copyright ? October 2010 by Belinda
McBrideAllrightsreserved.Thiscopyisintendedforthepurchaserof
this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced,
scanned,ordistributedinanyprintedorelectronicformwithoutprior
written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or
encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's
rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN 978-1-60737-866-2 Editor: Sandra Rychel Cover Artist: Anne
Cain Printed in the United States of America
Published by Loose Id LLC PO Box 425960 San Francisco CA
94142-5960 www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to ac-
tual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters,
placesandincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor'simagination
or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult lan-
guage and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id
2/376
LLC's e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of
the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files
wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
*** DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, espe-
cially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the
guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its
authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death result-
ing from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Dedication
To my friends, whether you are gay or straight, bent or queer, kinked
or vanilla. You taught me to toss out the labels. You are simply my
friends.
Most particularly:
To CB: You came to me for advice on how to tell your mother. You
honored me.
To JS: You cried before you turned your back on your true self. You
made me cry too. (But I still want your clothes... They're in the
closet...)
3/376
To CH: You not only came out, you managed to capture the prettiest
girl in the department!
To HH: You broke my heart during the last days of your life. I didn't
know you well, but you changed my life.
To J and L: You two still confuse the hell out of me!
Not only is this story for you, this is your story.
Happy tales! Chapter One
Oliver Bleu was locked in paralysis. He could only watch and listen as
the chaos of war swirled around the muddy grave in which he was
trapped. Blisters rose on his skin in spots where the mustard gas had
settled. His lungs closed off and filled with foul, viscous fluid... He
couldn't breathe... A beautiful, hateful face gazed down at him, fangs
distended, cruelty displacing love...
4/376
With a choked cry, he woke from the nightmare, still frozen in place,
but instead of horrified screams and the roar of artillery fire, he heard
the muffled sound of a man's deep voice and the haunting melody of
southern rock on the radio. Lynyrd Skynyrd soothed him with "Free
Bird" as the burns on his face faded and the blisters were absorbed
backintohisskin.Hetookachanceanddrewbreath,pleasedwhenhe
didn't choke.
The dream had released him, but Bleu was still trapped, held immob-
ile by the presence of the sun. His limbs were heavy, and the mattress
under his back felt rough and lumpy. He labored through another
heavy breath and sighed, just for the sake of hearing something other
than the fading sound of battle in his ears.
He didn't have the refined sense of time some vampires possessed. He
only knew the sun was still up and that he was awake and aware,
though weary. He wondered how many more hours it would be until
he could rise and return to the night. He wondered how much longer
hehaduntilfatiguecrippledhimandhestarvedorfellvictimtoabig-
ger, stronger predator.
If he could have laughed, he would have. Oliver Bleu was undoubtedly
the only vampire on the face of the earth who suffered from chronic
insomnia. 2 Belinda McBride
5/376
Resigning himself to the long day ahead, he closed his eyes, focusing
on the sounds of the day outside his resting place.
***
For whatever reason, the muddy, greasy undercarriage of the battered
Studebaker held a lot more appeal to Lukas Blacque than the flashing
lightonhisansweringmachine.He'dlistenedtothevoiceontheother
end of the line and then cranked up the radio before pushing himself
under the car on a rickety old creeper. He knew who was calling. He
simply didn't want to hear what he had to say.
Sincehe'dbeenakid,carshadbeenhissolace.He'dtaggedalongwith
his grandpa to auto shows, and then in high school had escaped from
thedramaofdailylifeintheshelteroftheautoshop.Hisreputationas
a tough had been hard earned even then. It had bought him distance
from the cheerleaders and the jocks who wanted to be his friends. It
hadkepthimsafefromthecuriosityofthekidsinthenewhighschool
in the town he had moved to. He played sports because he loved to,
butdidn'tnecessarilycherishbeingdraggedintothelimelightatevery
pep rally and homecoming dance.
He'd done his duty and gone on to college to earn his business degree.
He'd come home toArcada and surprised everyone bybuying oldman
Foster's garage, located in a small industrial park. Blacque had
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