Table of Contents
Books by Samantha Cayto
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Trademark Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
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About the Author
Pride Publishing books by Samantha Cayto
Single title
One Night in a Dungeon
Man Candy
Alien Slave Masters
The Captain’s Pet
The Rebellious Pet
The Untamed Pet
The Captive Pet
The Inconvenient Pet
The Undercover Pet
Alien Blood Wars
Blood Dance
Dangerous Dance
Slave Dance
Anthologies
His Rules: Safeword
Right Here, Right Now: Never the Groom
Alien Blood Wars
STAR DANCE
SAMANTHA CAYTO
Star Dance
ISBN # 978-1-78651-700-5
©Copyright Samantha Cayto 2018
Cover Art by Cherith Vaughan ©Copyright December 2018
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2018 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book four in the Alien Blood Wars series
What lurks in the dark is not always a monster. Sometimes it’s your deepest desire.
Malcolm MacLerie has long made his home in the wild Highlands of Scotland. Sick of the endless war with Dracul and living with terrible guilt over the crash, he seeks peace and quiet. When his captain asks for his help one last time, however, he can’t refuse. Honor demands no less. His surveillance of Dracul’s castle turns into a rescue mission when a brutalized boy runs right into his arms.
Brenin has survived the vicious life of being an alien’s slave. His desperate bid to escape leads him into yet another monster’s castle—or so he fears. The more time he spends with Malcolm, the more he doubts his own worries. He has to fight a pull toward this alien who wears a kilt and fights with a sword.
Malcolm isn’t looking to get attached to anyone, let alone a traumatized human, but Brenin’s knowledge of the monster’s lair makes him invaluable and forces them to work together. Duty turns to desire, despite his best intentions. Even as they fight their growing attraction, they keep getting in deeper.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Hanes: HBI Branded Apparel Limited Inc.
James Bond: Ian Fleming, DANJAQ LLC
Superman: DC Comics General Partnership
Braveheart: Paramount Pictures, 20th Century Fox
BBC: British Broadcasting Corporation
Levi Strauss: Levi Strauss & Co. Corporation
BBC2: British Broadcasting Corporation
True Religion: Guru Denim Inc.
Tom Ford: Ford, Thomas C., Individual
Lyft: Lyft Inc.
Celtics: Boston Celtics Basketball Club Inc.
Nieman-Marcus: NM Nevada Business Trust
Shape of You: Ed Sheeran
Sit Next to Me: written by Mark Foster, Josh Abraham, Lars Stalfors, Johnny Newman and Oliver Goldstein
Masterpiece Theater: WGBH Educational Foundation Corporation
Glock: Glock Gesellschaft MBH Limited Liability Joint Stock Company
The Flash: DC Comics Inc.
Olympics: United States Olympic Committee
Kevlar: EI Du Pont Nemours Company
Invasion of the Body Snatchers: Allied Artists Pictures
Prologue
Scotland, April 20, 1746
“It’s not safe for you to stick around.”
Malcolm peered at his captain through the growing shroud of fog. “I have to. The laird has the right to know that his last remaining son now lies rotting in the bloody mud of Culloden. I don’t know that there’s anyone else who escaped to bring him the news.”
He looked away, trying to hold in his grief until he was alone. “I owe the man that much courtesy after all he’s been to me, especially when Fergus wouldn’t have been part of that bloodbath if not for me.”
Alex put his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know the MacLerie Clan treated you like family and that Fergus was as a hive brother to you.”
“In all ways but one.”
Fergus had been human, after all, and physical intimacy was something he couldn’t give. It hadn’t mattered. He’d been the first man on this wretched planet with whom Malcolm had been able to form a real friendship and who’d known about his alien nature and had not shrunk from it. That Malcolm had been unable to protect the man during the battle despite his superior strength and speed was a bitter failure that would haunt him until the end of his days—another to join one that already ate at him since the crash.
“It’s more than that, though. I need to go for me. I can’t do this anymore, Alex.” He raised his eyes to his captain. “I simply can’t.”
He took in a deep breath and held it until his lungs burned before letting it out again. “When I refused to join Dracul’s mutiny against you, I thought he’d give up his murderous plans quickly. These humans may be backward, but they don’t lack courage or numbers. And yet, he hasn’t. Century after century, he continues to maneuver in his quest for power. It’s getting worse, not better.
