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

by Samantha Cayto

  This is Mateo, every one of them. He doesn’t want me, not really. It’s survival sex he’s offering, moron, nothing more than that. I want him because he’s available and it’s been too long since I’ve taken a lover, even for a single night.

  The talking helped. Except when he tried to picture wanting any of the other humans before him, he couldn’t. No boy or girl interested him. Over each face, he saw only one—Mateo’s, his pretty light-brown eyes, his lovely high cheek bones framing a cute nose. Disgusted with himself, he turned to ask Logan to change places so that he could at least stare at something that didn’t remind him of the boy. A strange ripple of unease rushed through the room, taking his attention.

  He braced for trouble, even though there was nothing to indicate that it was coming. Instead, a man walked in, large for a human and carrying himself with the kind of confidence that Christos associated with a soldier. Plus, he definitely had a gun holstered under his arm. The telltale bulge was there, at least to his eyes. An untrained human might miss it. The kids in the room quieted and every one of them was staring at the visitor. Whoever he was, they knew him—or knew of him in some fashion.

  “Cheese it, boys. It’s the cops,” Logan said from behind him then barked out a laugh.

  He gave her the side-eye, unwilling to lose track of their visitor. “Do you know him?” She didn’t seem particularly concerned.

  “Yeah, he’s a friend of Duncan’s. Your little boy-toy was under his protection at one point while we took care of a family problem before you blew into town.”

  Ignoring the dig about his relationship with Mateo, he simply said, “Ah.” He relaxed a fraction as well, knowing now that this wasn’t a source of danger, at least not for him. The kids, however, were another matter. “What is his name?”

  “Jefferson. Sergeant, I believe.”

  He went with that. “Sergeant Jefferson, is it? How may we help you?” Although he plastered a smile on his face, he kept his tone firm. There would be no trouble on his watch.

  The cop approached with an equally cheery expression, even as his eyes darted around. “Hi, I’m sorry. Have we met?” He stopped in the now-empty space in front of the warming trays. Everyone was giving him a wide berth.

  “No. I’m a friend of Duncan’s, though, and your reputation precedes you.” That was mostly true. He didn’t have to be told that this man was in the dark about how and what they were, so he gave the kind of answer that a human would expect.

  “I see. It has been a while since I spoke with Trey.” The man gave him an assessing look. There was a flash of appreciation before he settled back to business. “How’s he doing?”

  “Well.” He supposed. The truth was that he hadn’t seen the cop in a while either. “What do you want here?”

  “That’s blunt,” the man replied cheerily.

  “My previous effort at being more polite didn’t prove fruitful. As you can see,” he added with a wave of his hand, “you’re making our guests uneasy.”

  Jefferson look around the room again. “You’ve done remarkable work in such a short time. Father Ted would be pleased that so much is being accomplished in his name.” He returned his gaze to Christos. “To answer your question, I’m looking for a particular boy.”

  “There’s a joke in there somewhere,” Logan chimed in. “Like, aren’t we all?”

  Jefferson gave her an indulgent smile. “Yes well, his name’s Mateo—” He bit off his sentence and glared at Christos. “I’m sorry… Did you just growl at me?”

  Oops. Christos pounded his chest with the side of his fist. “A bit of indigestion. What do you want with Mateo?”

  “So you have seen him. Is he here now?”

  “What. Do. You. Want. With. Him?” Christos had to work to keep his eyes from changing red and stay the impulse to leap over the counter and rip the man’s throat out.

  “Hoo boy.” Logan slid away from him and over to Alun.

  Jefferson didn’t back down. If anything, he leaned onto the balls of his feet. “I only want to make sure he’s okay. I was responsible for him a short while ago, found him a job and an apartment. Then he went off the grid again. I’m worried, that’s all. I figured this was a place he’d likely go. Has he been here?”

  Christos managed to talk himself down. This cop was obviously alert but didn’t show any signs of lying. He stared straight into Christos’ eyes, and while his pulse had quickened, it appeared only related to his own aggression.

