Chapter One
Dracul’s Castle, 2018
Adhering stubbornly to the traditional highlander ways had its drawbacks. Malcolm MacLerie pondered that point as he knelt in the wet snow surrounding Dracul’s castle. His bare knees had gone numb, but that was the worst of it. His belted plaid did well enough for the rest of his body, and he wasn’t so stupid as to go without thick socks and high leather boots. Some nice, modern boxer-briefs kept the ‘boys’ snug, because, while tradition had its place, modern convenience couldn’t be dismissed. If his friends back in the eighteenth century had been given the choice, he had no doubt they would have been devotees of Hanes.
It had been a good long while since he’d been in the thick of the war. He hadn’t been able to sit out the two world wars. No one with a conscience could have. But this was the first time that Alex had called on him personally to return to the fold. Malcolm could hardly refuse, not after all Alex had been to him. And his captain had let him be for decades, giving him an opportunity to ruminate in the Highlands. Malcolm had forged a good life for himself, but he wouldn’t have had any life at all if not for Alex.
So, this reconnaissance request was not much to ask. Malcolm had seen the news from Boston, in any event. He’d been halfway to contacting his old captain to offer his assistance when Alex had beat him to it. He’d been aware that Dracul had made his lair, as it were, in the same smallish part of the world as he had. But enough kilometers stood between their respective remote castles that they could have spent the rest of their centuries never crossing paths, if only Dracul would just settle the fuck down and be satisfied with the life he had.
Malcolm had found that peace, living in his beloved adopted home in the Highlands, raising salmon and producing the best single malt Scotch in the world, if he did say so himself. And speaking of which, he pulled out his flask and slugged back a wee dram to keep the cold at bay. Nothing much was going on in the castle this night anyway. His thermal-imaging scope confirmed, as it had for the last few nights, that Dracul and a few of his minions occupied the crumbling structure. At least, it looked like it was falling down from the outside. The inside was likely in fine repair, with modern amenities. He employed the same strategy in his own home to keep the curious at bay.
With the heat of the stone waning, he had no trouble pinpointing the various occupants. Most were on the lower levels, including two whose thermal signatures he identified as hybrids—Dracul’s spawn, no doubt. Malcolm might have been out of the war for long periods, but he still kept up with the news. He knew the arsehole had taken a Welsh boy and turned him into a breeder. That kind of altered human created a heat signature that was different from their species or the hybrids. The hapless human was ensconced in the left tower, never leaving the one room, as far as Malcolm could determine.
And there was someone else in there as well—a purely human someone. Right at the moment, whoever he was occupied that room with the Welsh boy and Dracul, no doubt. Malcolm could only imagine that the boy—and it undoubtedly was a young male, given Dracul’s predilections—wasn’t there by choice. Dracul didn’t make allies with humans as much as turn them into pawns and slaves.
Based on the time the figures were spending in the spot, he could only assume it was a bedroom. The pattern in which they’d come together over the many days he’d been watching left the purpose of the human obviously and nauseatingly in the category of the latter group. The boy was clearly Dracul’s sex slave, a viciously horrible role that Malcolm lacked the imagination to even fathom.
“You poor, wee bastard,” he muttered. “Well, we’ll see about getting you out of that hellhole when we take out the fucker once and for all.”
That was the plan, at least. What they would do with the boy after that was above his pay grade—and Alex’s problem. Malcolm was doing his job. His surveillance was going to provide his captain with all the facts necessary for Alex to launch a direct attack. ‘No more playing defense’ was how Val had put it. It tied right into Malcom’s strengths, too. While he’d grown sick of fighting, spying was another matter. He could blend into the landscape and live off it, as well, for weeks on end. He might be used to sleeping in a laird’s bed in a laird’s home, but he hadn’t forgotten his basic skills.
He’d obtained an accurate head count and mapped out the routine of the castle’s inhabitants. He’d also found Dracul’s bolthole, or rather, the one put in by the original owner and the tunnel it contained that would allow a secret retreat. When the time came to attack, they’d be able to use it to both enter the castle and block off the fucker’s escape.
Christ, I hope this puts an end to it.
* * * *
“There now, almost finished.”
