Chapter Eleven
Brenin figured that many people might think him awfully brave to plunge back into that tunnel after nearly drowning. To his way of thinking, it was Malcolm who’d shown the most courage. He’d let Brenin do it. The price he’d paid emotionally had been written across his face. He’d said nothing, actually, as he’d handed the bolt-cutters over. His handsome face and magnificent body were battered and scarred from his Herculean effort to reach Brenin. If he hadn’t done it, Brenin was pretty sure he would have drowned. It had been that close.
But there was no point in dwelling on it. This time, he made it through. As he hoisted himself onto the ledge around the cistern, he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the place. It was ancient and someone had taken care to add art to something that was functional. The water that dripped down from the roof when it rained ended its journey in a space that pleased the eye. He was likely one of only a few who would ever see it.
He stopped his wool-gathering and pulled out the beacon. Pressing the button was immensely satisfying because he could picture the relief Malcolm felt seeing that Brenin was safe. Well, he’d made it into the castle, at least. Saying that he was safe was a bit of a stretch. The mission was far from over.
He stripped off the dry suit and his underwear. He’d given this part of the plan some thought. If he was going to try to blend into the kitchen staff as one of them, being naked made the most sense. He’d seen very little of those other boys, only those who cleaned the monster’s personal lair. They’d been either naked or wearing short, rough kilts. As hard as it was for him to strip off his clothing and his dignity, it was practical. So was leaving the knife behind. There was nowhere to hide it on his person, and really, he doubted he could use it effectively to fight off any of the guards.
Because the castle’s inhabitants drew from the cistern for all their water needs, the kitchen was right above it. That made sense and worked perfectly into the plans. He found an ancient stone staircase leading up. It was dusty and full of cobwebs. He powered through his natural disgust for all of it and eventually reached a point at which he gauged he’d gone up an entire floor level. Slowing his steps, he creeped around the last curve until he found himself in front of a door.
It had rusty hinges and a latch handle, testament to its age and disuse. Of course, the water was drawn through pipes. There was no need for anyone to actually go down to the cistern. Nevertheless, he had no way of knowing whether he’d walk directly into the kitchen or somewhere more remote. He pressed his ear to the door and, hearing nothing, went ahead and pulled on the latch.
He winced at the squeak it made and opened it only so much as needed to slip through. He found himself in darkness but, of course, he had left the torch with the knife. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was a storage room and, beyond that, he found a hallway that lead to the kitchen.
His heart beat double time and his palms went clammy. This was it. Either he succeeded in going out into the back courtyard unimpeded or the slaves milling about would all stop, point their fingers at him and screech out a warning.
Okay, he was being silly. This wasn’t a remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. If he kept his head bowed, likely none of them would recognize him. He’d been face-down in the monster’s crotch or on the bed any time they’d come into the room. Few, if any, of the guards had seen him, either. Even if he were recognized, the worst that would happen was he’d be dragged up to Dracul. If that was the outcome, he was already prepared to confess he’d been hiding inside the castle all along. Malcolm and the others would find another way in. He had to have faith in that.
Hunching his shoulders, he bent over, picked up some random nearby bag and shuffled into the kitchen. Being night, there were only a couple of boys about. One was on his knees servicing a guard, so neither of them paid any attention. Brenin could feel the other boy’s gaze on him for a few seconds, but it came to nothing. He was able to go straight to the back door, open it and step outside.
He scanned the area before heading to the spot Malcolm had shown him where the surveillance camera was stationed. He could see it easily enough once he’d arrived, so he had no trouble blocking it with his body. Whatever guard manned the security room would see only a dumb human fussing with a bag. Brenin made sure, as well, to place his privates in the frame of the camera in the hope of being a distraction. It sickened him to do it, but nothing compared to keeping Malcolm safe.
A couple of flashes in the corner of his eye told him that his lover and Val had entered the kitchen. Now, Brenin just had to wait until the others confirmed the coast was clear. It didn’t take long. They emerged from the woods. Dropping the bag, Brenin joined them. He had to blink back tears of relief when he entered the kitchen and saw Malcolm taping one of the boys’ mouths shut. The other was already rendered mute and they both had their hands zip-tied behind their back. An empty pile of clothing and a bit of dust lay where the guard had only recently been feeding his dick to one of the slaves.
While Quinn and the other boys went to soothe and guide the humans into one corner, Brenin went to his man. Malcolm greeted him with a quick kiss and a broad smile.