  “He was,” he admitted. “And he’s in a safe place, although not in Our Safe Place. There’s no point in your staying here. It’s only making the others nervous and I can assure you that Mateo will not be returning here any time soon.”

  Jefferson relaxed a hair. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because he’s with me, in my home.” Alex’s home, really, but why quibble? And he did a brief and mental facepalm at the admission then chose to not regret it. It was the truth, and if this man decided to read more into the situation than there was, tough shit.

  Jefferson’s eyes narrowed. “Really? So what? You’re one of those predator fucks who volunteers to help kids like these out because it’s good hunting grounds?”

  Christos grimaced and fisted his hands. Behind Jefferson, there were about a million wide eyes staring at them and hanging on to every word. Damien and Emil would be really pissed if he caused those kids to become leery of the place.

  “I will forgive the insult because many men would do exactly that. I am here as a favor to my family, whom I’m visiting and who are behind this endeavor. Mateo took ill and is actually a guest of the family while he recovers. I misspoke when I referred to it as my home. In reality, we are both temporary residents and he is under a doctor’s care.”

  The cop’s demeanor changed again, relaxing more, his expression going from hostile to more friendly. “I know about them. They’re the people who own the club, right?”

  “Lux, yes.” Christos also relaxed, trying to make it seem like a normal conversation, when it felt anything but.

  “Yeah, that’s Duncan’s fiancé’s family. There’s lots of money there. I’ve looked into that club, too, figuring their go-go boys might be exploited. I bet there are transactions going on in those rooms that I wouldn’t like.”

  “I really couldn’t say.” His distrust rose again. This was turning into a fucking nightmare. He longed for the boredom of slinging food. “No one is being exploited, however. Of that, I can assure you—not that my word means anything to you.”

  “You’ve got that right.” The cop sighed. “Duncan says the same, and while I wouldn’t trust him with my heart, he’s too good a cop to turn a blind eye to anything.” The man stood quietly, staring at him, for a few seconds before saying, “Mateo’s going to be all right, huh?”

  “Yes. It’s bronchitis that my uncle, the doctor, has under control.”

  Jefferson nodded. “Good. That’s good.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and suddenly his fatigue and worry were obvious. “I didn’t like finding out he’d taken off. It’s winter and, you know… I really thought I’d gotten through to him, that he was off the streets for good.”

  And now Christos felt sorry for the guy. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure we can find him a job at the club.” He held out his hand when the man frowned. “I know what you’re thinking, but he’ll be off the streets and making a good wage, no matter what he chooses to do. My cousin Alex owns the place, even offers dental insurance.” He didn’t know why or how he could make such assurances, and yet as he said the words, he was determined to make them true.

  “Okay.” The cop sighed. “So what’s for dinner?”

  As Christos was trying to figure out a polite way of saying ‘fuck off’, Alun surprisingly intervened. He spoke in his usual soft voice from where he stood hovering over one of the trays.

  “We have macaroni and cheese, fish fillets and hamburgers for the main course and honey-glazed carrots and corn for sides. Plus, there are white and whole-wh
eat rolls.” The man said all of this while staring downward, except at the very end, when he lifted his head and looked over the steaming food right at Jefferson.

  The cop’s face lit up. “That sounds delicious. I know this is for homeless teens, but I don’t suppose I could finagle some of that mac and cheese? I promise to make a generous donation, but that stuff’s like my kryptonite.”

  Alun dropped his gaze again while he went for a plate. “Of course, sir. All are welcome.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. Cops weren’t among those for whom this place was intended. Christos didn’t want to make an issue of it, not given how Alun had solved the problem of at least moving Jefferson off the topic of Mateo. And the poor man had again broken his own personal record for being bolder than Christos would have imagined. The cop had ‘scary’ written all over him. Maybe that wasn’t a problem for Alun, who had surely learned to navigate in such dangerous waters while living under Dracul’s roof.

