He had surrendered. After clinging to the one thing he vowed never to give up, Vincent yielded to a First Born and had promised to give him not just his humanity but his soul. His pride. Everything.
No return to your former life.
Vincent had known the old him would never exist as he’d once done. He’d understood that upon entering the sponsorship program he would sign away his rights as a human being. But to a vampire? Even with this group dangling at the creature’s fingertips? That, he had vowed not to.
Now he’d yielded, there was no going back. He had two small puncture wounds to prove that. Dumb bitch that she was, the she-vamp had only grazed him.
However Maddox arranged it, he had altered Vincent’s room again. By the time he was blindfolded and returned to his room, gone were ghastly slithers of human necessities. Now, he had a bed again, an en suite, clothes, even a vase full of flowers and a flat screen television.
A TV while the real world, beyond the so-called Sanctuary Cities, scraped through the rubble to survive? The thought of touching the appliance set his teeth on edge. The channels were undoubtedly linked to the City Council anyway, and seeing their smug faces was the last thing he wanted.
Vincent had taken a shower instead and forced himself to get some rest. His bones ached like he had been put on a medieval rack used to stretch him limb from him. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of Emory on that stage, and the pain merely intensified.
Emory, Violet, Joe…
How long had Maddox imprisoned his nephew? And more to the fucking point, did he release his nephew and sister once he’d submitted?
That was why he’d surrendered—to free them.
His quality of life changed for the better whenever he pleased Maddox, and of course his yielding had pleased him greatly, which was why his room had been refurbished. But he didn’t give a shit about how he was treated, just that his group were safe and happy, given a skill, a purpose, a future. A life.
Maddox had claimed to him that he feasted only on convicts—on people who were beyond redemption within Sanctuary Hope.
Why, then, had he captured an innocent boy and threatened to destroy him?
The answer snaked around Vincent’s throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. He lay in utter darkness, gasping, agonizing over what had happened in the dungeon, to Violet and his brother-in-law.
It was all to teach me a goddamn lesson, that’s why.
Vincent pushed out of the bed and stumbled into the en suite. His groped for the shower, turned the dial on full heat and, with his chest already exposed and his pyjama pants on, he collapsed onto his hands and knees and vomited. The water gushed down his heaving shoulders, turning his skin raw with pain, but he stayed there, choking, cursing, and praying that what remained of his group were safe.
It was because of him they had been jeopardized in the first place. His brother-in-law stabbed to death, his sister widowed and imprisoned, Abraham escaped (but for how long?), and Emory nearly raped in front of his own eyes.
He daren’t envision the latter. Having been chained himself, he would not have been able to save Emory.
He couldn’t go on like this. So what if the cocksucking vampire wanted to stick his dick down Vincent’s throat, or if Asher had Vincent groomed every week like a kept woman? If he could prevent the last few nights from ever recurring, he’d fuck the vampire’s brains out if he had to. He could no longer cling to what was left of his pride. It had as good as eroded him.
He’d been blind, selfish, thinking a First Born would yield to his demands. That he would settle for less than what Vincent knew he wanted—a sex slave. No, his skills and expertise would not be regarded beyond that of a wet mouth and asshole. Maddox Caine had no desire for a warrior. He wanted someone to feed on and endure his perverse fantasies—period.
Vincent was as good as the convicts who’d been trapped in the menagerie.
The scalding, hot water burned him a new layer of skin. When he rose from the slippery floor and stood tall in front of the mirror, his back was covered in red streaks. He grabbed a towel from the railing and slung it over his shoulders. Even those were better than the crispy shit he’d been given before.
He hadn’t fully entered his room when he noticed the lights had been switched on. Was it dawn already? With no windows to the room, Vincent could usually only hazard a guess.
The prospect of eating his breakfast flipped his stomach, though. He’d be lucky if he managed to swallow a bite.
Yuri was beside his bed, carrying a tray of bacon stacked on a pile of pancakes, with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a side of maple syrup, and a solitary white rose swimming in a tall vase. A stark change to his porridge.
