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

by Samantha Cayto

  As he sank to his knees, he reminded himself that this was all in service to getting back to that wonderful place—back to his love.

  * * * *

  “Here… It’s fruit juice. It will clear the taste.”

  Mateo pushed up on one arm and accepted the cup Dafydd had offered. The drink was room temperature, which was to say warm, but sweet, and it eased his dry throat. “Thanks. I should be helping you, not the other way around. He didn’t beat me, after all.”

  Dafydd carded Mateo’s hair away from his face. “I’d rather take the beating, truth be told. It’s only pain.”

  Mateo grinned at him before lying down on a pretty, soft rug and pillows. As prisons went, this wasn’t so bad. A bit stifling perhaps. That was the worst of it. There was a commode and a sink in one corner, complete with both soap and toilet paper. It was much better than the rat-invested hellhole he’d been expecting when they’d dragged him away from Dracul. He was also pathetically grateful to be roomed with Dafydd. He’d been afraid they’d be separated. Misery was easier to handle when he had a friend with him.

  “And I’d rather be skull-fucked than punched,” he replied. “Lucky us… We’re both getting what we want.” Even as he said the words, he knew he’d gotten off lightly for the time being. Worse would come later.

  Dafydd put the cup back on the small table, which held a pitcher. “Anything is preferable to having Idris taken from me. I know he’s being cared for, because Dracul’s ego demands it. Still…” He coughed out a laugh. “It’s hard to believe I once rejected him. Now I can’t stand the thought of not being with him.”

  “I think that Andri jerk is probably doing a good Mary Poppins imitation, for his own sake. He knows he’s on thin ice if he fucks up.”

  “You’re right, of course. And there’s Merlin. Whatever else he’s up to, he seems to care for my son. I guess I don’t want my boy to see me like this anyway,” he added, touching his swollen face.

  Mateo ran his finger along his upper lip, which had split from the force of Dracul’s attention. “Do you…?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the question.

  “What is it? Come on. You can trust me.”

  “I know,” he was quick to assure his companion. “It’s just that I was wondering if Christos is still going to want me after this.” His fantasy of his boyfriend scouring the planet to rescue him faded in the face of what he’d done.

  Dafydd scoffed. “Don’t be daft, mun. He loves you. Nothing Dracul does will change that, the same way my Ric’s feelings for me won’t ever be diminished by what I do to survive.”

  Mateo beamed at the reassurance, which made his lip bleed again. “Damn, this is going to suck,” he said, patting the sore with the tip of his finger.

  “I sympathize… Believe me, I do. I heal quickly, though.” He frowned. “At least I used to when I was being fed his blood. I’m not sure what happens now that I’ve stopped.”

  Mateo wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand most everything that’s happening or has happened—like how you and Dracul both fathered Idris and what their being vampires is all about. Will you please explain it to me?”

  Dafydd settled down beside him. “I will, yes. God knows we’ve got time on our hands. It all started, you see, a thousand years ago when a ship from another planet made a navigational mistake…”

  Epilogue

  Craig Jefferson entered his duplex apartment in Jamaica Plain and headed straight for his bed. He’d been on his feet for nearly forty-eight hours, and if he didn’t get horizontal soon, he was going to pass the fuck out where he stood. That was his plan until he heard a very angry meow, reminding him that he didn’t live entirely alone. He might not have a lover at the moment and couldn’t have a dog, given his erratic hours. But he’d longed for some kind of companionship and, like lonely people everywhere, he’d gone for something self-sufficient. Well, mostly self-sufficient. His cat didn’t hesitate to make herself known any time her needs were not being met…like now. She even dared to wind through his stumbling legs, nearly leading to a bad ending for them both.

  “Damn it, Coretta, are you trying to kill us?” In response, the cat turned her green eyes on him and let out another indignant yowl. She normally paid little attention to him when he was home, so her greeting was momentarily surprising. Then, his over-tired brain did the math. “Oh, I get it. You want food.” He sighed. “Sorry. I guess that’s more important than my getting to sleep in the next thirty seconds.”

