It was on the tip of Malcolm’s tongue to correct Alex. He’s not my boy. Then the door opened and his heart rate ticked up at the sight of the doctor. “Aye, sir, I’ll get on that as soon as I can. The doc’s coming out, so I’ll need to see how Brenin is faring.”
“Understood. One more thing, though. I’ve asked Willem to come join you.”
Malcolm was focused on the doctor’s expression, trying to read how things had gone. “Have you now?” he said, distracted. Then the meaning of Alex’s words sank in. “Is that necessary, Captain? I mean, the last I’d heard, he was grieving the loss of a lover.”
That was a constant pitfall for all of them—loving and losing frail and short-lived humans.
“I can pilot my plane alone.” That was sort of true. He’d learned and practiced and he could get from point A to point B without too much trouble. His skill was nothing like that of Willem’s, however. And Brenin’s life would be on the line if he screwed up. “Thank you, sir,” he added with his next breath. “I appreciate the help.”
“I thought you might and Willem was more than happy to join in the fun. Come as soon as the boy can manage it.” Alex disconnected the call.
Malcolm was already doing the same. He strode over to the middle-aged doctor, a slender woman with a mop of gray hair. “How is he?”
She gave him a tired look, reminding him that she’d been with a dying Mrs. Cameron for probably the whole night. “Not so bad as he needs a hospital, but bad enough that I hope you’re planning on killing whoever is responsible.”
Malcolm gave her a fierce look. “I am indeed.”
“Good.” She carded her fingers through her hair. “I’ve given him something a wee bit stronger than the ibuprofen, not that it was a bad idea, mind you,” she added. “The positive news is that there’s no internal bleeding that I can detect. A couple of ribs are bruised, but not broken or cracked. Rest and care are all that can be done for that. The other stuff—the contusions and the like—will heal and fade with time.”
There was a hesitation and he feared there was something she wasn’t telling him. “What?” he demanded.
She narrowed her gaze at him. “I don’t expect I need to tell you that he’s traumatized and scared out of his wits still.” She gave him the once-over. “You’re enough to frighten anyone, that casual sweater and jeans and those lovely bare feet notwithstanding. You still look every inch the wild highlander—and an alien one at that.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Ah, well, can’t be helped, can it? It’s what I am, after all. What am I to do about it?”
Doc McPhee shrugged in return. “Not much, I suppose, except tread lightly and gently with that one. Keep close for the next day or two in case he needs help. I’ve already assured him—not that he dared ask—that he’s safer here with you than anywhere else on the planet. I told him that you would never hurt him, and if you were so inclined, Darling and Cook and the whole damn village, for that matter, would be after you with pitchforks and torches—and not the kind that run on batteries. Not sure he believed me.”
It saddened Malcolm more than he could say that Dracul had destroyed whatever innocence the boy might have had. “The showing of it will hopefully do the trick.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m going to need to take him on a wee trip to the States.”
The doc raised her eyebrows. “America? Is that your idea of a wee trip?” She shook her head. “Whatever it is you’re up to—and you know I don’t want the details—I’m going to have to insist you give him a few days. Changing altitude like that isn’t good for one when they’re recovering from certain injuries. I don’t want to risk it in case I’m wrong, about the internal damage in particular.”
Waiting wasn’t a good idea in case his presence had been detected. Dracul could be mounting a strike at any moment or packing up to leave his castle forever. Yet, Brenin’s health had to come first. In this, Alex would have to acquiesce. “Very well. I thank you for coming so soon, especially after tending to poor Mrs. Cameron.”
The doc gave him a tired smile. “Oh, now there’s nothing to fash yourself about there. She went peaceful as can be, surrounded by her family. We should all end our days so.” Patting his arm, she turned to go then stopped. “I’ll be back tomorrow. In the meantime, he’s desperate for a proper wash, but I don’t want him doing it alone. You need to help him. He’s weak still. And call me if you’re worried about him.”
“Aye, I will, and thanks again. Send me the bill for your private consult.”
The woman laughed and added over her shoulder, “I always do, Malcolm MacLerie, and it’s double for the house call.”
He grinned at her back while shoving his phone in his pocket. Taking a fortifying breath, he knocked on the door. A few seconds ticked by before he heard a low voice bidding him to enter. He found Brenin sitting on the side of his bed with a towel wrapped around his waist. The boy watched him with those too old and too weary eyes.
Malcolm shut the door and tried not to stare at the expanse of abused flesh now visible to him. “Doc McPhee says you’re wanting to bathe. A shower, is it? Or I could run a bath if you prefer.”
Brenin stood with stiff movements, staring at the floor. “A bath sounds lovely, like. If you don’t mind, maybe Mr. Darling can do it?” He flashed his gaze at Malcolm before lowering it again.
“It will be my pleasure to see to you myself.” He cringed inwardly as that had come out sounding not quite the way he’d intended. “Darling is busy,” he added, heading to the en suite before he made more of a hash of things.