“He’ll never quit until he has succeeded or been killed.” He shuddered with his emotions. “I’m sorry, sir, that I lack the will to keep on fighting. It’s not in my nature—or perhaps it’s been too much in my nature. I’ve fought long and hard these many centuries and more eagerly than I should have, especially this last time. I don’t want to be that man anymore. Forgive me,” he added, bowing his head and trying not to wish that he’d died alo
ng with Fergus.
Alex squeezed his fingers briefly before letting go. “It’s all right. I understand. We started out as explorers and scientists. Despite our training, we were never meant to fight at all, never mind endlessly. Dracul has corrupted us in many ways.”
A horse nickered, reminding Malcolm that they weren’t alone and time was not on their side. The longer he kept Alex and the others, the greater the risk they’d be found by the Sassenach and executed—or, rather, the English soldiers would try to do so. They wouldn’t succeed, but his brothers-in-arms weren’t invincible. There was no benefit in taking the chance, not to mention that Val had rescued a pretty human boy who still looked stunned from what he’d witnessed during battle and appeared frightened to death over his uncertain fate.
“You should go, sir, please. I won’t change my mind on this and can only say I’m sorry to abandon you.”
Alex shot him a quick smile. “You aren’t—or, at least, I don’t see it that way. I appreciate your loyalty more than I can say. I can only hope you find some measure of peace here.” He looked around the ever-shrouded area. “I can see why you’d love it. So like home with its rugged terrain and its cool mist.”
Malcolm nodded. “I can make a good life here, sir, even if the laird tosses me out on my arse for not keeping his son safe.” He paused. “Where will you go?”
Alex shrugged. Their mannerisms had become ingrained within their group over the many years they’d lived among humans. It helped them blend in but also had become second nature. “To the lowlands for the moment. Try to hide in plain sight. Maybe we’ll go back to the continent in due time or even to the so-called ‘new world’. America is a big and bold place—or so I’ve heard. A place where a person can become reborn.”
“Until Dracul gets his hands on it.” Malcolm couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Wherever he goes, whatever he does, I will stop him.” Alex stated it as fact, but the weariness in his tone was obvious.
Guilt ate at Malcolm, and yet, he couldn’t go on. “You could stay here, sir. The Highlands are big enough for all of us to find refuge.”
Alex shook his head. “No. The people here will be under siege for years to come. No need for us to add to their trouble by drawing Dracul’s attention. We will be fine, and I mean it when I say that what you’ve done for me since our crashing here is no small thing.”
But for me, we wouldn’t have been marooned here at all. The confession stuck in his throat. After all these years, he still couldn’t speak of it.
“I shall always be in your debt.” With that, the captain turned to leave.
“Sir?” He waited until Alex looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want to lose touch. I will try to find you once I’ve settled and get you word on what I’m doing. And if there is ever a time when you need me and no other to set Dracul back on his heels again, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“I will,” Alex agreed with a nod. “Take care, Malcolm.” With that, he joined the others, swung onto his horse and trotted off.
Malcolm stood watching until the last of his crewmates had been swallowed up in the mist. He waited another few minutes, absorbing how, for the first time in his entire life, he was truly alone. He briefly considered simply disappearing into the fog and living a solitary life for as long as nature and his own constitution would permit. What difference did it make now? He would never see his family or his hive again. Likely that was the last he’d see of Alex and the others, too, regardless of his recent promise.
He was no use to anyone, except he did have one last task that must be followed through. He owed Fergus’ father that courtesy call. After that, who knew? It made no difference, in any event. There was no life on this planet that he could imagine living. Who could ever matter as much as Fergus had? Likely he wouldn’t forge a bond that close, even with a lover—if such a man even existed. He’d never found more than a transient bed partner in all these centuries.
No, in the here and now, there was only honor. He would discharge his duty and let fate take him.
Chapter One
Dracul’s Castle, 2018
Adhering stubbornly to the traditional highlander ways had its drawbacks. Malcolm MacLerie pondered that point as he knelt in the wet snow surrounding Dracul’s castle. His bare knees had gone numb, but that was the worst of it. His belted plaid did well enough for the rest of his body, and he wasn’t so stupid as to go without thick socks and high leather boots. Some nice, modern boxer-briefs kept the ‘boys’ snug, because, while tradition had its place, modern convenience couldn’t be dismissed. If his friends back in the eighteenth century had been given the choice, he had no doubt they would have been devotees of Hanes.