  He staggered into the kitchen and crouched to pull out one of the cans of cat food in the lower cupboard. His lack of sleep got the better of him then, causing him to lose his balance and land on his ass. Too tired to worry about it, he popped the lid off the can and dumped the smelly contents into Coretta’s food bowl. With another dismissive meow, she dove in as if she’d been left unfed for days, something he knew wasn’t true. One of the reasons he’d dared to get any pet was because his brother lived in the other unit with his family. They made sure Coretta was never unattended.

  He watched his cat devour her food, which would keep her until the evening. A quick glance confirmed that her water bowl was full. She didn’t need him for anything further, so he could focus on his own needs again. All he had to do was get to his feet and go to bed. Instead, closing his eyes, he slumped against the cabinetry.

  “What are you doing sleeping on the damn kitchen floor, and why are you feeding a cat that I fed not one hour ago?”

  Craig pried open his eyes to see his brother Dante walk in from the back door. “She insisted that had not happened,” he told him.

  “Uh-huh. She’s got you wrapped around her little…whatever it is that cats have.”

  “Feel free to take the dish away from her.”

  “No way, man. That is one evil cat. I don’t care if she gets fat, and I don’t need the scratches.” He peered at him more closely. “Damn, you’re a mess. Catch a tough case?”

  Craig closed his eyes briefly but opened them again when all he saw was broken bodies. That didn’t bode well for sleeping. “Not really. I was helping out with the mass shooting at Club Lux.”

  Dante winced as he leaned against the counter. “I heard about that. The whole fucking country has. A bunch of skinhead white boys working off their anger at not being supreme leaders of the world anymore, huh?”

  Craig thought about the lie he’d made up on the spot and had spread to deflect from the truth, a truth that he still couldn’t quite believe. “Something like that,” he replied.

  “Sweet Baby Jesus, I just don’t understand some people. Who wakes up one day planning on massacring folks, especially knowing that it’s not going to end well for you, too? Guess they didn’t expect gay guys to shoot back, huh?”

  With what Craig knew about the situation, he could guess that was exactly what the mercenaries had been told—that there would be no return fire. Nothing else made sense. These were not ideologues willing to die for a cause, not that he could share any of that with his brother. “Something like that, I guess.”

  Dante shook his head. His brother was a good man, with not a mean bone in his body. Not that he was a pushover, and he’d kill to protect his family, but this kind of evil was incomprehensible to him. And that was as it should be. “How come you got involved in a homicide case?”

  A fair question, and one that he had a ready answer for. “It was a blood bath and extra hands were welcome.” That wasn’t strictly true, so he added, “And an old friend was working the case. I wanted to help him.”

  “You’re talking about Duncan.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You thinking of getting back with him? He was the best thing that ever happened to you. I told you not to fuck it up.”

  Craig sighed. Dante’s kind nature extended to unwavering support of his little gay brother. He’d bloodied a few boys in school over it. “So you did, but no. Trey has moved on. He’s engaged, actually, to a relative of the club owner, as it happens. They’re all…in shock. I
’ve been lending a hand where I could.”

  Dante frowned. “That’s too bad—about Duncan being taken, I mean. The other stuff is fucking insane and I can’t think of anything to say about it that would help in the least. Seriously though, after you get your beauty rest, you really should get back out there dating. You’re getting too old for all these one-night stands. Mama’s worried about you and wants to see you settled, maybe with a family.”

  This was not what he needed right now. “Mama worries because she breathes. My settling down isn’t going to change that problem. She’ll find something else to fret over. Besides, she has you and LaKeisha and the girls to dote on. I’m just the gay son.”

  “She has never thought of you like that.”