He watched Yuri place the tray on the bottom of his bed, and an unexpected guilt lurched in his gut. Had Yuri been reprimanded for his negligence when Vincent freed those convicts and practically killed three innocent people?
“Your name’s Yuri, right?”
The boy hesitated, then gave a quick nod.
“I’m sorry if I caused you any shit before. I thought those people were innocents, folk like you and me.”
His reasoning sounded silly when he said it out loud to another human being. As if people would willingly enter a sponsorship program when their sponsors caged them like rats.
“It’s…it’s okay. My sponsor understood. I’m not as strong as you.”
A smirk played on Vincent’s lips. A little bit of training and he was sure he could beef the boy up.
“What kind of shit do they feed you for breakfast, anyways?”
He chewed on his lip for a minute, his almond eyes thoughtful. “Porridge.”
His group had survived on that shit for the best part of six years. The watered-down piss wasn’t what it used to be either, before the economy turned to shit. Hope hadn’t improved the substance much. Bland, shit, and bland.
“What else?” he probed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the en suite door. His back sizzled against the towel.
Yuri’s dark gaze bore into him, unblinking. “Porridge.”
Yikes. Who knew how long the poor kid had been used to eating that garbage.
“Eat those pancakes, boy. I don’t need them.”
He doubted he’d be able to keep them down anyway. And he hated to waste food—especially when so many were without it. There was also something about the boy’s quiet demeanor that reminded him of Noah.
“Go on,” he said, nudging his chin to the tray. “There ain’t any cameras in here, and my stomach’s not what it used to be.” Too many years accustomed to rations, either sent by Cadmus or scavenged from the abandoned cities. “It’ll just go to waste, kid.”
Yuri’s charcoal eyes glistened, and he practically drooled over the plate. “Well… Perhaps I could eat just one.”
“Eat them all. I don’t give a shit.”
As pathetic as it sounded, he craved company. To be with someone who wasn’t trying to break his spirit into a million little pieces.
An unexpected giddy feeling coursed through him when Yuri sat on the edge of his bed. He began to nibble the first piece of bacon, his eyes darting around the room.
“So… You gonna tell me who your sponsor is yet?”
Yuri gave a shake of his head and thick black hair swayed over his eyes. He tore off a section of the pancake and crammed it into his mouth. The effort made Vincent smile. Noah would do that, too—eat instead of talk.
“Why are you so scared of me? I ain’t gonna hurt you. Hell, we’re practically on the same side.”
“I’m not scared of you.” He glanced up from the pancakes, and a defiant look crossed his features. “It’s just… I told you I’m not allowed to tell you.”
“Then why on earth did you enter the program? You’re just a damn kid.”
Yuri swallowed. Hard. A blush of pink tickled his porcelain cheeks. “My mother, she…”
He waited for Yuri to continue, but for several seconds, the boy didn’t appear eager to.
“What happened to her?” Vincent asked, surprisingly gently.
“N-nothing happened. She, uhhh, just wanted new shoes, I guess. And some kind of handbag. It was three years ago now.”
“She wanted what?” He hoped to fuck he’d misheard the boy. “You mean to tell me your mother made you volunteer because she was a materialistic sonovabitch piece of shit?”
He recalled what Asher had said about people entering the program for luxuries. It wasn’t uncommon. But he hadn’t—Gods, he was such a fool—expected parents to sacrifice their own children. There were those out there who’d give anything to see their kids again—Vincent included.
“What about you?” Yuri asked, chomping more of the pancake. He’d already gotten through half of them.
Good boy.
“They say you’re a Dusk Hunter. Is that really true? I’ve never met one before.”
Vincent sighed and relaxed his arms. “I was a Dusk Hunter, kid. That life was taken from me.” He swallowed his contempt and focused on the boy. “I entered this shithole to save the rest of my hunting group.”
Yuri’s eyes widened. “You mean, there’s more of you here?”
“‘Course there is. At least…at least two of them, now.”
Well, he’d been told they were there. He wouldn’t know for certain until he laid eyes on them. Violet could still be locked up for all he knew.
“Awesome.” Yuri took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Oh, my gosh! Do you remember that TV show Midnight Stakes?”