It had been a good long while since he’d been in the thick of the war. He hadn’t been able to sit out the two world wars. No one with a conscience could have. But this was the first time that Alex had called on him personally to return to the fold. Malcolm could hardly refuse, not after all Alex had been to him. And his captain had let him be for decades, giving him an opportunity to ruminate in the Highlands. Malcolm had forged a good life for himself, but he wouldn’t have had any life at all if not for Alex.
So, this reconnaissance request was not much to ask. Malcolm had seen the news from Boston, in any event. He’d been halfway to contacting his old captain to offer his assistance when Alex had beat him to it. He’d been aware that Dracul had made his lair, as it were, in the same smallish part of the world as he had. But enough kilometers stood between their respective remote castles that they could have spent the rest of their centuries never crossing paths, if only Dracul would just settle the fuck down and be satisfied with the life he had.
Malcolm had found that peace, living in his beloved adopted home in the Highlands, raising salmon and producing the best single malt Scotch in the world, if he did say so himself. And speaking of which, he pulled out his flask and slugged back a wee dram to keep the cold at bay. Nothing much was going on in the castle this night anyway. His thermal-imaging scope confirmed, as it had for the last few nights, that Dracul and a few of his minions occupied the crumbling structure. At least, it looked like it was falling down from the outside. The inside was likely in fine repair, with modern amenities. He employed the same strategy in his own home to keep the curious at bay.
With the heat of the stone waning, he had no trouble pinpointing the various occupants. Most were on the lower levels, including two whose thermal signatures he identified as hybrids—Dracul’s spawn, no doubt. Malcolm might have been out of the war for long periods, but he still kept up with the news. He knew the arsehole had taken a Welsh boy and turned him into a breeder. That kind of altered human created a heat signature that was different from their species or the hybrids. The hapless human was ensconced in the left tower, never leaving the one room, as far as Malcolm could determine.
And there was someone else in there as well—a purely human someone. Right at the moment, whoever he was occupied that room with the Welsh boy and Dracul, no doubt. Malcolm could only imagine that the boy—and it undoubtedly was a young male, given Dracul’s predilections—wasn’t there by choice. Dracul didn’t make allies with humans as much as turn them into pawns and slaves.
Based on the time the figures were spending in the spot, he could only assume it was a bedroom. The pattern in which they’d come together over the many days he’d been watching left the purpose of the human obviously and nauseatingly in the category of the latter group. The boy was clearly Dracul’s sex slave, a viciously horrible role that Malcolm lacked the imagination to even fathom.
“You poor, wee bastard,” he muttered. “Well, we’ll see about getting you out of that hellhole when we take out the fucker once and for all.”
That was the plan, at least. What they would do with the boy after that was above his pay grade—and Alex’s problem. Malcolm was doing his job. His surveillance was going to provide his captain with all the facts necessary for Alex to launch
a direct attack. ‘No more playing defense’ was how Val had put it. It tied right into Malcom’s strengths, too. While he’d grown sick of fighting, spying was another matter. He could blend into the landscape and live off it, as well, for weeks on end. He might be used to sleeping in a laird’s bed in a laird’s home, but he hadn’t forgotten his basic skills.
He’d obtained an accurate head count and mapped out the routine of the castle’s inhabitants. He’d also found Dracul’s bolthole, or rather, the one put in by the original owner and the tunnel it contained that would allow a secret retreat. When the time came to attack, they’d be able to use it to both enter the castle and block off the fucker’s escape.
Christ, I hope this puts an end to it.
* * * *
“There now, almost finished.”
Brenin gritted his teeth against the sting of Dafydd’s efforts. His fellow captive had done his best every day to ease the hurts the monster had inflicted. It was sweet, but pointless. In a few hours, Dracul would be back to tear at and beat Brenin’s body. The beast needed little time to recover, his appetites seemingly endless and unfailingly cruel.
Brenin had long given up any hope of respite. Not even death could be counted on, not until the monster had finished with him for good. At the rate he was going, that might not be long in coming. Since his latest efforts to do God-knew-what had failed, Dracul had become more unhinged. He vented his spleen on Brenin on a daily basis. There was barely an inch of skin that wasn’t marked. Brenin’s lips were almost constantly split and his head throbbed where it had taken a hard blow. He thought at least one rib was cracked. Every breath he took was agony.
But Dafydd meticulously and carefully cleaned him, and the brief respite from being covered in filth was something, he supposed. Brenin lay pliant and quiet, trying not to gain the notice of the monster across the room. He would have shut his eyes, except he worried about not being able to keep track of the imminent danger. Given how the violence had been escalating recently, he figured he would be dead within days. He both welcomed and feared it.
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