  That was true. Dante had understood Craig’s nature early in childhood and had become an ally long before anyone else in the family knew. When Craig had been nineteen and sick with worry that his parents would shun him for being gay, Mama had been the first to hug him tight and tell him how much she loved him. Daddy had taken a little more time, but he’d come around, too. Craig hadn’t worried that he’d be completely alone regardless, because Dante had always had his back. He couldn’t have hoped for a better brother. And having him living downstairs was the perfect situation, and not only because it meant he didn’t have to worry about Coretta. Any time he returned, worn down by the tragedies he witnessed on a daily basis, his brother and his family were always there to remind him that life could be wonderful.

  “I promise I’ll get right on finding a husband as soon as I get some sleep.” Even as he made the snarky remark, he couldn’t help thinking of that pretty, pale man who was something not quite human anymore. Alun, with his singsong accent and shy demeanor… He’d pushed all Craig’s buttons the moment he’d first seen him at Our Safe Place. The whole fantastic alien vampire angle was surprisingly not a deal breaker for him. Knowing the guy had suffered abuse was a bigger problem, but he’d spent years working with people like that. If anyone could help Alun recover, he’d like to think he could do it. And maybe that teenage son of his—who might or might not be a traitorous fuck—would benefit from a good dose of Mama in his life. That woman knew how to keep wild boys in check.

  Not that he said any of that to his brother. Even if he’d been well-rested, there were too many secrets for a meaningful conversion. And planning for the future was particularly pointless now that he knew there was a danger in the world that transcended petty human politics and even global warming. If his new friends didn’t eliminate this Dracul creature, everyone was in for a fuck-load of pain. Knowing that he was now helping to wage some kind of apocalyptic war freaked him out. There was no way for his mind to process it all until he got some rest.

  “You want me to bring you a pillow and blanket so you can sleep here?”

  Craig managed a smile. “No, I only need a few more seconds and I’ll drag my tired ass to my bedroom.” As he said the words, his eyes drooped shut and he slid farther onto the floor.

  A few moments later, his head was lifted and placed on something soft. Warm weight covered him. The last thing he heard was Coretta’s irritated meow and the quiet closing of the door.

  Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!

  Alien Blood Wars:

  Final Dance: Part Two

  Samantha Cayto

  Excerpt

  Alun bolted upright in bed, a scream stuck in his throat. It fought to escape, but he held it back, his mouth wide open in silent horror. He’d learned early in his slavery to never disturb his alien master with something as irrelevant as his own terror. That mistake had only led to punishment and the hideous pain that accompanied it. It was better to trap it all inside and push it down deep where even he didn’t dare look. With his heart pounding, he clenched the bedding while fighting to regain control. It had only been a nightmare, nothing real, except it had contained bits from his actual life as a slave. The fact that he no longer lived in that world of misery didn’t help. The remnants of his excruciating past hung around his neck as surely as the chains Jacob Marley had forged in life. The image from that book he’d been allowed to read long ago stayed with him as the perfect representation of his own life. There was no escaping what had been done to him, what he’d survived. And now it threatened to repeat itself in a new and unfathomable way.

  “Merlin.” He dared to whisper his son’s name. There was no one to hear. He practically swam in the huge, luxurious bed afforded him in a room that was bigger than the tiny house he’d lived in with his family—before his world had been upended by a creature without mercy or morals who had used him as a toy and an unnatural breeder of his unholy spawn. At least, that was how he’d viewed his son in the beginning.

  He pried the fingers on one hand to clutch at the simple gold crucifix that Lucien had kindly given him. The comfort of his religion had been denied him for so long. It was strange and miraculous to regain it. No one in this household would care about his wearing this symbol. Many of the aliens wore something similar, except they weren’t believers—not really. It was only one way in which they’d sought to blend in among humans. For him, it truly meant something, a rebirth of his belief and hope that God had not forsaken him. He hid this sign beneath his shirt to keep it private as he slowly regained his faith.

  Tightening his grip, he dared to say a prayer for his son. “Please, God, keep him safe. Forgive me for ever denying him my love and protection.” It had been hard to accept the squalling bundle that had been cut out of him and impossible to protect him from the brutality of the alien who was his sire. When Merlin had started to abuse him as well, it had almost been a relief. It had given him a reason to harden his heart and turn away from the violence visited upon him with such casual cruelty.

