The Beast

“Take a left. Now.”

Assail did what he was told without argument, wrenching the wheel, skidding on the pavement, cutting off a car in the opposite lane. As a horn sounded, Vishous kept talking.

“Two miles up, there’s a high-class shopping center. It’s got a real estate office in it. Hair salon. Restaurants. A jeweler’s. Go around to the back. I’ll be at the far end.”

Assail nodded, even though the Brother couldn’t see him.

And as he didn’t end the call, Vishous said calmly, “You got this, my man. Whatever it is, we’ll handle the shit.”

“All right. All right.” Assail looked back at the male again. “Stay with me. . . .”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Vishous murmured. “I’m only going silent for a sec as I dematerialize. Okay, I’m back.”

Assail didn’t say anything further as he leaned in to the wheel and waited for the—how many miles did he have to go? two?—shopping center to appear. And then there it was, its glowing signs and mostly empty lot a beacon of hope, a symbol of salvation.

“I’m here, I’m here.”

He punched the accelerator, shooting beside the real estate office and skidding around to the rear of the building. The back was all utilities and Dumpsters, staff parking and loading docks for the stores. The BMW gathered speed, surging ahead like a missile.

In the headlights, at the far end, a single dark figure was standing with feet planted.

Assail stomped on the brakes, and then relented as he heard a clunking and a groan of pain from the back seat. As the car jerked to a stop, he got out without putting the engine in park and had to duck in again to toggle the gearshift.

“What are you doing with Saxton’s car—”

He cut off the Brother. “Help me—”

“Have you OD’d—”

Assail ripped open the rear door. “Help him! Please!”

He had to wipe his eyes again—indeed, they were leaking all over the place.

Vishous took out a gun and approached the open car, peering in. “What. The. Fuck.”

“He-he-he—” Shit, he couldn’t speak. “I found him. Behind the lock. He was in the basement. I couldn’t leave him.”

The male cowered away from Vishous, retracting his spindly body into the far side of the backseat, that stringy hair all over his thin arms and boney back.

“Shit.” Vishous straightened and looked over. “I can’t even start treating him here. We gotta bring him in. Christ—the chains—okay, get in—not behind the wheel. I’m driving. You can explain on the way.”

Assail stumbled togo around to the passenger side in the front. But then he stopped, re-thought things and slid into the back with the male. Taking off his jacket, he laid it over the slave’s nakedness.

“It’s all right.” The car began to move, streetlights flaring in the dark interior as Assail tried to get a hold of himself. “We’re going to be . . . all right.”

FIFTY-FIVE

Layla returned to Earth and regained consciousness in her physical form, her eyes opening to focus on the low ceiling of her hospital room. Her hands went immediately to her belly, and as she shifted her legs and took a deep breath, there was movement there, reassuring, strong, vital movement.

She’d left the light on in the bathroom with the door mostly closed, as was her habit whenever she tried to sleep, and her stare gravitated to the illumination. Then she looked at the clock. Eleven thirty-four p.m.

She had been up in the Sanctuary for quite a while.

When she had proceeded from the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes to the library, it had taken her a while to find what she was in search of. And then she had studied the particular volume for some time. As well as others.

Pushing herself up higher on the mattress, she rubbed her temples.

She should not have gone into Xcor’s history.

Then again, if his story had been different, if his true sire’s identity had proven to be that of another, it wouldn’t have mattered as much, she supposed. Such a shock. Indeed, she had even cross-referenced what she had found, going into the sacred annals of the Black Dagger Brotherhood, pulling out volumes, searching for some inconsistency, some contradiction in the sire’s records.

There had been nothing of the sort. In fact, there had been a confirmation.

And now she could not un-learn what she had discovered.

With a groan, she sat up further, swung her legs off the side, and noted that her ankles were so swollen, it was as if her calves ran directly down into her feet.

She should not have gone hunting for any information.

For now what did she do? How did she explain why she had looked?

Pushing herself onto her feet, she pulled her nightgown down and moved her hair back behind her shoulders. With a curse, she took one step forward—

Wetness. Down the insides of her legs again.

Great. Just what she needed in the middle of all this.

Waddling forward, she was preoccupied with Xcor and irritated with her bladder. But at least she could take a shower and relax knowing that everything was okay with the young. And didn’t they make adult diapers for this sort of thing?

She was pivoting around to shut the bathroom door when she looked back—

Blood. Blood on the floor . . . bloody footprints on the floor.

Lifting her gown, there was blood on the inside of her legs.

As she screamed, someone came running—and Ehlena burst in.