  Jefferson moved to where Alun stood. “Great. I appreciate it. And my name’s Craig, by the way. ‘Sir’ is for my father and my superiors on the force.”

  “Oh my God,” Christos muttered. “Seriously?”

  Logan sidled over to him. “Oh, you boys… Always looking for a place to stick your dicks.”

  He would have bristled at the comment if it weren’t so true, for humans and aliens alike. “That drive has the benefit of keeping your planet populated.”

  “Yeaaah,” Logan drawled. “And speaking of which, isn’t there a potential problem here?” She tossed her head in Alun’s direction. “I mean, he’s not like Lucien or Dafydd, is he? He hasn’t been, um, fixed.”

  “Oh, right.” He understood what she meant now. Harry had ensured that both his husband and Dafydd wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again by performing a hysterectomy. Alun, as far as he knew, still had his womb. And wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events in Sergeant Jefferson’s life? They already knew a human was capable of siring a hybrid. Annika was proof of that. If Alun and Jefferson produced a baby, what would that be? A full human created through an alien process. Was that permutation possible?

  Fuck, now I’m being ridiculous. There was never going to be anything between these two men, although thinking about it had managed to dispel thoughts of Mateo for about two seconds.

  “This isn’t going anywhere,” he declared.

  “You sure about that?” Logan shook her head and moved back into the kitchen.

  “Is this enough, sir? Craig.” Alun smiled shyly at the man as he held out a plate piled high with food.

  The cop gave him a megawatt smile as he accepted the offering. “Perfect, thank you.” He scooped some of the mac and cheese and moaned through the bite. “Wonderful. Did you cook this?”

  Alun hung his head and made himself busy stirring the corn around its tray. “No, I’m just helping, like.” His accent sounded a bit thicker.

  Jefferson seemed disinclined to go sit at one of the tables, which was probably a good thing. The wary kids had finally decided that he wasn’t a threat to them and had gone back to eating and talking, albeit in lower tones than before.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Alun.”

  “Alan?”

  “No, Al-un.”

  Jefferson nodded his head as he ate. “I get it. It’s nice. Different. And your accent, is that English?”

  Alun whipped up his head and, for a second, he looked affronted before his typical deference returned. “No, Welsh.”

  “I thought it wasn’t quite what I’m used to hearing on Downton Abbey. I like it. It’s…prettier.”

  Alun’s face pinked and Christos found himself hoping that more kids would come in for food. He scanned the doorway and nope, nothing.

  “It’s like a bad porn movie.” Logan had snuck up on him again, obviously at loose ends like he was. “All that’s missing is the bow chikka wow wow background music.”

  “I’m blissfully ignorant of what you mean.” Except her words evoked images of Mateo lounging in bed, looking at him through sleepy eyes. Glancing at the clock, he saw that he had another miserable four hours before he could return to the club. “This is torture.”

  “Aw, I think it’s kind of sweet,” Logan replied, misunderstanding what was bothering him. “I think Alun can handle himself pretty well, surprisingly, but I’ll leave it to you to keep an eye on this and intervene if necessary.”

  “Of course.”

  His attention was mercifully taken by the entrance of a few kids. They sort of clung to each other, with their gazes ping-ponging around the room. Obviously new to the place and distrustful of the situation, they didn’t race to the serving area. When they spotted the cop, they stopped as one.

  “It’s all right,” Christos called out to them. “Sergeant Jefferson is only here to eat. Come get some food. It’s all free and you can have as much as you want.” That seemed to do the trick. They came eagerly now, and he happily started filling their plates.

  Alun broke away from his little confab with the cop. “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me do that.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

  The Welshman helped anyway and very soon, all the new kids walked away to find seats with plenty of food on the trays in their hands. The process hadn’t taken more than a few minutes. The clock hands had moved too little to Christos’ way of thinking. He resigned himself to a boring night punctuated by the slight entertainment of Jefferson trying to make some headway with the shy and retiring Alun.