  That carefully constructed shell had begun to crack. His son was not who Alun thought him to be—or he’d changed with the right influence, something Alun had never possessed. When Dracul’s army of mercenaries had invaded, Merlin had looked into Alun’s eyes and expressed his sorrow over his violence. That had been the first real connection between them. Alun had seen actual regret and a softness of feeling that was purely human. At that moment, he’d found something of himself in his son and had known hope. But with that discovery came other, more frightening emotions. Now, he worried about Merlin. Was he truly safe? Was he even alive? Could he manage to deceive and betray Dracul without paying the ultimate price of losing his life? For the first time, Alun prayed for his son to live.

  “Mary, Mother of God, please watch over him.” He brought the crucifix to his lips, a reflexive action that helped calm the last of his nerves.

  He released his grip on the bedding, as well, and lay back against his mound of pillows. Really, the luxury he lived in was almost as disconcerting as his captivity in Dracul’s castle had been. He didn’t know what to do with it. In his early life, he’d shared a small bed with two brothers. As a slave, he’d confined himself to a narrow strip of a bigger bed that he’d been forced to sleep in with his master. That arrangement had been about convenience, not kindness. His master had wanted him handy for his pleasure. Alun would have preferred sleeping on the cold stone floor than lying near his torturer. As he lay in the middle of his enormous mattress now, he felt just as small and insignificant as he had for those long decades of captivity. Little had changed, other than he could be sure that only his own thoughts would disturb him here.

  He sighed and stared up at the pristine white ceiling. The muted light seeping past the edge of the curtain told him that dawn was breaking, and while no one expected him to be up with the sun and toiling away anymore, experience told him that trying to go back to sleep would prove impossible. Giving into reality, he shoved aside the bedding and got up. It was easy to head to the bathroom, because the light in there had been on all night. Since his ‘rescue’ by these less-frightening aliens, he’d been afraid to sleep in the dark. He knew now that monsters really did lurk about, and he needed t
o see his surroundings clearly the moment he opened his eyes. It was embarrassing, although no one probably knew what he did. Also, no one seemed to care. When he was in his bedroom, everyone left him alone. The privacy was appreciated—but also unnerving. He couldn’t quite trust that anything was being done for his benefit. It wouldn’t surprise him if the one called Val had eyes on him through his security system.

  Not that it mattered. He’d learned to accept what he couldn’t change and survive in any way possible. Suicide had only briefly touched his mind in those terrible early days. He’d been true enough to his faith to not go through with it. He’d believed—and still did—in the promise of eternal heavenly peace if he followed God’s rules. Taking his own life had not been an option then, and there was no reason to contemplate it now. Only the most chopsy of people would resent the privileged life he was currently leading. He was always warm and well-fed and had lovely clothing that he was allowed to wear instead of the often-enforced nudity back in the castle. No one had hit him since he’d left the castle, not even Merlin, although his son had come close at one point, and his body was his own. No one forced themselves inside him or used him for pleasure in other ways. For the first time in over a hundred years, his body didn’t ache or bleed. There was no reason to want to end his time on Earth, other than this persistent and nagging anxiety that threatened to swamp him every minute of every day.

  He pushed down that feeling, which was particularly insistent due to his nightmare, and focused on the mundane. After relieving himself in the glorious effectiveness of modern plumbing, he headed for the shower. He was careful to avert his gaze as he passed the long mirror above the sink counter. Looking at himself was something he avoided as much as possible. He might not be a victim of violence anymore, but his body still bore the markings of it. There was hardly a section that didn’t contain a scar from knives, pokers or whips that had been used to bring him under his master’s control. Even when he’d capitulated, the lessons had continued, especially if he’d dared to make even the tiniest of mistakes. He was hideous in his own eyes, and because sleeping nude had become engrained in him, his battered skin was all too evident.