He busied himself for the next few minutes filling the big tub with water warm enough to soothe without being hot enough to hurt. It was tricky. Humans had different sensibilities from his species, and despite having lived among them for a long time, he hadn’t been truly intimate with one in any meaningful way. Although his friendships had been intense, they hadn’t veered into such personal territory as grooming or sensitivity.
He perhaps fussed more than was necessary, but he didn’t want to get it wrong. For better or worse for the both of them, he was Brenin’s nursemaid for the next few days. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Part of him wanted the time to prove he wasn’t a monster. The other part was keen on getting the human to Boston where others of his kind could offer him a succor that Malcolm couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he tried.
When he’d fussed sufficiently to approach dithering, he went back into the bedroom. Brenin hadn’t moved. “There you are, laddie. I hope the temperature is to your liking. If not, you can adjust it yourself.” He could have face-palmed over his own inanity. As if the human didn’t understand the basics of how plumbing worked.
When Brenin didn’t move, Malcolm realized that he was in the way. He stepped over toward the door to give the boy room. Hard as it was, he had to remember that Brenin’s time with Dracul would make the boy skittish about the proximity of an alien. The human shuffled over to the bathroom. When he reached the point where his back showed, Malcolm had to clamp his lips shut to keep the growl from coming out. Dracul hadn’t been content with beatings and rapes, he’d bitten and torn the boy’s flesh, as well, and not for feeding, as there were no good veins along the shoulder blades. No, the fucker had done it for sheer sadistic pleasure.
Because it wouldn’t do Brenin any good for Malcolm to harp on the obvious, he minded his tongue and watched the boy’s slow, obviously painful progress. He hoped whatever the doc had given him would kick in soon. When Brenin went to shut the bathroom door, however, Malcolm spoke up.
“Best to leave it, if you will. I promised the doc I’d look after you, and if you need help, I want to hear it.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks all the same.” Brenin issued the reassurance in a quiet, yet firm voice, although he left the door open anyway.
Too afraid to openly rebel, like as not.
Malcolm forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed, close at hand but not visible and not invading the
little space the boy possessed. He winced at the sounds of Brenin struggling to get into the bath on his own. Then he closed his eyes and cringed when he realized the boy was quietly weeping as he lay in the tub. It wasn’t the great, racking sobs that had overtaken him briefly the night before. This was far more heartbreaking, a measured surrender to his fear and grief while he soaked away his physical hurts.
Malcolm found himself wishing that he were only human so that his hearing wouldn’t allow him to eavesdrop on Brenin’s private misery but that was foolish. His otherworldly sense came with great strength and the ability to protect the young man in a way that he wouldn’t be able to otherwise. Of course, if they hadn’t crashed on Earth, his fellow crewmember wouldn’t have brutalized the boy in the first place.
I should have plotted the course. There was barely a day that went by in which he didn’t have that same thought rattling around inside his head. Nothing he could argue made any difference. His lack of seniority notwithstanding, he’d known his fellow navigator hadn’t been up for the assignment he’d been given. Family influence within the hive had likely played a part. Not even the latitude given Alex to pick his own crew would have overruled the decision. Speaking of it would only lead to more guilt for his captain. What point would that serve?
And this habitual head-fuck of his wasn’t helping current matters. He needed to keep his shite together and be the steady presence that would help Brenin. The urge to go to him, take him into his arms and soothe all the bad away was strong. It took every ounce of willpower to stay where he was and give the human his privacy. If Brenin had wanted his comfort, he would have asked for it.
Fat chance that.
A clunk caught his attention. He shot to his feet, although the sound hadn’t been loud and surely not an indication that the boy was in trouble. Then he heard splashing and a grunt of frustration. It was sufficient to send him in to help. He knocked on the slightly open door, however, before stepping fully inside.
Brenin was leaning awkwardly over the side of the deep tub, swiping at a bottle that had fallen on the floor. The thing was out of reach and, fearing that the human would tumble out, Malcolm hurried over to help. He instantly regretted his actions when the boy reared back and sloshed around in the water to keep from slipping under.
Malcolm snatched the bottle off the floor and froze. “Och, I’m that sorry, laddie. I didnae mean to startle you. I only wanted to help you reach this…shampoo,” he finished lamely, looking at the label.
Brenin swiped wet hair from his face. “I dropped it.”
“So I see.” Malcolm stood rocking on the balls of his feet, flummoxed about what to do next. He couldn’t hand the shampoo over without getting closer, and given that the water was clear, there was nothing hiding the boy’s body.
“The medicine is making me clumsy. I should probably get out, but I want clean hair more than anything. I haven’t had a proper shower for weeks.” He tugged at a hank of it. “Haven’t been able to trim it since I left home, either.”