  The cop was managing to eat heartily and extremely slowly at the same time. “So, are you two relatives?” He waved his fork between Christos and Alun.

  The poor Welshman turned round eyes on Christos, obviously unsure of what to say. “We are. By marriage, I suppose.” Damn, no one had figured on this much scrutiny by allowing Alun to leave the house. It had seemed a small gift to let him have more freedom, given that he wasn’t technically a prisoner, but secrecy was key and no one had created a backstory that would make sense. Christos had to do it on the fly.

  Jefferson stopped chewing, his gaze on Alun’s hand. “You’re not married though?”

  Alun twisted the fingers of both hands in front of him. “No.”

  “He’s widowed.” Now Christos wanted to kick himself. If he’d been smart, he would have concocted a story about a fiancé or something to get Jefferson off the scent. Alun wouldn’t have gainsaid him.

  The cop’s face grew somber. “I’m sorry for your loss. Was it recent?”

  Alun nodded, his cheeks getting a little redder. “Yes, but we weren’t close, like. I’m not upset about it.”

  Christos bet that was something of an understatement. He wouldn’t blame the guy if he did cartwheels of joy every night over the loss of the asshole shipmate who’d enslaved him. Interestingly, as much as all this attention must be bothering him, he didn’t say anything to shut it down or give any indication that he was counting on Christos doing it for him. If anything, he was giving the cop every indication that he had a shot. Maybe enslavement in Dracul’s castle hadn’t sucked the life out of him after all. There was hope that he could recover and lead a relatively normal life.

  Not with this guy.

  “If you’re finished, Sergeant?” He held out his hand.

  “Oh, sure.” The man gave him his plate, then went right back to chatting with Alun. “Do you live at the club? I think my friend Duncan said something about his fiancé living there with his family.”

  “It’s the next door building, actually, and yes, I do, with my son,” he added.

  Ah, there we go. That will send the horny fucker running.

  Jefferson grinned. “Oh, yeah? I love kids. I’m hoping to have a few myself one day.”

  Or not. Christ.

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s a teenager,” Christos chimed in before Alun could think of an answer that made sense. “And the kind that makes you want to run right into traffic. Sorry,” he added to Alun.<
br />
  The poor guy hung his head. “No, that’s a fair assessment.”

  Jefferson remained undeterred. “Sounds perfectly normal to me. If you asked my parents, they would probably have described me in the exact same way. And look how great I turned out.” He opened his arms wide while grinning broadly.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Jefferson leaned on the counter and over the tray of candied carrots. “And I hope you’ll give me your phone number.”

  Alun shook his head. “I don’t have one.”

  That surprised the cop. “Really?” Undaunted, he recovered quickly. “Not even a landline at the house or at the club?”

  Alun’s heartbeat became rapid. Christos could hear the thudding, the racing of his blood and the harshness of his breathing. Matters had gotten entirely out of hand, right while Christos had stood there trying not to think about Mateo yet not doing anything helpful either. Alex depended on him to watch over Alun. It was an unspoken rule any time the changelings or the hybrids left home.

  He bent to catch the man’s eyes. “Alun, why don’t you go see if Logan needs help?” He phrased it as a question, but the human understood it as an order.

  Alun’s relief was palpable. “Yes, of course. It was nice meeting you, sir,” he said to Jefferson. “Craig,” he amended with a flash of a smile.

  Christos waited until the man had gone beyond anyone’s line of sight before fixing Jefferson with a glare. “You’ve had your food. It’s time to go.”

  The cop didn’t move. “What’s your beef? You don’t like the idea of Alun getting back out there. Is his dead husband your brother or something?”

  “Hardly. No one misses that asshole.” Once again, he could have gone with something less truthful. When he’d told Mateo that he didn’t like lying, he’d meant it. Doing so didn’t come naturally to him. And in this case, perhaps more brutal honestly would be helpful.

  “Alun has been through a difficult time. His marriage wasn’t conventional or healthy for him. It’s too soon for him to trust anyone.”