by Joey W. Hill
Instead her hands were on him, her lips on his blood-soaked shoulder. He'd never felt anything so welcome in his life, even as he'd never felt so terrible. She was cutting his bonds free, her and Dix. He was blearily aware of the ranch hand pulling away the ropes, helping Selene ease him to the ground. It was Selene's gentle fingers that removed the barbed wire from around his genitals. Which still hurt like hell, because the stuff in his ass had brought him back to a full erection in no time, but at least that burning sensation had eased off. Apparently the pain factor of the ointment had a shorter shelf life. One small blessing in the midst of the horror.
Her touch was far more than a small blessing. Even with the discomfort, he embraced that feeling, her hands on him, her concerned face in his field of vision.
"Selene..."
"Sssh." Her head jerked up, then her breasts were pressed against his face, her arms tight around him. She'd thrown herself on him, shielding him. The ground shuddered like an earthquake. From her grunt at the impact, he thought a car had run over them both. Then the pressure was gone. Tilting his head up, he followed the direction of her glance just in time to see the cabin door give way, along with a big chunk of the wall surrounding it. He realized Butch and Laurent had taken their fight back up the little hill, fists pummeling each other as the battle continued, powerful bodies with strength far beyond that of humans destroying everything in their paths. All the males on both sides had moved back to flank the clearing, watching the track of the combat. Then Selene's arms were around him, pulling him up against her again, and that was all that mattered. His Mistress was holding him.
"Quinn, Quinn..." She was whispering his name.
"You should run...now," he said hoarsely. "While they're fighting. Just go. Run."
"I'm done running." She eased him back so he was half-lying on her thighs. "Whatever happens, happens."
"This is my fault. I'm so sorry."
"No. No it's not. It's Laurent's fault. I told you. I want you as who you are, Quinn, and you couldn't have done this differently. Though I certainly wish I'd been awake to stop you." She gave him a mock stern look, though he realized she was also crying. "I would have."
When he'd turned his head to look at her, he'd caught Mike in his field of vision. The vampire was sitting on his ass about fifty yards away. He was holding the side of his head, where an explosion of blood had baptized his face. Quinn blinked, realizing the blunt object that had hit him was one of the two by fours Quinn had brought in the back of his truck. Mike was glaring at Selene, but given that a few of Butch's men were keeping their eyes and weapons trained on him, he'd decided being shot full of holes twice in one day wasn't preferable to revenge.
"When Mike started whipping you again, I told Dix that wasn't happening." Selene's voice was cold, drawing his attention back to her face, the fierce light in her eyes as she stroked his jaw. "He agreed."
Mike probably had a few decades on her, and yeah, she'd had surprise on her side, but it was still frigging impressive, to Quinn's way of thinking. "Remind me not to piss you off."
"It wouldn't help," she said shortly. "You're too stubborn to heed any warnings I give you."
At another time, a far more pleasurable one, she might have suggested using a whip to get him to listen. But he saw how she really felt about that as she traced his wounds. Laurent had striped him down the front mercilessly, and her tears were falling in his blood and torn flesh. He couldn't bear her tears, and managed to raise a shaking hand, cupping her jaw so she drew her eyes from that to his face.
I'd beg for the touch of a whip from your hands, Mistress.
That made her cry harder. He wanted to hold her, but he was like a baby in truth, too weak to move. In the corner of his eye, he saw Dix rise from where he'd been squatting within arm's reach. Now that Quinn had been freed, the ranch hand had one focus, and that was the battle going on in the clearing.
With the pain ebbing to a dull roar, Quinn's third mark senses had sharpened, and he could follow the fight better himself, even though there were still moments where Butch and Laurent were moving almost too fast for him to see the details. Then they smashed into a tree so hard he heard a crack. Laurent had Butch against the trunk. Both their faces were bloody, fangs bared. Butch strained against the hold, broke it and landed a punch square on Laurent's nose. Quinn had the pleasure of hearing the cartilage break. But Laurent barely registered it. He hammered Butch's stomach, broke free, and they were off spinning like a dervish again.