“I’m that proud of you, Brenin, my lad. The rest is up to me and the others. You stay put at the spot we’ve delegated. No place is safe, but at least it’s out of the way of every exit. Under no circumstances are you to confront anyone. Understand?”
“Aye.” He gave him a cheeky grin.
“Good lad. And here… Put this on. You’ve been awfully brave running around in your altogether. This will keep you warm.”
Malcolm had pulled out Benin’s clothing, except he also had a kilt in his hands. It was just like the one he was wearing, except smaller. He handed it to Brenin with an unusual uncertainty in his eyes. “I’d intended to give this to you when this was over. Now seems a better time.”
“I’ll be proud to wear it,” Brenin said, conveying, he hoped, all of his love and respect for the man and understanding how momentous it was to wear someone’s plaid.
“Right, then,” Malcolm said with a nod. “Let’s finish this.”
* * * *
“It won’t be long now. The brat will be born, the slut will die and your father’s cooperation will no longer be necessary. Then you’ll be all mine. Dracul has promised.”
Demi rammed his elbow into Kronid’s gut, smiling in satisfaction when the guy grunted. His bravado didn’t last long, however. Kronid grabbed Demi by the hair and yanked his head back.
“You’ll need disciplining. I look forward to that, too, cunt.” The asshole clamped his teeth around Demi’s earlobe and scraped.
“Demi!” His father’s voice rang out over Dafydd’s pitiful moaning. “I need you here. Now!”
Kronid had no choice but to release him and Demi wasn’t embarrassed to flee to the relative safety of his father’s side. He trembled as fear threatened to overtake his optimism. Dafydd’s time had come and yet rescue hadn’t. It wasn’t worry about himself that was overwhelming him, so much as the sure knowledge that, even if Dracul intended to keep Demi’s father alive, the moment Demi was thrown to Kronid for his amusement, Papa would die trying to stop it.
Oh, God, how can I face that loss? What would he say to his human father when they were reunited? He must be able to stop this horror from happening. His strength and cunning should be useful to him finally, but they weren’t. He had no idea what to do and the impotence of his situation caused tears to leak down his face. He wiped at them, hating this human show of weakness.
His father gathered him close. “Take heart and stay out of his way. This is going to get ugly. I want you to sit here by the window. I need to know you are within reach if I’m going to manage. Understand?”
Demi nodded and did as his father had asked. He fought to bring himself under control and all the while he couldn’t help asking, Trey, where are you?
* * * *
“Stay here until I secure the room.” Trey breathed the order into Paz’s ear, keeping his voice as low as possible. He knew enough about these aliens to worry that the thick wood of the door and the stone walls wouldn’t be able to hide his words from whoever was inside.
He used his free arm to press the doctor to one side in case his meaning hadn’t been clear and he studied the latch as he did so. It was the same kind of old iron one that he’d seen on other doors. There was no visible lock, which meant either it would open or it was bolted on the inside. Malcolm’s surveillance had determined that there were two full-blooded aliens inside. That was assuming nothing had changed in the last couple of hours. Odds were that one was Harry and, while logic had always dictated that the doctor had been abducted to deliver Dracul’s son, any indication that Harry was still alive eased Trey’s worry. Those alien heat signatures along with one ‘changed’ human and one hybrid told him that he had only one of Dracul’s goons to deal with—and also that Demi was still alive. That belief was what had given Trey the courage to enter into this alien’s lair and lead Paz up the incredibly creepy staircase to the tower room. It was as if every horror movie he’d ever seen had come to life.
He prayed, as well, that the one guard was too confident in the castle’s security to have bothered to lock himself in with his captives. There was one way to find out for sure. If he got it wrong, it put Demi and the others at risk—greater than what they were in already. God. If he allowed himself to think of the boy, he’d never be able to act. His fear would paralyze him. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Demi was counting on him. Everyone was and he’d begged to be brought along with the promise of being a help, not a hindrance. He needed to call on every ounce of training he possessed.
Without allowing another single thought, he lifted the latch and threw himself into the room with his gun drawn. At least three startled faces turned in his direction. He focused on only one. Dracul’s man reached for a pistol on his belt, but Trey was already firing his own. That had been his plan from the beginning—find and kill. He did it without hesitation, double pops straight to the alien’s chest, then he swept the room for more hostiles as the guy shattered into dust.
Fortunately the space was small, dominated by a four-poster bed on which a hugely pregnant young man lay. One of his hands was chained and he writhed in obvious pain. Harry stood on the far side, smiling at Trey. And Demi—thank God—was sitting on the edge of a nearby window, staring at him with wide eyes.
