Chapter Six
Brenin tried not to be unnerved by Malcolm’s proximity. It was hard. The guy was a looming presence, even when he was on the other side of the room. With him standing right behind Brenin’s chair, he was impossible to ignore. Every fiber of Brenin’s body was homed in on the sound, the smell, the vibrancy of the alien. It didn’t make Brenin afraid and that was the part of all of this that was most disturbing. In the span of a few days, he’d not only become used to being around Malcolm, he’d started to welcome it.
What’s wrong with me, for Christ’s sake?
After everything he’d been through, he should loathe the very sight of anyone that reminded him of the monster. He should have run from this castle the moment his injuries had started to heal and his pain had abated. Doc McPhee had offered him a ride into the village, even as she’d reassured him that he was safe with Malcolm. He told himself it was a matter of money, in that he had none, and at least here he had plenty to eat, comfortable clothing and a room of his own. He wasn’t buying his own bullshit, however.
The simple truth was that he felt safer with Malcolm than he had anywhere else. He felt a disconcerting tug toward him, as well. He’d spent the night dreaming of being in the tower room with the alien, and it hadn’t been a nightmare, either. No, his time there had ended differently in his visions. That burgeoning arousal underneath the man’s kilt had turned into an overpowering fuck on the floor as Brenin gazed up into the starry night sky. He’d awoken sweaty, tangled in his sheets and sporting his own hard-on.
That visible sign that the monster hadn’t tortured the desire out of him had been scary, so much so that he’d raced to the shower and drenched himself in freezing cold water. It had killed his erection but not his images of being consumed by Malcolm. He’d dreaded seeing his host again at breakfast, worried that something of what he’d dreamed of would show in his eyes. The arrival of Willem and Annika had been a Godsend, a buffer behind which he could hide. Then Malcolm had innocently put his hand on Brenin’s and his imagination had taken off again. He could still feel that touch.
But now was not the time to dwell on it. He had a task to do, an important one. His drawing had always been a private thing, something he didn’t show others because he’d known his family, and even his friends, wouldn’t understand it. They were laborers and damn proud of their heritage of working deep underground back in the day. Making pretty pictures on paper meant gay, and gay meant something bad. He’d hidden his talent, such as it was. It was hard to believe it could benefit the alien war.
Still, Malcolm had reacted excitedly at the news and Brenin was doing his level best to recreate the route that he’d taken. Sheet after sheet had been filled with each scene of his frightened journey. Perhaps because his emotions had been so high, he had no trouble picturing the details. Recreating them on paper was easily done.
Each time he set a piece aside, Malcolm would snatch it up and study it. The man made all kinds of murmurs before sharing them with Willem. Annika sat across the table still, drawing herself, although her pictures appeared to be of unicorns. And she was using crayons while Brenin used a fine-point pen. Still, from the glimpses he got, the little girl was very talented. There was something eerie about her. She was too adult-like and was surprisingly sanguine about the company she kept and the alien war she was embroiled in.
“These are excellent, laddie.” Malcolm’s voice was like a balm and his praise lifted Brenin’s spirits.
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I’m that glad. There’s one left.”
This last vignette would be tricky, as it involved what he saw as he stumbled out of the bolthole’s tunnel. He didn’t want to draw the truth because it would leave him possibly vulnerable, but he also wanted to help as best he could. For no other than his own personal and selfish reasons, bringing the monster down was paramount.
So, he let his fingers fly of their own accord, not fretting over what he produced, merely sketching the memory as accurately as he could. He didn’t dare think of Malcolm as he did so. And when he’d laid down the last stroke, he merely sat back and let the guy figure out for himself that Brenin had finished.
There were long seconds of quiet in which the only sound was Annika’s coloring and the beat of Brenin’s heart. Both seemed unnaturally loud. He focused on the first and tried to ignore the second. If he allowed it, he figured he could send himself into a full-blown panic attack. Finally, Malcolm reached down to pick up the piece of paper. His coolness and scent flowed over Brenin. He took a deep breath and felt calmed.
“Is this how you see me?” Malcolm asked in a low voice.
“At the time, yes,” Brenin admitted.
Willem chuckled. “It’s a perfect likeness. You look every inch the wild highlander—or a demon of the woods, perhaps. It’s a wonder he didn’t run from you.”
