Final Dance: Part One (Alien Blood Wars Book 8)

by Samantha Cayto

  His wait for Damien by the door was brief. The human had started taking Will’s blood and had developed a hair more speed than the average human. He raced over with a blanket in hand and draped it over Mateo’s still-unconscious body.

  “That should do it until we get in the SUV,” Damien said, tucking in the edges as best he could.

  When Damien opened the door, their ride was already there. They hustled to get in, Christos taking the entire back seat with his bundle. Mateo stirred as Will was pulling away from the curb. Those thick, dark lashes fluttered for a few seconds before he opened his eyes to watery slits.

  “What’s…?” He started to squirm.

  Christos tightened his hold. “Hush. You fainted. We’re taking you to see a doctor.”

  The boy tried to lift his head. “No, I can’t. I don’t have money and the free clinic is too crowded.” His protest was cut short by a cough that shook his whole body. Christos lifted him to more of a sitting position in an effort to help.

  Looking over his shoulder, Damien said, “It’s fine, Mateo. We’re taking you to a private place. Will and Christos have an uncle who is a doctor. He’ll fix you up.”

  Mateo moaned and dropped his head on Christos’ chest. “I guess I’ll owe you more blow jobs, then.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Christos bit out. “There is no payment expected.”

  The boy grunted in what could be termed a laugh. “That’s not what your dick is saying.”

  Ah yes. That stupid thing was pressed hard behind his fly and right up against the boy’s small ass. It couldn’t be helped. That would naturally happen when someone pretty sat on his lap, even though the pretty something was coughing up his lungs and hot with an obvious fever.

  He stared out of the window. “Perhaps if you stop offering sexual favors, my ignorant cock will stop getting the wrong idea.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.” Once again, he shook as his lungs tried to expel the sickness within them. These humans were easily laid low by illness. Such delicate creatures.

  “God, I feel terrible.”

  “You will get better soon.” If that promise sounded more like a command, so be it. Christos wasn’t sure he was in complete control of the situation.

  One thing was for sure, though. For the first time since coming to Boston, he wasn’t bored.

  Chapter Two

  Mateo was surrounded by creatures—or so it seemed. There were lots of big men with dark hair and pale skin. Scowls were the main expression, although the doctor treating him was kindly, smiling and reassuring. His son, too—someone Mateo had already met, he realized—flitted around and played Nurse Nancy. Between the two of them, Mateo was propped up in a huge bed with what must be thousand-thread-count sheets and a thick, warm comforter. He’d been stripped of his grungy clothing and, after a quick sponge bath, had been dressed in soft, fleecy pajamas. He felt like the heroine in A Little Princess—before her father had died. The pampering wouldn’t last forever. He fully expected to end up in the attic at some point, shivering in the cold and working his debt off. In the meantime, he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

  It was too bad he also felt like death. It was hard to enjoy the comfort when his head ached and his chest hurt as if one of those massive men in his room was sitting on top of it.

  Christos, who’d apparently caught him mid-swoon—or so Damien had relayed—was standing in the corner like a really pissed-off sentinel. He hadn’t retreated from his spot since carrying Mateo in and depositing him on the bed. A few others of his family had come in and out since then. One had a Mohawk and really reminded him of the Creature. The other wore his hair even longer than Christos did and had ‘boss’ written all over him. The rest of the men showed the guy deference, that was for sure. He wasn’t unkind when he looked Mateo over, but he clearly wasn’t happy for him to be there, either.

  No one was, other than Christos and Damien, and even they were likely acting out of kindness and nothing more. Although everyone had spoken in low tones while the doctor had treated him, there had been a word here or there that came shooting across the room. And the F-bomb in all of its various iterations had been the most prominent. ‘Crazy’ had been batted about, as had ‘moronic’ and a few other less-than-complimentary adjectives. All of them had been lobbed in Christos’ direction and he’d let them bounce off him without a lot of response. He was the immovable object to the others’ irresistible forces. Mateo wanted to feel guilty for causing such trouble. His shitty health made that impossible. How had he gotten so sick?