Brenin gritted his teeth against the sting of Dafydd’s efforts. His fellow captive had done his best every day to ease the hurts the monster had inflicted. It was sweet, but pointless. In a few hours, Dracul would be back to tear at and beat Brenin’s body. The beast needed little time to recover, his appetites seemingly endless and unfailingly cruel.
Brenin had long given up any hope of respite. Not even death could be counted on, not until the monster had finished with him for good. At the rate he was going, that might not be long in coming. Since his latest efforts to do God-knew-what had failed, Dracul had become more unhinged. He vented his spleen on Brenin on a daily basis. There was barely an inch of skin that wasn’t marked. Brenin’s lips were almost constantly split and his head throbbed where it had taken a hard blow. He thought at least one rib was cracked. Every breath he took was agony.
But Dafydd meticulously and carefully cleaned him, and the brief respite from being covered in filth was something, he supposed. Brenin lay pliant and quiet, trying not to gain the notice of the monster across the room. He would have shut his eyes, except he worried about not being able to keep track of the imminent danger. Given how the violence had been escalating recently, he figured he would be dead within days. He both welcomed and feared it.
Dafydd tossed the bloody cloth into the bowl by the bedside then he filled a glass of water from the nearby pitcher. Before handing it to Brenin, however, he glanced quickly in Dracul’s direction while he slipped his hand between the mattress and box spring. This had become the part of their daily ritual that Brenin appreciated the most. Somehow, the guy had managed to stash drugs without the monster realizing it. He plopped a pinch of powder into the glass, swirled it with his finger and held it out wordlessly for Brenin to drink.
He did so, eagerly and with his gaze averted as much as he could from the unnatural bulge of Dafydd’s distended belly. It was impossible to believe that a baby grew in there, yet that was the case. It repulsed him. Somehow, Dracul had changed the boy into something both male and female. Brenin could only pray that the alien would kill him before he, too, was altered forever. Dafydd’s obvious misery at his condition didn’t help alleviate his disgust, either.
“Thanks,” he mouthed before settling down. The drug usually made him sleep for a little while, removing the choice between vigilance and respite.
But while the pain receded to manageable levels, his eyelids didn’t droop in their usual way and he didn’t feel sleepy. He glanced at Dafydd, who was busy watching Dracul. Brenin wanted to ask him why the drug wasn’t working as well, although he didn’t dare speak out loud, of course. Maybe if he kept staring, the boy would feel his attention and turn back to him.
Dafydd didn’t, though. Instead, he slipped his hand between the mattresses again, without taking his eyes off Dracul. When he pulled it back, there was a packet tucked inside his palm. The boy padded over to the fireplace where Dracul sat reading and sipping wine from his favorite golden goblet. God, the guy is pretentious. It was as if he were trying to emulate every ridiculous Bond villain Brenin had ever seen. The only thing missing was a fluffy, white cat.
“May I freshen your drink?” Dafydd asked in a low, silky voice.
Dracul’s head snapped up and he glared at the boy. “Trying to curry favor, pet?”
Dafydd froze. He bowed his head. “Of course.”
“How unlike you,” the monster sneered. “Maybe carrying my son this time has made you soft.” He gaze flicked over to Brenin, sending a chill down his spine. “Then again, perhaps you’re already in daddy mode, trying to protect my new toy.”
Dracul drained his goblet and held it out. “You shouldn’t care about him, you know. He’s your rival.”
Dafydd crept closer and took the vessel with impressive steadiness. “For now, he’s my respite.” He rubbed at his side where the alien baby stretched his skin before he inched away.
The wine bottle stood on a table to one side from where Dracul sat. Dafydd maneuvered around so that his hands weren’t directly in the monster’s line of sight. Even at a distance, Brenin could see the boy emptying the packet he held into the glass before refilling it with wine. He did that quick finger stir, only now it was to blend something so that its drinker wouldn’t notice.
Brenin dropped his gaze to the ground, fearful that whatever Dafydd was up to would be inadvertently revealed by his attention. He stared, instead, at the floor. Although he could still see Dafydd’s movements, it was all bare legs and feet treading on the worn oriental rug.
“You use him too hard,” Dafydd said. “You’re going to kill him if you don’t rein in your anger.”
There was a sudden cry and Dafydd fell to his knees in front of Dracul. The monster managed to grab the goblet at the same time he fisted his ‘husband’s’ hair, pulling him into the space between his spread legs.