Trey stepped inside, waving at Paz. “It’s clear. Come on.”
He shut the door behind the doctor and now he did bolt it to keep others out. In the movies, silencers made gunshots sound like quiet pops. The reality was that they still made one hell of a loud sound. He couldn’t afford to have any of Dracul’s men come storming in. Fortunately, the lock might have been simple, but it looked sturdy. That was good given that, other than the bed, there was nothing big and heavy in the room he could slide over to block the door.
He shouldered his weapon as he turned. “We stick tight until the fight is over. Humph!” He staggered as Demi flew into him and hugged him so hard Trey worried the boy would crack one of his ribs.
“I knew you’d come,” Demi said, his voice muffled against Trey’s shirt.
He allowed himself a moment of pure selfishness. Wrapping his arm around the boy, he returned the hold and took deep, calming breaths. Demi is alive. Whatever else had happened, the boy was here, standing, sufficiently unharmed to run to him and clutch him as if he’d never let go. He gave them both a few guilt-free seconds to revel in the depth of their clearly mutual affection. He knew in those few moments that whatever hope he’d harbored of resisting the allure of this half-alien boy, who was somehow too young and too old for him at the same time, was gone. Someday, somehow, Demi would be his and God help him.
Paz’s incredulous question broke the spell. Reluctantly, Trey disentangled himself from Demi, although he couldn’t quite let go of the boy entirely yet. He looked at Harry. “This is Dracul’s, um…husband, right?”
Harry grimaced. “This is his slave, the forced incubator for his next son, yes. Dafydd.”
At that moment, the pregnant boy lifted his sweaty head and cried out. The chain attached to his wrist rattled. Paz swore and rushed forward. He put his medical bag on the floor and held Dafydd by the shoulders as pain clearly caused them to shake.
“Easy, now. I’ve got you. You’re going to be fine.”
Dafydd lifted his pinched face. “I’m going to die!”
“No, sir,” Paz replied vehemently. “Not on my watch.” He stared back at Trey. “Can you get this manacle off him? Jesus, like this isn’t difficult enough as it is.”
Trey nodded and tossed Demi a quick, reassuring smile as he let go of the boy and stepped up to the bed. “I can help there, yeah.” He had his lock-picking tools with him and it took nothing to free the Welsh boy’s reddened wrist.
As soon as he was free, Dafydd clutched at his swollen belly with both hands. There were no bedcovers to speak of except a balled-up blanket on the floor, so his unnatural body was on full display. It was fascinating in a kind of bizarre way, except Trey had to appreciate the process because that was how Demi had come into the world.
Paz whipped off his jacket and folded it up, then placed it behind Dafydd’s head as he helped the boy lie down again. “What’s the plan here, Dr. Stelalux?” He glanced at Harry while he rolled up his sleeves.
“Harry will do and there is only one thing for it now. The baby needs to come out.”
“Right.” Paz nodded once. “C-section. You know how to get it done?”
“Yes, Demi is proof that I can perform it successfully, except I don’t have what I need, I’m afraid.”
“What?” Paz craned his neck around the room. “Is there an operating theater somewhere in the castle that we need to get to because there’s shit-all in here?” He shook his head. “Sorry, stupid question. This is it, but where’s the anesthesia, the plasma and blood supply?”
Dafydd let out a bitter laugh. “You think I’m supposed to survive this? My life is forfeit. It’s the baby you’re going to save, if you want Dracul to unleash another monster on this world.”
Paz cringed, then his eyes went wide. “What?”
“It’s true,” Harry confirmed. “Dracul brought me here only to save his son. He doesn’t want Dafydd to live.”
“Yeah?” Paz’s lips thinned. “Well, tough shit, because he’s going to.” He scooped up his bag and placed it on the side of the bed. “First things first.”
Trey knew that, with the aid of Doc McPhee, Paz had packed a lot of emergency medical supplies for any wounded that might need his help. The man loaded up a syringe and held it over Dafydd.
“Sir, is there any reason you know of why I can’t give you a shot of morphine?”
When Dafydd looked up at him with wide eyes and shook his head, Paz quickly swiped an injection site on the boy’s naked flank. The doctor administered the shot and the effect was immediate. The Welshman’s face relaxed and, in that moment, Trey could truly appreciate his ethereal beauty.
“There,” Paz said, putting the syringe away. “That should buy us time. I’m type O negative, so I can act as a blood donor. We’ll do a direct transfusion. It will be tricky, but if you can act quickly, I should be able to handle giving him enough to cover his blood loss.”