  “Here.” Demi’s smiling face came into view. “This is your first dose of antibiotic.” He held out a pill and a glass of water.

  Mateo wrinkled his nose. “Do I really need that? It’s just a cold and a cough.” Even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t true. But after a childhood in which prayer had been used in place of medicine, he had an ingrained distrust of pills.

  “You have bronchitis and a fever, which means it may be bacterial. You need this and, afterward, I’ve got a dose of cough medicine with acetaminophen. Be a good boy and take it all without a fuss and Damien will bring you a bowl of chicken soup.”

  Mateo rolled his eyes and did as he’d been told. He really just wanted to feel better, maybe get some sleep. And if the price of all of this was offering the big guy in the corner a little ‘something, something’, that was okay. He’d done more for less in the past. Besides, the guy was a gay boy’s wet dream. He was even more impressive now that Mateo could stare at him openly, and the way he’d held him in his massive arms had been embarrassingly comforting. He hadn’t felt that cherished in…well, never, actually. The memory of it made him shiver.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Demi cooed. “Drink this and hopefully you’ll feel better once your fever comes down.”

  Okay, if the dude wanted to assume his reaction was sickness and not lust—or some softer emotion that he didn’t want to think about—that was fine. The syrup poured into him tasted almost not bad. He chased the remnants away with more water and relaxed against the pillows behind him. God, this really was the best bed he’d ever been in, and some of his tricks had been well-off. A guy could get used to this luxury if he were stupid—which he wasn’t. This was a temporary fairyland event, and while he’d relish the time for as long as he could, he wasn’t going to start weaving fantasies. Unlike Damien, he had his feet firmly on the ground.

  And speaking of which… The cook came into the room like he owned it, carrying a tray and unfazed by the large, dangerous-looking men he weaved through. He replaced Demi by the side of the bed and settled the tray over Mateo’s lap before removing the metal cover. A delicious smell wafted straight into Mateo’s nose. Despite the meal he’d eaten not long ago, he was still hungry.

  “This is my homemade chicken noodle soup. I make it in big batches and freeze it so that I can warm bowlfuls whenever I want. Do you think you can eat now?”

  Pushing himself to more of a sitting position using arms that were way too weak, Mateo nodded. “Absolutely.” A cough racked him for a few seconds, causing Damien to hold the tray steady. But it wasn’t as bad as before, so the medicine was already working. “Thanks.”

  He grabbed the spoon beside the steaming bowl and dipped into the soup. The burst of flavor that hit his tongue had him moaning. It was that good. His gaze happened to home in on Christos and the intensity of the man’s stare made his hand shake. There was no denying the desire in his eyes. If Mateo played this right, he’d have a safe, warm place for a few days. That wasn’t a bad deal and he did want to get a look at what was tucked into the dude’s pants.

  “Let me help you,” Damien said, his face coming into view. He took the spoon from Mateo’s hand. “You’re obviously weak. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how sick you were back at Our Safe Place.” He scooped more broth and held it to Mateo’s lips.

  There didn’t seem any point in arguing about the pampering, and he was grateful for the help. “Dud
e, seriously,” he said between mouthfuls, “I didn’t get how fucked I was. There’s no way you should feel guilty about it.”

  There was a lull in the conversation, both theirs and others’, the room falling silent. Beyond Damien’s shoulder, Christos’ stare never wavered. The scrutiny was intense. Mateo vaguely wondered if the guy was going to stay there for the rest of the day and into the night. Is he going to watch me sleep? It was a creepy yet oddly thrilling idea.

  The guy with the Mohawk threw up his hands. “Well, I fucking give up. We may as well get towels monogrammed with his initials, given how this is going.”

  “Indeed,” the bossman said. He raised his eyebrows at Christos. “This is your project, regardless of what Willem and Harry say. You will keep it under control.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the answer, Christos barely glancing in the other man’s direction.