“My, my, you have become paternal all of a sudden. If you’re so concerned, you can take a turn in his place. You know what to do, slut. Now that your disgusting vomiting has come to an end, your mouth is useful again.”
Brenin forced his eyes shut, unable to witness Dafydd’s brutal subjugation. He couldn’t block out the sounds, though, and his stomach turned, knowing how horrible it was to service the monster. He should have been grateful that it wasn’t him, and on some guilty level, he was. But Dafydd was a decent mate, regardless of his motives, and Brenin cringed in sympathy.
He must have dropped off, because he came awake suddenly and fearfully by having his shoulder shaken.
“Brenin.” It was Dafydd peering down at him. “Come on, mun. You’ve got to get up.”
Benin blinked and pushed himself painfully to a sitting position. “What’s going on?” He stared past the boy and saw Dracul slumped in his chair. The goblet lay on the rug. “Have you killed him?”
Dafydd rolled his eyes. “Don’t be daft, mun. Drogo would never give me something that dangerous. I’ve only put him to sleep, like.”
Brenin tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. “For what purpose?”
Dafydd tugged at his arm. “This is no time to be a chopsy boy. We don’t have long.”
Funny how the boy’s Welsh came out now that they were essentially alone. Most of the time, his accent was muted and he spoke almost like a professor. Living with the brutal alien had changed him in more than one way, apparently. And yet Dafydd seemed older than he looked. His age was a mystery and Brenin wasn’t sure he wanted to know more than he did. This whole experience was a living nightmare that he could almost believe as some kind of delusion.
He allowed himself to be pulled upright, grimacing at the stabs of pain all over and grateful for the relief the drug was giving him. “All right, then, what am I to do?”
“You’re going to escape.”
Brenin couldn’t help but laugh at the statement. It wasn’t even remotely possible. Dafydd shot him a look. “I’m not being funny. I’m going to help you get out of here before Dracul kills you.”
Brenin followed the boy over to an alcove where Dracul kept a computer. It was incongruous with the ancient splendor of the rest of the room. Dafydd sat down in front of the thing and booted it up.
Pain made Brenin slow, but if Dafydd was serious about getting him away, anything was endurable. By the time he reached the alcove, the computer was up and humming. He stopped behind the chair and, putting his hand on the back, leaned on it.
“What are you playing at, mun?”
Dafydd’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “I’m logging into the security system. From here, I can see where the rest of Dracul’s ghouls are and set you on a safe path.”
Brenin stared in fascination as a schematic of the castle appeared onscreen. It looked something like a video game. All of his time wasted on such trivial matters, as his mam would have said, came in handy as he scrutinized the information. “This is brilliant.”
“There’s an old escape route out of the castle and into the woods. I’m going to shut down the perimeter sensors once I judge you’re at the bolthole where the tunnel starts, so that you can pass through the exit without setting off the alarms.”
Brenin shook his head at the absurd words then instantly regretted it as his headache increased and his vision blurred. He froze to help it stop, and by the time he was able to view things clearly again, Dafydd was already standing.
A grimace flashed across the boy’s face and he put a hand against his swollen belly. “This was supposed to be my plan. I’ve been sucking Drogo’s cock for years to get pain meds. He thinks I used them to blunt the effect of Dracul’s attentions, but I’ve been stockpiling them so I’d have enough to send the monster into sleep for a while to give me a chance to run.”
He moved away and headed across the room. He motioned for Brenin to follow. “I could only guess how much would work, so we have to move quickly,” he said quietly as he opened the large armoire where Dracul kept his belongings. “I have some clothing. Not much, because Dracul rarely lets me out and none of it is good for cold weather.” He pulled out a shirt and jeans, socks and trainers. “It will do, though. Let me help you.”
Brenin allowed himself to be dressed like a doll. It felt good to cover up after so many weeks of forced nakedness. Kneeling on the floor, Dafydd tugged the socks and trainers onto Brenin’s feet—or tried to, anyway, the latter being too small.
“Damn, you’ll have to make do with stockinged feet. Mind how you go, like. The stone floors in this old place are worn smooth. I’ve watched his computer usage, as well, under the guise of blow jobs. I can access anything I want.” He stood and flashed Brenin a sad grin.