“No, that won’t work,” Harry replied. “He’s changed. Your purely human blood won’t sustain him. His body at best will find it unnourishing and it could even kill him when introduced directly into his vein instead of through his digestive system.”
Paz paused in his process of pulling all manner of tubes and needles from his bag. “Damn it. Then who can donate?”
“Me.” Harry’s shirtsleeves were already rolled up.
Paz shook his head. “Oh, no. It can’t be you because I can’t do the C-section. I mean, sure, I did one once in my obstetrics rotation, but that was on a woman. I have no idea how to perform one in a situation like this.”
A visible shudder ran through Harry. “It is very tricky, that’s true. We have little choice, however, if we are to save Dafydd as well as the child.”
Dafydd giggled eerily, the drug making him unnaturally happy. “Let me die. I’m ready.”
“We’ve already covered that, sir,” Paz ground out. “You are not dying.” It was amazing, really, how well the doctor was keeping his shit together in the situation. He looked at Harry. “What’s Plan B?”
Trey felt like collapsing in the corner and sucking his thumb and he’d had months to acclimate to the weirdness of these aliens’ goings-on.
“There is no other source of blood that Dafydd can tolerate,” Harry was saying, “except…”
Aw shit!
“Mine,” Demi said, going over to his father. “I can be the blood source, can’t I?”
“Yes,” his father agreed with a weariness that conveyed how much he loathed the idea. “But it’s dangerous. You might lose too much.” He placed his hand on his son’s cheek. “I can’t risk your dying.”
“Don’t!” Dafydd called out, even as his body twisted with his muted labor pains. “Don’t risk your life for me, Demi. That’s more kindness than I deserve. We’ve talked about this, remember? I don’t want to live.”
“I have to! And so do you.” The boy didn’t wait for a response. Tearing off his shirt, he crawled onto the bed and lay down next to the Welsh boy. “I want to do this, Papa. Please, I know you can syphon my blood without killing me. I trust you.” He held up his arm. “You need the radial artery, right?”
“You have been reading up on those medical sites, haven’t you?” Harry sighed. “We’ll have to be quick about this. I’ll need you to both assist in the operation and take care of the babe once he’s out,” he added to Paz.
“Understood.” Paz wasted no time prepping first Demi’s wrist then Dafydd’s inner elbow for the transfusion.
Harry reached inside Paz’s bag and took out a bottle of clear fluid. He squeezed some into his palm and started wiping his hands together. Trey stood around like the fifth wheel that he was, watching Demi lie there with a determined look on his too-young face. I can’t risk your dying, Harry had said. Yeah, well, neither could he. He tugged off his jacket and tossed it on the floor.
“Harry, how about I feed Demi during the transfusion? I mean, he can drink blood from my vein, right? Wouldn’t that help him replenish what he’s losing, even if it’s a little bit?”
The older alien looked over his shoulder. His gaze narrowed for a few uncomfortable moments before he smiled. “Yes, he can and it would. It’s an excellent idea. Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Wait, what?” Demi started to sit up. Paz pushed him back down none too gently. Demi shook his head at Trey as he climbed up beside him. “You shouldn’t. I’ve never fed from a living source. I might take too much.”
Trey ran a finger down the boy’s cheek, pushing aside a few strands of hair. “I trust you,” he said, throwing the boy’s words back at him.
With his heart suddenly racing, he brought his wrist over Demi’s mouth, turning it to expose the inside. He kept his gaze firmly on the boy’s eyes and smiled in encouragement. He focused his attention on the pretty violet pupils, the one thing in particular that told him this wasn’t a mere human. Then Demi parted his rosy lips and bright, white fangs twinkled. The sight of them made Trey’s heartbeat stumble, but he swallowed down his fear.
All around him there was a flurry of activity as Paz set up the transfusion and Harry prepped Dafydd for the surgery as best he could with what little he had. Still, Trey kept his attention on Demi, willing him to do the same in reverse and not look at how the dicey efforts were playing out. There was only a minor wince in the boy’s eyes as the needle went into his wrist and Trey resolved to be as strong when it was his turn.
“Now, if you please, Duncan.” Harry’s calm voice made it easy to comply.
Trey moved his wrist closer to Demi’s mouth, right against those fangs. He held back a yelp and a grimace as pain lanced through the tight skin. Then, an exquisite feeling stole over him. He was both calm and—dear, sweet baby Jesus—aroused. The rhythmic tugging at his vein, the look of pleasure clouding Demi’s eyes, was like a spark to Trey’s dick. He went instantly, embarrassingly and alarmingly hard.