“He tried,” Malcolm replied, his voice strained. “I wouldn’t let him.” His hand landed gently on Brenin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
Brenin closed his eyes, enjoying the touch even as he struggled with the why of it. “Couldn’t be helped. And I’m not scared of you anymore.” Opening his eyes again, he stared over his shoulder.
Malcolm gazed back at him. His violet eyes were darker than usual. Brenin understood what that meant and he still wasn’t afraid. He dropped his line of sight to the spot right in front, where Malcolm’s kilt lay in folds over his crotch. There was nothing to see, not really, and still Brenin knew the guy was aroused. He could practically smell it.
Don’t be daft, mun. It’s only your imagination.
He’d never been a good liar, not to himself any more than to others. Worse, there was a stirring of interest in his own body. The reaction disturbed him, so he forced an image of Dracul into his mind. That did the trick. His growing arousal died and he shuddered at the memory.
Malcolm pulled his hand away and took a hasty step back, understanding in his expression. Except, he’d misunderstood, thinking it was him and his touch that had caused such a reaction. Brenin immediately wanted to reassure him on that point then decided against it. No good could come from acting on this unexpected and inconvenient attraction. There had to be some deep psychological problem in him to react as he did. After everything he’d been through, starting any kind of relationship, especially a physical one, was insane on the face of it.
“You’ve done well, Brenin. Alex and Val will have to study these to make our plan,” he added as he gathered all of the drawings. “I dinnae have a head for strategy. That’s Alex’s and Val’s job. And I’m sure they’ll have questions for you.”
“I’m happy to answer any they have,” Brenin assured him. “I want to help as best I can.”
Malcolm shot him a brief smile. “You’re a good lad. Darling is going to take your picture and get your passport and visa done this afternoon. You can stay in Boston with the human boys that live with Alex and the rest. I’m sure they’ll be happy to show you around. There’s no need for you to return here while we, ah…clean up the mess in Wales.”
Brenin wasn’t sure how he felt about that news. On the one hand, he didn’t want to ever go back to that castle of horrors. On the other, he didn’t much like the idea of being separated from Malcolm, particularly given that the guy would be heading into a deadly situation.
Before he could think of a response, however, Darling came in with a mobile phone in his hand. “You have a call, sir, from Boston. I took the liberty of answering it for you, given that you didn’t bother to keep the phone in sight.”
Malcolm grabbed the phone. “It’s not like I have pockets, now, is it?” He winked at Annika when she giggled. “Alex?” He frowned. “Wait. I want to put this on speaker. Annika, lass, why don’t you let Darling take you into the kitchen? I’ll bet Cook is baking up some sweets she’ll let you have a taste of.”
The girl stood. “You want me out of the room for the call, Mr. Malcolm? I understand.” She skipped out of the room, the majordomo trailing in her wake.
Putting the phone on the table, Malcolm said, “Go ahead, Alex.”
“Dracul has taken Harry and Demi.”
Malcolm cursed and Willem’s eyes turned flinty. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“He had them taken while they were away from the club—snatched right on the street and hustled into a vehicle. That’s according to the one witness our friends on the police force could find and question.”
Brenin placed one hand on his stomach, as if he could settle the sick feeling that had popped up at the news. He didn’t know these people, but he knew all too well what it felt like to be kidnapped. He could easily imagine how frightened the monster’s latest victims must have been.
As if sensing his distress, Malcolm sidled over and, once again, put his hand on Brenin’s shoulder. He gave a quick squeeze. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday afternoon. We’ve been trying to put the pieces together and hoping to find them before they took off. As near as we can tell, they’ve already left, using a secret airstrip or something. There’s been no takeoff of a private jet from Logan Airport.”
Malcolm ran the fingers of his free hand across the top of his head and tugged at one of his braids. “Damnation. You want me to go back to Wales and see what I can learn?”
The other man blew out his breath over the phone. “No. We have to assume that’s where they took them, although the why of it mystifies me. Dracul must know we won’t negotiate over hostages. He’s been down that road before and failed. Although this time, he has one of our sons.”
“He’s in a panic, perhaps,” Willem offered, “as well he should be. We’re going to finish him. That’s what he gets for staying in one place for so long.”