“I’ll be fine, thanks. This is…unexpected. I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing. Just get away. Dracul thought I was too stupid to understand anything. After all these centuries, he still thinks I’m a just a smudge-faced peasant that he dragged out of the mud.”
“I don’t understand,” Brenin said with labored breath. Even this small amount of effort taxed him. “Why me and why now? You’re throwing away your chance of freedom.”
Dafydd clutched at his belly. “I can’t go in this condition, and I know now that he intends to kill me the moment his son is free of my body.” He looked at Brenin with tearful eyes. “It’s too late for me. I accept that. It’s not for you, though, and the way he’s going, if you don’t leave tonight, I’m afraid you won’t last much longer.”
Brenin choked back a cry. “I’m afraid of that, also,” he admitted. “But he’ll kill you for sure once he wakes.”
“Not until Drogo can assure him of his son’s safe delivery.”
“He’s all but mad, mun. You can’t expect him to act rationally. He might kill you with the child not yet born.”
Closing his eyes, Dafydd drew a deep breath. “So he ends my life all the earlier… I can’t say I’ll mind. I’ve had enough of this madness and I’d rather not give him another son to ruin.” His eyes popped open again. “Come on. There’s no time for talking. I’ll show you the route on the computer that will lead you to the bolthole. The door inside it to the tunnel may or may not be hidden. I don’t know because I’ve never been in it myself.
“From what I can make of the schematic, though, the tunnel will spit you out far enough into the woods that no one will spot you, even from the parapets. You’re on your own from there, I’m afraid. We’re high up and a good fifty kilometers from the nearest town. There’s a road, of course, but I don’t recommend you stick to it because it’s the first place they’ll look.”
Brenin stopped the boy by grabbing his arm. “Come with me, then. We can take care of each other.”
“No. Thanks all the same. With this spawn of his inside me, he’ll come after us with a vengeance. On your own, you stand a chance of getting away without his making too much fuss.”
“You know that’s not true,” Brenin ground out. “When has he ever been a graceful loser?”
Dafydd gave him a wan smile. “Never, but I’ll buy you what time I can. Please, Brenin. Knowing you’ve made it out will allow me to bear what’s left of my life.”
Brenin wanted to argue. He couldn’t imagine leaving this new friend of his to such a fate. He couldn’t imagine staying to face his own hideous one, either. “Okay. And, um, thanks. I won’t forget your kindness.”
“Just live. That’s all I ask. Leave here and run as far and as fast as you can. Your living will be my reward and your revenge.”
* * * *
Malcolm walked the perimeter of the castle, careful to keep to the trees. He’d made this circuit every night to view the castle and its inhabitants from every possible angle. The thick stone labyrinth-like structure made it impossible to penetrate the entirety of it. Even with the enhanced version of imaging tech that his clever shipmate had developed, he still wasn’t rocking any kind of Superman X-ray vision. His multiple visits, however, had given him a decent head count. He was surprised to find that Dracul no longer kept his full complement of mutineers surrounding him.
Of course, a few had been dispatched during the centuries-long fight, two alone in recent months over in Boston. Still, it was good to learn that when Alex gave the order to strike, they wouldn’t have to bring in everyone on their side from their far-flung locations. Most of them, like Alex and the others settled in Boston, were trying to make quiet lives for themselves, just as he had. They would all come at Alex’s request—again, just as he had. If they could be spared the horror of it… If he could help do that for his crewmates…all the better.
He was coming around the back of the castle and raised his scope to take a gander at what was usually a barren part, save for the kitchen. There was a young hybrid there and a couple of changed humans. He paid them little mind. All of Dracul’s men had at least one enslaved boy and some, he believed, had produced offspring. They were there to guddle about, do the dirty work Dracul and his men would never lower themselves to bother with—no more than slaves, sexual and otherwise. Alex would have to figure out what to do with them afterward, as well. And those hapless humans and their offspring might prove to be another fashion of the enemy they’d have to watch out for. There was no accounting how some of them might feel after such long servitude.