Dix's fists clenched as if he could help his Master fight. Watching the hand's body canted toward them, Quinn realized this was more than a pissing match to Dix. And not just to him. Fuck.
Dix's tension and the serious looks on the men's faces penetrated Quinn's mind. Gelling with everything he now knew about Laurent, from personal experience as well as seeing the beating his Mistress had taken from him, the full impact of the decision Butch had made registered.
If Butch won, he'd said he'd let Laurent go his way, with the terms of the agreement honored. If Laurent won this fight, Butch wasn't going to be alive. Neither would Dix. A servant died when the Master did.
But Quinn didn't think that was why Dix looked so invested in this. A person didn't become a vampire's servant if their own life was more important to them than the vampire they served.
He realized Selene must know what might happen here as well, because now that her servant was free, she'd gone still and tense, all her attention on the combat. Helped by her strength, Quinn struggled up enough to see more of what was going on.
As Butch and Laurent hit one of the SUVs, and it was clear that Laurent was gaining the upper hand, Selene stiffened, began to rise. "No."
Somewhere, Quinn found the strength to hold on to her. "Mistress, no. If you step in at the wrong time, the distraction could get him killed."
Though he hated being on the sidelines as much as she did, he knew it was true. He took that cue from Dix, the person who most wanted to go to his Master's aid but who was restraining himself. Barely.
If Butch did survive this, Quinn would owe Dix as big a debt as Selene would owe Butch. "Mistress, give me blood."
Startled, she looked down at him. "Yeah, I won't heal as fast, but it will get me on my feet." He was gauging the stance of the silent men watching. Unlike Ernesto and Mike, these men were bound to Butch and Dix by true loyalty. If Butch lost and he and Dix died, this was going to get really bloody. Mike was already back on his feet, standing next to Ernesto, the two of them looking ready to fight if needed.
The good thing about being in each other's heads was there wasn't a lot of explanation needed. In a blink, Selene saw his evaluation of what might happen, understood why he was asking what he was asking. "From the throat," she said. "It's richest there. Do you have the strength?"
He did. Especially when she leaned over him, cupping his head, bringing it to her throat as she raised her chin to give him better access. He didn't like causing her more pain, but he also understood for vampires, the bite of their servant was more of an erotic expression than a functional pain. Though it would be hard to feel anything sexual in the current setting, he wasn't surprised at the flood of intimacy that came from the act. In its way, it was as balancing as that chant that had come into his mind, Sam's wisdom helping him survive such a horrible ordeal.
Her blood flooded his mouth and he swallowed as fast as he could. He'd been right. Because of their connection, the taste of her blood was as welcome as whiskey, and his body recognized its need for it like mother's milk.
It didn't take much. When she broke free with obvious reluctance after he'd taken down about a cup, he could already feel vitality coming back to him. He might not be tiptop for a while, and his skin looked like a bloody patchwork quilt, but he could make it to his feet, especially with her strength aiding him. Turning at a nudge, he found one of Butch's men holding out his jeans and boots, which Laurent's men had apparently left in a heap nearby. Hot damn. He might just feel human again.
He donned the clothes, despite wincing at the pain on his abraded flesh. As he did, he stayed close to Selene's side and kept an equally close eye on the fight. Now it wasn't so hard, either because he was feeling better or because both vampires had slowed down. They were wearing each other out, circling, looking for strategic advantages. A choreographed dance that could end in death for one of them. One of Butch's men called out, brandishing his gun as if he was offering to take a few shots at Laurent.
Butch shook his head. "I said it's a fair fight," he snapped. "No one does a damn thing. I can handle this bastard."
A few feet from Quinn, Dix looked as if he was made of stone. His concentration was so fixed on his Master, Quinn wondered if he was like the coach in a boxer's ring, anticipating Laurent's moves, giving Butch a further advantage. That was something a servant might do, having a wider view of what was around them.
Laurent feinted forward then back. Butch met him, swung and missed. Laurent kicked him in the knee. If it had connected, Quinn suspected it would have broken. Instead Butch launched himself over the strike, a flat-out tackle that banded his arms around Laurent's torso and took them to the ground. Laurent twisted fast as a serpent, but as he slipped out of Butch's grip, Butch got lucky and caught him in a headlock. He flung them both backward, Laurent on top of him, the ground shaking with the force of their fall.