“He might have taken off, given that Brenin escaped.”
“No,” Brenin heard himself say. “I’m nothing. He would never believe that I can be any kind of threat to him.”
Malcolm’s touch became firmer. “The more fool he, then.”
Brenin leaned into the man, not bothering to contradict him. He’d known his worthlessness long before the monster had got hold of him. A thought occurred to him, suddenly, though.
“Isn’t Harry the doctor, then?”
Malcolm looked at him with surprise. “Aye, he is. Why?”
The idea formed quickly and he almost didn’t continue, thinking he couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. Still… “Dafydd got his drugs that helped to free me from the doctor, Drogo. What if D-Dracul realized that and killed him?” He swallowed past the bile rising in his throat at the memories that swamped him. “He has a powerfully bad temper. And he wants his son that’s inside Dafydd. That much I do know. Could a human doctor be trusted or forced into safely delivering the baby?”
Malcolm shook his head slowly. “Not likely.” He flashed a smile. “You’re on to something there, laddie.”
“Indeed,” the man in Boston—Alex—said. “Thank you, Brenin, is it? We’re glad to have you on our team. We look forward to seeing you.”
“Aye, and he’s drawn sketches of Dracul’s castle as best he could based on what he remembers from his escape and his considerable skill with a pen.”
“Excellent. And this theory of why Dracul took Harry and Demi will give Lucien some comfort. He’s worried sick over what’s happening to his family. If Dracul needs Harry for his medical skills, and he needs Demi to keep Harry quiescent, then they’re safe for now, at least until the baby is born. Any idea, Brenin, on how close Dafydd is to his time of delivery?”
“No, sir,” he said with a quick shake. He stared worriedly up at Malcolm. “But it’s going to be soon, I think.”
“Then you’d best hurry up and get here, Malcolm.”
“Aye, sir. We leave tonight.”
* * * *
Demi stumbled as he was shoved up the stairs, preferring to risk smashing his nose on the stone steps than remain within Kronid’s grasp. Throughout the journey, the asshole had pawed Demi at every chance. Demi could still feel the putrid creature’s touch. That, plus a lack of opportunity for any kind of bathing, left him feeling as if bugs were crawling all over him.
He was alive, though, and, more importantly, so was his father. Demi had been careful not to react to Kronid’s assaults, keeping his breathing even and his heart rate steady. Poor Papa had spent the entire plane ride not only with his hands tied behind his back but also with a hood over his head. Despite Petru’s baiting, he was clearly afraid that Papa would succeed in overtaking them. That was the only explanation for keeping him so under control. And knowing, because he could see for himself how heavily armed their captors were, not to mention that two of Dracul’s other goons were piloting the plane, Demi didn’t want his father to try anything. It would be suicide. Demi couldn’t risk giving away his distress by allowing any sounds of it to filter through the hood. He had no doubt that nothing would send his father into a fit of rage faster than knowing his son was being harmed.
It wasn’t anything more than juvenile groping anyway. Like now, with Demi a step above him, Kronid took the opportunity to slide his filthy fingers up the inside of Demi’s leg. Disgusting and infuriating, but bearable. He gritted his teeth and twisted away while focusing on keeping his footing. At least he wasn’t hooded and his hands were tied in front of him. Obviously, they didn’t think he constituted much of a threat to them and, sadly, they were right. He’d resisted much of the training his father had tried to provide him with, determined that his life wouldn’t be consumed by this dumb, old fight. He felt differently now, of course. After this experience, he wanted nothing more than to kill Dracul and all his men himself.
The end of the stone staircase came abruptly around the next curve. A large wooden door stood open. Papa was pushed inside and Demi hurried to join him, if for no other reason than it might put him out of Kronid’s range. He blinked against the brighter light of the room. He felt, as he had since the moment he’d entered this castle, as if he’d stepped back in time—or maybe into a video game or a movie set.
His entire life, he’d lived in whatever passed for modernity at the time. This place was different. The room was circular and stood at the top of a tower. He would have found it eerily beautiful, except someone was going to die in here. If no one else, it would be the boy chained to the four-poster bed that dominated the space.