The beat of his heart pounded loudly in his ears, muting everything around him. The sounds of Harry and Paz racing through the operation barely registered. Through the haze of his arousal, he caught sight of a splash of red. He smelled the metallic scent of blood, but it was nothing compared to the heady aroma of Demi. They were linked in a beautiful and disturbing way that would have scared the crap out of him if he hadn’t been so completely lost in the suddenly inky blackness of Demi’s eyes.
In those few minutes as Demi drank his blood, Trey knew he was completely fucked. Strangely, he wasn’t worried in the least.
There was the angry cry of a newborn yanked from the quiet safety of his womb-home. The startling sound pulled him from his trance. Trey looked away from Demi to see Paz carry the squalling, bloody boy over to a small table covered in towels and other baby stuff. Dracul had at least provided something for his son’s birth.
Dafydd lay limp, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, Trey feared he was dead, until his hand twitched. Harry stood between the boy’s spread legs, working furiously. Trey cringed and blinked as the man extracted something that looked like an eggplant covered in gore. Harry tossed it on the floor before grabbing a medical stapler. His fingers were a blur after that, as he closed Dafydd’s body.
A wave of dizziness forced Trey to close his eyes. “Shit,” he croaked out. “Think I’m going to…”
“Demi, let go. Now!” Harry barked out.
The connection to the boy broke, as Demi retracted his fangs then lapped at Trey’s wrist. Trey missed the contact, even as he was relieved at getting control back over his body. Something landed on his stomach. He clutched at it instinctively, even as he popped open his eyes.
“Take care of him while I end the transfusion.” The order came from Paz and the ‘him’ was the baby.
Dracul’s son mewled and squirmed and rubbed his tiny fists against his face like any other baby would. It was impossible not to instantly want to take care of him. Trey placed both of his hands on the bundle and patted him gently.
“Hey, kid, welcome to the world.”
A split-second later, he realized to whom he was talking. His discussion days ago with Paz came to the fore. The doctor had been adamant about saving this child. Now, he had to consider that taking care of this baby wasn’t necessarily the best thing for Earth and humanity. It was as if he were in the moral dilemma of holding a newborn Hitler. Except, no, it wasn’t like that at all. This little boy was another Demi, a hybrid that could be raised to be either good or evil. Hopefully Dracul was already dead, but regardless, he wasn’t ever going to get his hand on this son to twist as he had the other two.
“It is done,” Harry said, wiping his hands as best he could on a small towel. “With the right care, Dafydd will be fine and I’ve given him a hysterectomy the way I did my dear Lucien. He will never have to bear any more children.”
Trey sat up gingerly, clutching the baby to his chest. “Is that what he wanted?”
“He wanted to die, but yes, he was clear on not wanting to do this ever again. Now, he won’t have to. The transformation happens only once. Without the uterus he grew in his youth, he will be unable to breed more sons for any of our kind.”
Paz came over and shook out a large towel. “Here. This isn’t much but it’s clean, unlike the blanket, and will cover him a little while we carry him out of here. Let’s pack up the formula over there so that we can feed his son. I doubt Dafydd will be in any condition to do so.” He frowned. “Can he lactate?”
“Of course,” Harry replied, gathering up what he could and stuffing it into Paz’s bag. “But he won’t nurse the baby, I’m sure. He doesn’t want this child. He made that very clear as well.”
Dafydd said nothing on his own behalf. With his eyes closed and his body lax, he was obviously unconscious. That reminded Trey of Demi. He refocused his gaze on Demi and saw him awake, yet sleepy-looking.
“You okay, kid?”
Demi gave him a tired smile. “I’m fine. You taste…sweet,” he added.
Trey rolled his eyes. He knew nonsense when he heard it. Blood was salty. “Is he telling me the truth?” he asked the boy’s father. “About his condition, I mean,” he clarified.
Harry nodded. “He is, but he’s also weak. He’s going to need to be carried.”
“I can walk,” Demi protested, rising. His body betrayed him, however, when he slumped back down.
Trey stood on slightly weakened legs. “Here,” he said, thrusting the baby at Harry. “You take this one and I’ll get Demi.”
Harry opened his mouth then shut it again. Nodding, he took the baby. Trey had just started to gather Demi into his arms when a pounding on the door had him reaching for his weapon.
“Duncan? It’s Val. Open up. Time to book out of here.”