Laurent bucked and thrashed, kicked his legs, clawed at the hold. Butch held on grimly. It reminded Quinn of holding a calf to the ground, trying to stay clear of the kicking hooves, only Laurent was much more lethal and strong. But despite the century difference in their ages, Butch was no pushover. He tightened his hold and flipped them. Quicker even than Quinn could follow, he'd rolled on top of Laurent, seized his shoulders, forced his knee into his back. With a roar, the Texas overlord heaved upward. The crack of the spine resounded through the clearing like a rifle shot.
As if a switch had been thrown, every one of Butch's men had the muzzles of their rifles up and pointed at Claudio, Ernesto and Mike. Claudio had dropped to one knee as if the trauma had resounded through his own body, so he wasn't an immediate threat, but it was clear Mike and Ernesto were on the fence about what to do.
Butch stumbled to his feet, straightened and backed away from his opponent, his broad chest heaving in the aftermath of the exertion. He knuckled blood away from his eye with an impatient gesture and shot a look toward Laurent's two vampires. "A hail of bullets won't kill you, boys," he said hoarsely. "But if you give them a reason to shoot, I'll make damn sure you don't get up. I'll stake you where you lie. The law is on my side, killing vampires outside my territory who threatened my life or those of the vampires I protect."
His gaze shifted to Selene, then moved to Laurent. The New York overlord was still immobilized and in obvious, hideous discomfort, but the eyes he kept trained on Butch were hate-filled. "Is that your plan for me?" he managed with venom.
"It would give me more pleasure than you can imagine." But Butch glanced toward Claudio. "Give your Master blood so he can recover. Then I expect the lot of you to pack up your outfit and get the hell out of here." He returned his attention to Laurent. "The Region Masters made their decision a couple hours ago, which you'd have known if you'd checked your voicemail instead of torturing Quinn here. Selene belongs to me, which means so does Quinn."
Selene's arms tightened around Quinn. Relief flooded him so strongly his knees almost buckled. Thank God. Though it couldn't change the mistakes he'd made, or what the past few hours had cost them, it sure went a hell of a long way to making the future a damn sight more optimistic. Unless Butch decided to kill him for causing all this trouble. Quinn wouldn't blame him a bit.
Only your Mistress gets to decide if you live or die, Quinn. I'm not quite ready to be rid of you.
Her voice, gentle in his head but with a core of steel, was almost as capable of making his knees go out from under him as Butch's news. He was so tired. A shower, a few days of sleep where he didn't have to think of anything but holding her--that was all he could ever want again.
Laurent curled his lip at Claudio when his servant approached, but he didn't refuse him when he cut a vein in his wrist, brought it to his Master's lips. While Laurent obviously didn't relish being seen in such a weakened position, he valued survival over appearances. For his part, Butch turned away, moving through his men back to his vehicle. As he leaned his hips against the grill, watching Claudio and Laurent with sharp eyes but a weary expression, Dix brought out a couple towels and a bottle of water.
The moment the fight had concluded, Dix had been inside the circle of men, standing at Butch's back as he spoke to Laurent. Now, though the two males exchanged no words, Quinn wondered how many things were being said regardless. Dix gave Butch a damp towel so he could wipe the blood from his face and chest, but his eyes never left his Master's face.
Quinn suspected if they were alone, Dix would have done the honors with the towel himself, needing to touch Butch. Even though Quinn and Selene were a few yards away, Quinn could feel that need vibrating from Dix. Which meant Butch was feeling it like a palpable force. Proving it, Butch reached out, clasped Dix's shoulder. Then he gave him a light shove, a gesture that said clearly, "Can't believe you were worried I couldn't take this asshole."
Quinn had never been much about watching two guys together. No way, no how. But maybe because of the bond he felt with Selene, understanding it better than ever before, Quinn couldn't take his eyes away as he watched Dix take the second towel, run it over Butch's broad shoulder and then linger there, his hand tightening on him. Butch's head lifted, and he murmured to his servant. Gave him a wry smile, then pushed him away again, an obvious reproof not to be such a hen. Quinn's sharpened hearing brought him some the exchange.