Oh God. This was the nightmare version of what his own human father had once gone through. The prisoner was naked and hugely pregnant. The sight of a male body in such a state was startling. Demi knew the basics, naturally, of how he’d come into the world. Seeing it literally laid out for his viewing made his empty stomach lurch. There was no happy father-to-be, only a pale, sunken-eyed person of indeterminable age shivering in the cold. This wasn’t a matter of a loving couple bringing a child, however strange and different, into the world. This was the product of sexual slavery. There was no question about it.
The monster responsible for this horror stood by a window with his leather-clad legs braced and his massively muscled chest bare. The sides of his head were shaved and his long top hair was pulled back into a severe tail that highlighted his sharp facial features. A dead, dark stare pierced Demi, making him feel dirtier than Kronid’s touch had. The monster gazed at Demi with a disturbing hunger, despite the fact that a beautiful boy clung to him. The kid was wrapped in a silk robe far too big and long for him, and his shaggy hair was striped white and black. He glared at Demi with obvious dislike. As Demi was forced farther into the room, he could see that the boy had one crystal-clear blue eye and one violet one.
The entire disturbing scene caused Demi to lose his control. His heartbeat quickened and he had to bite back a whimper as he tried to get closer to his father. In the face of this clear evil, his courage was failing him. Kronid grabbed his arm and pulled him in tightly against his chest. Then he cupped Demi’s ass and chuckled softly into his ear.
Demi allowed one shudder to run through him before he stiffened his resolve and his body.
Dracul gestured toward Papa. “Release him.” His tone was sharp, yet also matter-of-fact, clearly someone used to being obeyed.
Petru did as told and Papa stood quietly for a few seconds as he acclimated to regaining his sight and his circulation. His gaze found Demi first. He took note of Kronid’s position and his mouth thinned while his pupils turned red. Demi tried to nod in reassurance and prevent his father from doing anything stupid on his account. It must have worked because Papa moved on to glare at Dracul then look at the bedridden boy.
That sight obviously moved him as nothing else had. He swept up to the bed and laid a gentle hand on the boy’s head. “Is it your time?”
The boy shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied in a shaky tone.
Papa glared once more at Dracul. “This is why I’m here? Where is Drogo?”
“Gone to dust, not that it’s any of your concern.”
“If you expect me to help, it is,” Papa retorted. Any fear he held of Dracul didn’t show. Demi felt a sense of pride at his father’s strength.
Dracul took a step forward, his human limpid sticking to him. “You’ll do so unless you want me to feed your precious boy to my men.” The guy smiled, showing his fangs. He ran his tongue over them. “He’s deliciously exotic. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself.”
The stripe-haired human made a mewing sound. Without looking at him, Dracul casually slapped the boy’s face. Far from reacting with fear or hatred, the boy fluttered his lashes and, if anything, cuddled closer.
Papa straightened, although he kept his hand on the pregnant boy’s head. “You know me, Dracul. I will do everything within my power to help this boy deliver your son alive. I would have done so without the threat. But know this as well. If my son is hurt in any way, I’ll let yours die in the womb. You have plenty of toys to play with and, I dare say, so do your men. My son is off limits and doesn’t leave my sight.”
Dracul said nothing for long seconds. He stared at Papa, who stared back. Then Dracul smiled like a shark who’d just taken a bite of something tasty. “So feisty these days, Horatiu. I think I like the new and improved you.”
“Just so long as we understand each other.”
“Of course. I have nothing against your sweet boy. Untie him,” he ordered without bothering to look.
Kronid let go of Demi and, after pulling a knife out of his boot, slit the bonds around Demi’s wrists. In his haste, he drew blood, and the grin on the guy’s face told Demi it was no accident. Demi glared defiantly at him as he quickly licked his skin closed himself.
Dracul approached the bed and sneered down at the poor boy he’d impregnated. “I only want my son out alive. I don’t care about the slut incubating him.” His expression turned to disgust.
“Color me surprised,” Papa replied. Demi had never heard his father say anything so flippant before. “But you can’t have one without the other. This room is too cold and the boy obviously needs water and food, as do I and my son.”
Dracul shrugged. “Do what you must. Kronid will see to your needs. He’ll stand guard in here for as long as you are my guests.”