  The behemoth brigade left the room with surprisingly graceful and quiet steps, leaving only Damien and Christos. Other than the scraping of the spoon against the bowl and an occasional coughing fit, silence reigned over the room. It was both soothing and disquieting. Mateo was used to the noise of the city, even when inside. Here, it was as if they were secluded somewhere far away from Boston. He realized with a jolt that he wasn’t entirely certain where they’d brought him to. The last time that had happened, things had taken a horrible turn.

  “Where are we, exactly?” he asked between bites.

  “Somewhere safe,” came the reply from the man in the corner, and his tone implied that no further information was required.

  Damien rolled his eyes, and his obvious lack of fear helped ease Mateo’s nerves. “You’re in one of the bedrooms of the club I work in.”

  “Oh.” Mateo dutifully ate his next mouthful before daring to ask, “What club is that?” He didn’t know Damien well, and although he knew that he was a cook in some private place, that was the extent of his knowledge.

  “Club Lux. It’s a members-only club for wealthy gay men. They come for the entertainment and the chance to relax among others who understand them, mostly. The food is also excellent,” he added with a grin. “Some of them like to play, so there are rooms for that, too.”

  It took him a moment to appreciate what the guy meant by ‘play’. He swept the room with his eyes but saw nothing in the way of spanking benches or whips.

  “The family used to live in the upper floors. They moved to the building next door a little while ago. Now, bedrooms like this one are for those club members who want to spend the night in a more conventional way.”

  Mateo peered over Damien’s shoulder to look at Christos. “So, this isn’t your room, Daddy?” It was a bold question, one that he needed answered because he liked to know exactly where he stood.

  The man shifted his stance, if not his expression. “No—and do not call me that.”

  He widened his eyes as he sipped more soup, swallowing before he replied. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “Not that, either.”

  “Master?” Some guys did get off on that sort of thing, even if they didn’t use the rooms the club offered. He didn’t really care, so long as he was treated well.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Okay, tough nut to crack. “What should I call you?”

  A few seconds ticked by. “I am Christos.”

  He wasn’t used to being given real first names and never last names, so that was nothing new. “That’s unusual. I hope you’re not like the original one,” he couldn’t resist saying. “You know, pure in thought and deed.” Damien tipped the bowl for him to drink the rest of the broth. When he’d drained the last drop, he lay back and sighed. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Damien picked up the tray. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? That button on the wall there,” he said, jutting his chin to a spot behind the bed, “goes straight to the kitchen. Push it if you need anything.”

  “Really? That’s pretty cool.”

  “Well, the members pay a lot for the best service.”

  Mateo snuggled into his covers, feeling sated and sleepy. The ache in his chest had lessoned and he hadn’t coughed in quite a few minutes. “I won’t bother you.”

  “It’s no trouble, really. I’m sure it’s strange being here.”

  He worried a spot in the edge of his comforter. “It’s great, actually. I only need a few hours’ sleep and I’ll get out of everyone’s hair.” He hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but he wasn’t going to make assumptions.

  “No.” That from his beautiful gargoyle in the corner.

  With obvious exasperation, Damien looked over his shoulder. “No offense, Christos, but you’re kind of freaking him out.” He turned back to Mateo. “What he means is that you are welcome to stay as long as you need to recover. It’s totally your call, of course, but Harry wants to keep you here until your fever has completely broken and your cough is under control. It’s no imposition.”

  Mateo shifted his gaze from Damien to Christos and back again. “What does he want?”

  Once again, Damien rolled his eyes. “I think that’s pretty obvious, but that is also totally your call. There is no payment required or implied for our help. The family who owns this club is generous with its time and money. Helping you is not going down on some ledger. Isn’t that right, Christos?” he added without taking his eyes off Mateo.

  “Naí”

  “That means yes in Greek,” Damien clarified, and that was a good thing, too, because it sounded like a negative.