"Ye of little faith," the overlord said.
Dix gave him an even look. "I didn't want to show up at the Pearly Gates because you got your ass kicked by a city slicker."
"Neither Heaven nor Hell would want us if that happened. That's why God was on our side." Butch winked at him. Then he turned his attention back to his opponent.
Quinn had kept a sharp eye on Laurent as well, and he wasn't alone. Most of Butch's men had done the same, covering all three vampires and the one servant, rifles still at the ready.
The age of the vampire must help the recovery time once a servant's blood was administered, for Laurent was already sitting up, albeit gingerly. At his curt gesture, Ernesto and Mike came forward, taking over getting him to his feet, since Laurent had pushed Claudio away impatiently after he'd had the necessary nourishment from him. The New York overlord sent Selene a sharp, sneering look.
Interestingly, Butch's men closed ranks around Quinn and Selene in direct response. Apparently Butch had given them pretty specific orders about who to protect in this fight. Quinn saw Selene swallow at the gesture, her gaze going to Butch. She didn't have any precedent for an overlord who thought of her protection as more than a personal benefit for himself. It made Quinn realize there'd been things in his life that she'd rarely had in her own. He hoped she had the chance to experience those better things for a good long time. Maybe he'd get the chance to watch her do so, up close and personal. Things were still too tense in the clearing for him to be entirely sure of anything.
Laurent straightened, his eyes shooting sparks at the men who'd circled them. His expression made it clear that, in different circumstances, he'd dismember every human in the clearing who dared think they could keep him from doing whatever he wanted. But that was another day. Right now, he was paler than usual and having all he could do to stand on his own. The sophisticated New York veneer was gone, stripped away like a custom tailored suit. In a surprising move, Dix brought Claudio another bottle of water and more towels. Claudio gave him a formal nod, then brought the items to his Master, holding them patiently as Laurent cleaned up.
It's common sense, most of it. His Mistress sent him the thought. The full servant is the only one allowed to intim
ately attend to the vampire, unless the vampire himself invites someone else to do so.
It's not that. I was surprised they offered him any courtesy at all. But maybe in the vampire world, this was a minor disagreement.
Her look suggested, disturbingly enough, he wasn't off track. But then again...
"So you won our fight, fair and square." Laurent conceded that ungraciously, wiping his face and hands before taking his shirt back from Claudio. "But I don't understand why we had to stoop to that level if you already knew the Region Masters' decision. You weren't fighting merely for the well-being of one human servant. Or were you?" Laurent's lip curled. "You were once human yourself, after all. For some of you, the weakness for them never leaves you."
"You didn't think I was weak a moment ago." Butch shrugged back into his own shirt. Leaving it open over his belted jeans, he took a swig of the water Dix offered and spat it out onto the ground, clearing the taste of blood from his mouth. "Yeah, I could have told you the decision, let it lie there. But then you wouldn't have known what you know now."
Handing Dix back the water, he moved back through the circle of men around Laurent, coming close enough there was only a pace between the two vampires. As their gazes locked, Butch's brows drew down, eyes sharpening. He suddenly looked far more dangerous, the way he had right before he and Laurent had clashed. What Quinn saw now was a vampire predator in truth, one whose expression was enough to make the sarcastic cast of Laurent's face falter, the cynical twist to his lips thin.
"You're in my territory," Butch said, every syllable etched with menace. "You entered it without invitation. Pretend all you want, your fate rests squarely in my hands right now. At my order, every man here can fill you and your rabble with holes. I will then personally cut you up into pieces and scatter them on my spread for the jackals to eat. You'll be meat, Laurent, that's all. No more memorable than the tumbleweeds that cross the highways when the winds blow too hard. So let's be civil and call this day's work done. All right?"
Quinn thought every living being in the clearing had stopped breathing, waiting to see what would happen. Then Laurent offered a stiff, dignified nod. He turned to Claudio. "Pack our belongings."