“Naturally. I wouldn’t expect you to be lax in your security, but tell him to keep his fucking hands off my son.”
The F bomb, really? Demi was seeing a wholly new side of his father and his estimation of him was growing by the minute. Dracul barely had to gesture in their direction for Kronid to step away from Demi. As soon as he was clear, Demi raced to his father’s side. He wrapped a comforting arm around Demi, who wasn’t too proud to lean into the embrace.
“It will be all right,” his father murmured.
“I know,” he whispered back.
Dracul grunted. “I’ll leave you to it. You will inform me the moment my son makes his entrance.” With that final order, he sailed out of the room, dragging the striped boy with him. The kid smirked at Demi, as if he somehow had won a prize that Demi would have never wanted in a million years. When they passed a silent Petru, however, the boy avoided looking at him. Something passed across Petru’s face that Demi found intriguing, yet unreadable. Then he remembered that he didn’t care what was going on in this castle of horrors.
“Stoke up the fire,” Papa snapped at Kronid, with a wave at the fireplace. “Bring blankets, towels, food, a basin and plenty of water. I’ll also need whatever Drogo used for a medical bag and any supplies I find missing.”
When neither Kronid nor Petru moved to comply, Papa bared his fangs and roared. The sound was terrifying. It compelled the others to action, however, and once more Demi felt a sense of pride.
Now all he needed was hope. His father could keep him safe until the baby was born. After that, Demi had no illusions about his own fate. Worse, he worried that his father would be killed notwithstanding his being the only doctor left for their race. There was really only one chance that they’d be rescued.
Trey, please come for me.
* * * *
“Still awake, are you?”
Turning onto his side, Brenin watched Malcolm walk back from the cockpit. The man sat on the seat opposite from where Brenin lay and stretched his long, bare legs out in a relaxed pose.
“I can’t sleep for some reason,” he confessed. “I’ve never flown before, so that’s why probably. It’s kind of exciting and boring at the same time.”
Malcolm chuckled. “Aye, that’s as good a way of describing it as any, I suppose. Plus, it’s not very late by our internal clock. But it will be even earlier when we land in Boston, which will be in about an hour. By the time we pass through customs, arrive at the club and debrief, you’ll be exhausted, I expect. Sleep will come easily and you’ll adjust to the new time zone right quick.”
Brenin didn’t say anything to challenge that assumption. Sitting up, he stretched his own legs beside Malcolm’s. “I’m nervous about meeting your friends,” he confessed without looking at him. “I’m used to you, and Willem’s not so bad, especially with Annika around. But I’m not sure how I’m going to react to the others. I keep telling myself not to be such a baby about it.”
Malcolm was a blur of movement that ended with his sitting next to Brenin. “You have every right to be leery after all you’ve been through.” He began to reach for Brenin’s hand but pulled back.
Their thighs touched, though, and when Malcolm moved his away, Brenin moved his closer. “I’m not afraid of you. Your being near or touching me, even, doesn’t bother me.” He glanced up at him from under his lashes. “I like it, actually, although I don’t understand why.”
“Well, now, you humans are awfully resilient, I’ve found.” Malcolm reached out again and this time, he tucked strands of hair behind Brenin’s ear. “It’s one of the things I admire about your species.”
“I can’t imagine there’s anything about us that would impress beings such as yourselves. I mean, you’ve learned how to use wormholes and travel halfway across the universe. We’re barely out of diapers in comparison.”
“Technologically speaking, maybe, but you’ve a flexibility of mind and an ability to adapt that my people could never possess. We’re rigid in our ways and haven’t changed in millennia. The hive structure is the same as it was back when we walked on four legs instead of two.”
Brenin peeked up at him and, at the same time, slid his hand over to rest against Malcolm’s thigh. “Is that how you evolved, then? I keep picturing you buzzing about like bees.”
Malcolm laughed, his handsome face splitting into a broad smile. “Och, no. Our social structure is much like your insects, but we’re mammals, all the same. Mostly. We certainly never flew about, although it would have been fun if we had.”
“Speaking of which,” Brenin ventured, “is it okay for you to be back here and not in the cockpit.”
“Not to worry, laddie. Willem took to the skies as if he has wings. I’m mostly a nuisance to him up there. Besides, I like the company better back here.”