He suppressed a groan. How could he possibly forget? The program had aired for two years prior to the Collapse and it hadn’t been about food. The famous American Daredevil, Logan Chain, who’d become a senior Dusk Hunter and slew vampires on live television. He’d become a mascot of sorts, then a laughing stock among hunters when he tripped on a can of soda and nearly crushed his skull in a public toilet while chasing a vamp. There was no telling if he’d survived the Collapse or not. With that kind of incident happening on national television, Vincent doubted it.
“How old are you, kid?”
“I know I don’t look it,” Yuri said over a mouthful, “but I’m twenty-five.”
“You mean twelve,” Vincent corrected, rolling his eyes.
Why does it feel so fucking good talking to another human being? I almost don’t want the kid to go away.
Yuri smiled and stood from the bed. “The kitchen’s probably waiting on me. I should go.”
“Yeah.” Vincent eyed the door, then the plate. Yuri had eaten every damn scrap of pancake, including the crumbs of bacon. “See you at lunch, kid. What you bringing me this time?”
Turning at the door, Yuri replied, “Maddox hired a new chef for you. He says lunch will be a big surprise.”
Vincent said nothing. He watched Yuri go, and the door locked with a soft click, leaving him, once again, on his own. Water dripped down his hair and onto his exposed chest, splashing against the red streaks on his skin. His striped pajama pants were plastered to him, damp from his shower. When he removed the towel from his back, he hissed at the material rubbing the burn marks. It was an almost pleasurable sensation. Pain he so deeply deserved.
The door opened again and Vincent expected to see Yuri or Ezra.
Vincent’s stomach flipped, his body freezing like a deer caught in the headlights.
Maddox eclipsed the doorway, dressed in a pair of knee-length, leather boots, tight leather pants, and a half-unbuttoned white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and parts of his chest and arms shone in the lights.
Vincent waited for him to speak, to say something, but Maddox just stood there, staring at him. Had he displeased his ‘Master’ by talking to another human being? Was he not allowed to speak unless Maddox had permitted him to?
Maddox’s eyes moved over Vincent’s body. He lingered at the towel sprawled on the floor. In a mere heartbeat, he shifted to Vincent’s side, kicked away the towel, and paused.
Unsettling nausea gathered into Vincent’s stomach. He was glad he hadn’t eaten the pancakes, knowing full well, at that moment, he would have spewed.
He wondered what Maddox would say about his self-harming. Probably return his shit basin and take another piss on his quality of life.
“Your sister and nephew have been freed.” Maddox’s voice trickled down Vincent’s body, cooling his blistering flesh.
The statement had him second-guessing himself. So Maddox could keep his word, after all? He wanted to believe it so, so badly, but he knew better.
“I had their memories of everything erased, and they have been returned to their home safely. Next week, Emory will begin college.”
Vincent’s legs trembled, and his breath caught in his throat. “Th-thank you… Sir.”
Gods, he wanted to collapse at the prospect of Emory actually being spared. At least his submission had achieved him something.
“And… Joe? What about my sister?”
“Your sister has no memory of her late husband. It was for the best.”
Vincent closed his eyes. Was no memory at all better than an inability to grieve? Would he really want to forget Bella and his children instead of honoring their memory, no matter how painful it could be?
“I do not wish to harm you, Vincent.” Cool, gloved fingertips slithered down Vincent’s back, gently prodding at the burn marks. “I certainly do not wish to see you harm yourself. You belong to me. You said so yourself last night. I have no desire to see my belongings tarnished.”
Maddox’s fingers retraced up Vincent’s spine, then he rested a palm on the burns. Ice spread into Vincent’s veins, cooling his flesh and sending an almost pleasurable spark through him. His cock ring, hidden underneath his soaked pants, vibrated up his dick. He stifled a moan and punctured his teeth into his bottom lip. Shit!
“I have never lied to you.” Another stroke, another wave of ice-cold pleasure. “I sought your submission, yes, but never did I wish to blackmail you. You brought that on yourself and you know that.”
He curled his hand around Vincent’s neck and squeezed—not painfully, as he had grown accustomed to—and brushed a thumb over the puncture wounds.