A flash caught his attention. He turned to train his vision to a corner on his right. It was the human making his way down, far from the tower where he’d been imprisoned for as long as Malcolm had been watching. And he was alone, which made no sense unless…
Tossing his goggles into his backpack, Malcolm took off deeper into the forest. If he was right about what was happening, he knew the exact spot where the boy would emerge. The only problem would be the security sensors. Malcolm had found all of them the first night and, naturally, had been careful not to trip any of them, nor had he allowed himself to enter the line of sight of any of the surveillance cameras. But, if the boy came crashing out of the tunnel, he’d trip one for sure.
Except there had to be a plan… The boy couldn’t have simply stumbled his way out of the tower room and through the castle to leave by the one possible avenue that wasn’t being guarded by Dracul’s men. He had to have had help, although the how and the why of it were unfathomable at the moment. There’d be time to learn the answers soon if he could manage to intercept the boy and get him far from here. In fact, he might prove a treasure trove of information. And whoever had orchestrated this surely knew about the sensors and…what? They’d been turned off, likely. Had to be.
With no one to mark his passage other than the creatures of the night, he used his natural speed. It felt good to cut free like that, something he dared do only on occasion in his beloved Highlands. Here and now, though, it was of necessity. Given how slowly the human had been moving, Malcolm had no doubt he would arrive at the exit first. He needed time, though, to ensure that if there was no one else taking care of it, he would knock out the sensors himself. It would blow his cover, as the Americans would say, but a chance to save this poor lad was worth any price.
He slowed down as he approached his destination and tossed his backpack against a tree. If he had to leave the thing behind, no worries. There was nothing in it that wasn’t a duplicate of what he had back home, and once the boy emerged, speed would matter more than stealth. If Dracul learned of his presence, that would make the assault plan harder but not necessarily impossible.
He braced behind a neighboring tree and fixed his gaze on the tangle of undergrowth that hid the hole. Pinpricks of red from the sensors’ eyes were visible from his vantage point. They were set up on smaller trees on either side of the hole, easy to miss unless one were looking for them. The beam they formed would be broken the moment the boy passed through. Except, as he stood and watched, the lights winked out.
It took a few more minutes before he finally heard the whisper of footsteps approaching. They were slow and clumsy sounding, then the branches rustled. Fingers poked out from between the leaves, then a dark head and finally the entire boy stumbled through. He would have tripped to the ground if Malcolm hadn’t raced forward.
He caught the human handily and took a second to assess how little the wee thing weighed before he was forced to clamp his hand over the boy’s mouth. A muffled cry of abject fear tore at Malcolm’s heart, but he hardened it and tugged the human past the point where the sensors would detect them once they were turned back on.
The frightened lad struggled to free himself for a few feet before he stiffened and screamed against Malcolm’s palm. Then the human went limp, dead weight, testifying that he’d passed out. Malcolm waited until he was sure he was clear of detection before turning the boy in his arms to peer into his face.
Ah, God. He was bonny—or would be if not for the cuts and bruises that marred his face. There was still plenty of pale skin to be seen and dark hair was plastered with sweat against his head. The boy’s heart beat rapidly, even though he was unconscious. The pulsing at the base of his throat drew Malcolm’s gaze, whether he willed it or not. There was a sweet scent to him that lay detectible under the stench of Dracul’s brutalization.
The lad seemed genuinely unconscious. When Malcolm cautiously withdrew his hand, he inwardly swore at the bloody lip he found. That was his first reaction. His second was to flick his tongue over the wound to heal it shut. Sure, that had been the simple plan, but the taste of the boy was like a punch to his dick. Against all decency and logic, lust roared through his veins with a force that left him gasping.
The lad shuddered and his eyelids fluttered a bit before quieting again. Malcolm knew a moment of disappointment over not being able to tell the color of the human’s eyes, but that hardly mattered. He was wasting precious time salivating over the boy’s desirability. He needed to get them both out of there. He could only assume there was damage to the frail body that he couldn’t see, so with as much care as he could muster, he cradled the boy in his arms.
It was awkward, yet possible, to retrieve his pack as well. No sense in tipping his hand if it could be avoided. Surveillance, at any rate, was over. The safety of this human came first. Malcolm would get him away and back home within a day. He could tend to him there, or, rather, he could have him seen to. Malcolm was no doctor. He would simply put the boy to bed and let those who knew how make him better.
As the obvious plan set into place within his head, he didn’t stop to question why he pictured tucking the lad into not just any bed, but his own.