  Disconcertingly, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Relief? Yes, although that had more to do with how awful he felt physically. There wasn’t much he thought he could do at the moment. There was also disappointment, which was plain dumb. He didn’t need to be pressured to be willing to hop into this man’s bed. He could make that decision on his own. His muddled thinking and feelings must be due to the fever. A little rest and he’d be able to figure things out better. He’d been on his own for years, now, and except for that one time, he’d done well making his way.

  “Okay, that’s good know.” He licked his lower lip and dropped his voice. “Is he going to, you know, stand there for the rest of the day or something?”

  Damien shook his head. “No.” Moving toward the door, he said, “Come on, Christos. Let’s give Mateo peace and privacy.”

  For a moment, the man didn’t move and his stare didn’t waver from drilling a hole right through Mateo’s forehead. Then he abruptly looked away and followed Damien. “I’ll be in the hall,” he said gruffly. “Say my name, and I’ll come in.”

  “Can I call you Chris?” Mateo asked the man’s back.

  “No.” The door shut quietly behind him.

  “Christos?”

  The door opened again before he’d gotten the entire name out. “What?”

  Mateo couldn’t hold back a smile. “Nothing. Just checking.”

  Still smiling, he closed his eyes and waited for the latch to snick before rolling onto his side and willing himself to sleep.

  * * * *

  “This is boring.” Merlin regretted his words the moment they’d come out of his mouth.

  Annika’s stern gaze locked on his. “Idris needs help with his hand-eye coordination. Tossing the ball is excellent training.”

  He resisted the urge to squirm. In his relatively short life, only males had affected him so, though not the pitiful humans like his father, of course. The ones who’d crashed on this planet and had fought to conquer it or protect it, depending on their whim, were capable of turning his insides to jelly. He’d learned early to hide his reaction behind bravado and cruelty—and it had worked. At least his sire, before his death, had praised him for it.

  Living under the thumb of this female was new territory. There hadn’t been any women at the castle and he’d been inclined to treat those that he’d met after his capture with the same contempt as any human. Annika was different. She was like him, a hybrid, although he dismissed his human ha
lf as something akin to a genetic affliction to be overcome. He thought of himself as wholly like his sire and the other males. Annika seemed to be similarly inclined. Whatever part of her was human seemed buried deep inside, if one discounted her eyes and hair. Her beautiful blonde hair was almost white. It flowed down her back either free or in a braid, like now.

  Looking at her did funny things to him. Part of him calmed in her presence while another part became agitated. It was confusing and irritating and he loved it all the same. He woke with the desire of seeing her every day and went to sleep to dream of her. Regardless of how he thought about her orders, he followed them as if his entire body was tethered to her commands. His brain couldn’t make it do anything different. He’d tried—once—to disobey her and it had physically hurt. Compliance had brought sweet relief, and when she smiled at him and praised him for his actions, his chest swelled with pride and a feeling he was beginning to think of as happiness.

  So, here he sat in a small circle with Annika, Idris and the two other hybrids who’d come to stay. They were tossing a large, soft ball to the toddler, who gleefully tossed it to someone else, using both of his small hands. The kid was relentlessly cheerful, something that Merlin wasn’t used to. No one in his early childhood had dared to giggle unless it was at someone else’s expense. Idris appeared delighted with simply being alive. Annika’s silly dog Babette pranced around the circle as if trying to catch the ball with her tiny mouth. Those antics also entertained Idris, while Merlin wanted to smack the thing out of his way.

  Much of each day was devoted to hanging with the little boy. Annika insisted. They were exercising his mind and his muscles as if he were training for something—although for what, if anything, was a mystery. The Queen didn’t go in for a lot of explanation. Merlin found spending time with such a young kid mind-numbing. At least he wasn’t alone. Yaro and Matti shared the load without complaint and were decent enough company when they weren’t at Annika’s beck and call. And he had to admit that this building they all lived in was loaded with awesomely fun stuff, probably because the men were paired up with humans not much older than he was—biologically speaking, of course. He’d been born long before any of them.