Brenin dared to look at the man head on. He saw that Malcolm’s pupils had turned black. His heart stuttered a bit. “You want me, don’t you?” It was a stupid question because the answer was obvious and it opened up a dialogue he wasn’t sure he was ready to have.
“Aye,” Malcolm admitted in a low voice. “I’m sorry. I do. Not that you should fash yourself over it. I know how to keep myself under control. You’re safe with me.”
Brenin dipped his gaze to the man’s lap and tried to see what lay under the folds of the kilt. As usual, there was nothing visible and yet, there didn’t need to be. “I’m not worried.” He licked his lips. “I know you’re aroused and it’s fine. Really, it is.”
Malcolm stood abruptly. “No, it’s not.” He turned away. “With all you’ve been through, the last thing you need is my dick in your face.” His shoulders shook on a deep breath. “Sorry. That was crude of me, as well. I’m usually better at keeping my thoughts and needs to myself.”
Brenin stood, too. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed his hand on Malcolm’s back and ran his fingers down to his waist. The muscles rippled under his light touch in a way that made him feel almost powerful.
“If you’d asked me only two days ago what I wanted and needed after my time with the monster, I would have said to be alone. I figured my interest in men had been forever ruined.” He ran his fingers along the waistband of the kilt before slipping one of them beneath it. “Now, I think maybe what I need is a chance to experience something positive. I don’t want to be a broken thing for the rest of my life. If that happens then he’s won, hasn’t he?”
Malcolm twisted around, dislodging Brenin’s hand, before clasping it in his own. He stared into his eyes as he lifted Brenin’s fingers. “Don’t speak of yourself like that. Don’t think of yourself as ruined. You are by far the bravest and most desirable boy I’ve ever known.” He brushed his lips against the inside of Brenin’s wrist.
The cool, whispering feeling sent a shiver through him. His breath stuttered out and there was that odd, yet appealing, stirring of interest between his legs. “When you look at me like that, I do feel wanted.”
“Because you are, too much so.” Malcolm tried to release Brenin’s hand.
Brenin reversed the grip to keep the connection. “What if I want you? What if I need you to help me banish the pain and humiliation of being the monster’s slave?”
Malcom’s eyes got even darker, if that were possible. “Och now, laddie, you’ll be wanting someone better than me for that. Someone human, most like. I’m just a different monster.”
Using their clasped hands, Brenin pulled them closer together. Although Malcolm was bigger and stronger, he allowed Brenin that control. “You’re nothing of the kind! I know because I’ve been this close, closer, to one and I appreciate the difference.”
Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed. “Och, Brenin, my poor, wee lad. I will turn him into dust for what he did to you. I swear I will.”
Brenin could feel the warmth of his breath—the one part of the alien that wasn’t always cool—and smelled the not-quite spicy undertones of his alien nature. Those things should have sent him screaming away. Instead, he got even closer and came within a hair’s breadth of pressing his cheek against Malcolm’s big, hard chest.
“Good. I want you to do that. God knows I do. But I’m also asking you to help me heal in a different way. Will you please show me how good it can be between two men?”
With slow movements, Malcolm drew him into a loose embrace and now Brenin did lay his head against his breastbone. He could hear the powerful beat of the man’s heart. He’d known, of course, that he possessed one. Still, it was reassuring to listen to it.
Malcolm ran his hand down the back of Brenin’s head. “If that’s what you want, I would be honored to help you.” He chuckled ruefully, the sound making his chest rumble. “Hell, laddie, it’s what I literally dream of.”
Brenin huffed. “Me too, actually. That’s how I know it’s the right thing for me to do.” He dared to slide a hand down to feel for himself how much Malcolm wanted him. The hard length was easy to find. It jerked at his touch.
“I am afraid of this,” he admitted, “and of the blood.”
“There dinnae have to be any of that.”
“Really?” He squeezed the cock as best he could through the cloth, simply because he figured he could. Malcolm’s responding grunt gave him a heady feeling of power. “You can fuck without biting?”
“I can.”
“That’s a relief.” Letting go, he pulled out of the embrace. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a distraction, given all that you have to do. I’m only hoping you can find time for me. You know, later, when this is all over.”