Vincent winced at the touch, but it hadn’t been because of any pain.
It was Maddox’s caress.
Time stood still, making Vincent aware of only his rapid heartbeat and Maddox’s cold touch.
Then he tightened his grip and pushed Vincent to the wall in one fell sweep, claiming his lips with an unyielding passion that suffocated him. He clawed at the vampire’s skin, kicked and flailed and cursed and punched his resistance, but Maddox’s unforgiving hold dragged out the moans he’d been long suppressing. Their bodies collided against the furniture, twisting and yanking at each other’s limbs in a play for dominance. A battle that neither wanted to lose.
Maddox latched on to Vincent’s neck, and he seized the vampire’s hair, dragging his fingers through the locks as though clinging for life above a callous sea.
If this was to be his life now, then he would go down with one hell of a fight.
His master fought him, too. It was the first time he had ever witnessed Maddox breathless. The first time he had felt his touch, heard his growls and hissing, his cock pressed on his thigh. And the worst fucking part of all? At that precise moment, Vincent wanted that contact. He wanted to be touched so badly that he sobbed into the vampire’s mouth, struggled beneath his stony chest, before he succumbed to that merciless touch.
They fought for dominance.
They fought for freedom.
They lost to an inexplicable lust that snatched away reason.
He shouldn’t want this. He was a goddamn slave, not a willing participant. He still had a wife.
“L-let me fucking go…”
He shoved Maddox from him, but the vampire pinned his arms over his head and pushed him toward the door. Their eyes burned into each other like molten lava, bubbling in a depthless volcano.
What does this bloodsucker want from me?
“Even when you do not want me to let go?” He rubbed a thigh against Vincent’s bulge, and Gods, he was rock fucking hard. “I once saw in those eyes a longing to destroy me. Now I see desire.”
You’re wrong.
“Hunger.”
A goddamn liar!
“Need.”
Remember who you are, Vincent, and what this creature is!
“Cling to those for me. I want you to own them, Vincent, for they may just save your life.”
The vampire crushed his mouth to his, and all Vincent could do was lay at Maddox’s mercy and never again see the light of day.
When Maddox pulled away, his leg pressed on Vincent, his pale features were unnaturally flushed.
How could a creature that was dead possibly flush? It was scientifically impossible.
“Tell me, Vincent. Has a man ever fucked you before?”
The word man screeched in Vincent’s throat, like a car slamming to a halt.
Did Maddox really care if Vincent swung that way or not? If he planned on fucking him, Maddox would take what he wanted.
Because Vincent had submitted.
“I assume that is a no,” he said, applying pressure to Vincent’s bulge.
“Of course… Of course it’s a fucking no. Get the hell off me.” The lines between Vincent’s eyebrows returned, and he dipped out of Maddox’s hold. “I ain’t ever batted for that team ‘cause I’m not gay.”
“Oh really now?”
“I have…I had a wife,” he added, almost desperately. “She was all woman. Tits, pussy, the full shebang, all right.”
Maddox’s stupid-as-fuck countenance said otherwise. His eyes knitted on Vincent; he peeled off a glove and exposed a large, sapphire ring on his left index finger. When he pressed his lips to the jewel, the cock ring chained to Vincent vibrated into life. A bolt of pleasure shot up his shaft.
Mmmm-motherfucker! So that’s how you do it, huh?
He tried to keep his face neutral, but the sensations swiftly intensified, and the jewel turned crimson.
He stifled a moan, closed his eyes, and punched the wall. The groan poured out from his lips nonetheless. He dropped to his knees and cursed through gritted teeth.
What did it matter what he’d once had?
This was his life now. He had to accept that or else he and his group were fucked.
“Oh, my. It seems I am intruding on something very…interesting.”
Maddox turned toward the sultry, female voice, as did Vincent eventually. Through the anger obscuring his vision, he saw a petite blonde with shocking white hair and equally snowy riding clothes on, leaning against the entrance, a sneering grin slapped onto her face.
“Hello, Father. Is this your little Dusk Hunter mongrel? I must say I’m disappointed.”