Malcolm used one fingertip to lift Brenin’s face by his chin. “I will give you whatever time you ask for—and more besides.” With that, he placed a quick and gentle kiss on Brenin’s lips. Nevertheless, the touch tingled and it continued to do so even after Malcolm returned to the cockpit.
* * * *
“They’re settled in. It’s become quite the party.” Petru’s annoyance was hard to miss. The man was usually more circumspect around Dracul, but perhaps his demeanor had more to do with seeing his slut kneeling between Dracul’s legs than anything going on in the tower.
That thought pleased him. He never wanted any of his followers to get above themselves. Making use of Petru’s pretty boy was serving two purposes, it seemed.
Fisting the boy’s hair, he forced the slut’s head down so that he took all of the shaft. The tightness of the boy’s throat was delightful. He’d give Petru his due. He’d trained the human well. Dracul couldn’t remember the last time he’d been serviced quite so expertly and thoroughly. He moaned, merely to watch Petru work to keep his expression neutral.
“Don’t bother me with the boring details. So long as Kronid keeps my guests in hand and my son is safely delivered, that’s all I care about. As you well know,” he added with a warning glare. If Kronid fucked up, Petru understood that his head would also be on the chopping block.
“I understand my duty. Sir.”
Dracul rewarded that little show of insubordination by rocking his hips into the boy’s mouth and holding him there until he struggled for breath. He let him up right as his pretty face started to turn red. After a few sputters, the slut continued to lavish attention on Dracul’s dick with his skilled tongue without requiring any encouragement. Such a dutiful little whore.
“And what of that other irritation? Any sign of my escaped pet?”
“No, sir.” Petru’s gaze skittered away. “He must have disguised his scent somehow because we can’t track him. Perhaps he died in the woods.”
“I’m not interested in speculation. Find the boy so that I can kill him myself—or bring me his carcass.” Really, it was too much to bear that some stupid cunt had managed to slip his grip. Someone had to pay, other than Drogo, and Dafydd was already dead, as far as Dracul was concerned. His ire wasn’t quite satisfied, and if Petru didn’t do his job, he might very well end up paying the price for that fuck-up, too.
He grinned at the guy. “Now, unless there is there anything further of importance you wish to discuss, I’m rather busy enjoying myself, as you can see.”
Petru’s mouth tightened. “No, sir.” He spun around and left the room.
Chuckling, Dracul dragged the boy up by the hair. “That’s enough of that, boy. Come sit on my lap.”
The human grinned coyly, his lips shiny with spit. He required no coaxing to climb up and straddle Dracul’s thighs. He fluttered his lashes as he lowered himself with practiced ease. Dracul’s cock sank into the willing body smoothly. How delightful. The warm, welcoming tightness made for a wonderful change. Who knew that one could achieve almost as much pleasure in fucking a willing hole as from ramming into an unwilling one?
He fisted both sides of the boy’s head and tilted it to expose the jugular. “You like being impaled by my cock, don’t you?”
“Y-yes.” The boy undulated his hips, squeezing as he rode the dick. “You fill me so completely, Master.”
Oh, yes, Petru’s slut knew just how to please. “Pity you’re barren.” As far as Dracul knew, Petru had no sons, a thing he cared little about except he always wanted more soldiers for the cause.
“That’s not my fault.” The boy’s pouty lips turned down. “He makes me take birth control.”
Dracul forced him to stay still. He peered into those strange mismatched eyes. Again, to his knowledge, no changed human had ever developed such features, nor the black striped hair. “Seriously? Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know, Master. I think he wanted me to stay slim and pretty for him.”
“Ridiculous. There’s an endless supply of fuckable boys. Sons are paramount.” He’d suspected Petru was a fool, regardless of his loyalty, but this was beyond the pale. He tightened his grip enough to bring water to those weird eyes. “I bet you’d like my seed to take root, wouldn’t you, slut?”
The boy moaned and squeezed his hole some more. “Yes, Master. Please. I want to give you sons. I’ll give you as many as you want.”
Easing his grip, he bucked his hips to get the slut moving again. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
His spirits buoyed for the first time in days, he celebrated with a fast and hard ride. At the moment of his climax, he sank his teeth into the boy’s neck and drank his fill.