“Are you wanting a haircut, then? Darling makes for a great valet. He can give you one.”
Brenin looked down. “Maybe, like. Thanks. I just want to wash it now, though.”
Malcolm turned the bottle over and over before he settled on the one course of action that made any sense. “How about I help you?” He flashed a grin, although Brenin wasn’t looking at him.
The human said nothing long enough that he figured the answer was a no. Then, “If you wouldn’t mind?” Brenin peeked up at him from under his lashes. It would have been a coy look if not for the uncertainty lurking there.
At least it’s not fear I see. Progress of sorts.
“Not at all. I’ve had plenty of practice with my own,” he added, tugging at the single braid he’d tamed his hair into after his own shower.
Brenin said nothing more. He simply sidled closer to the edge of the tub to give Malcolm easier access. The boy kept his attention on the water. Steeling himself, Malcolm padded over. He made sure to keep his own gaze on the boy’s head and not farther down. The slick of soap shimmering on the water’s surface did nothing to cover all that exposed skin. Malcolm didn’t want to exploit the boy’s position and that meant not invading his privacy any more than was absolutely necessary.
He knelt on the tile, ignoring the bit of wetness caused by the earlier splashing around. Opening the bottle’s cap, he squeezed a healthy amount of shampoo into his palm before setting the bottle on the tub’s edge next to the conditioner. That was all Cook’s doing, the provisioning of things like a guest room that rarely was occupied. He caught a whiff of apple, which he wouldn’t have tolerated in his own products, but he supposed Cook knew better what a human might like. It certainly seemed appropriate for this sweet boy to be infused with an equally sweet scent.
Och, now you’re just getting maudlin.
Because Brenin had already wetted his hair, it was only a matter of reaching over and rubbing in the shampoo. Malcolm felt big and looming as he did, and while it was quick and minor, he caught how the boy jerked when he was first touched. Malcolm wanted to pull away and leave the boy be, but that would have been cowardly. The human wanted his hair clean and wasn’t up to the task himself. It needed Malcolm to get it done and his own sensitivity be damned.
He worked the shampoo into the strands slowly and carefully, pausing to cup some water in one hand to make for a better lather. Brenin gradually relaxed. The set of his shoulders became less tense. He even closed his eyes. His hands, however, remained clasped against his groin. The poor boy was giving himself what little privacy he could under the circumstances.
Malcolm pressed his fingertips into the boy’s scalp to scrape away the grime and add in a bit of a massage. He’d had his own hair washed by others over the years on occasion and knew how good it could feel. He smiled when a pretty little moan escaped past Brenin’s lips. The boy immediately stilled and his eyes flew open.
“It’s all right, laddie. I ken why you made that sound. If feels good having your scalp rubbed, yeah?”
“It does, yes. It’s kind of you to take the time, but it’s not necessary.”
“Well, I’ve got nowt else to do right now.”
Brenin snorted a bit. “You sound just like a Scotsman…not that it’s any of my business,” he added quickly.
Malcolm chuckled. “Don’t worry about what you say, laddie. You cannae offend me. Besides, I take that as a compliment. I should hope I do sound like one. I’ve been living in the Highlands for longer than any other who counts themselves as Scots has, that’s for sure.”
“How…how long?”
“Since before Culloden, near three hundred years.”
Brenin’s lips quivered. “I knew your kind lived long.”
“Aye, very long indeed. Tip your head back now.”
Using one hand, Malcolm braced Brenin’s neck to keep him from sliding under the water while he used his other hand to pour water over his head. It was tricky as hell because he didn’t want to make the poor boy feel overwhelmed or insecure. And for damn sure he wasn’t going to get shampoo in his eyes. He made short work of it in silence before helping Brenin sit up again.
Malcolm gathered the soaking wet strands into a tail and wrung it out to keep it from dripping down Brenin’s face. “There now, on to the conditioner.”
“There’s no need, sir, thank you.”
“Och now, it’s no trouble at all and will make combing it out easier.”
He worked the conditioner in the same as the shampoo. The process went easier, or at least he felt more relaxed about it. The human was quiet, which wasn’t a surprise and shouldn’t have been a problem, except Malcolm could see his lips move every once in a while as if he wanted to say something.
“You can say or ask me anything, you know. I expect you have a fair amount of questions after what you’ve been through.”
“Only one,” came the quiet reply. Brenin took a deep breath and let it out in a puff. “Am I going
to become like Dafydd?” His question ended on a quiet sob and his palms pressed against his lap, making it clear what he meant.
Malcolm stilled his fingers. “Did he feed you his blood?” Brenin shook his head and Malcolm felt an overwhelming sense of relief. “Then, no, you won’t.”
Closing his eyes, Brenin let out another sob. “Thank God. I don’t think I could have stood that. Dafydd was so miserable. It was obvious he hated the little monster growing inside him.”
Malcolm worked the strands with his fingers to detangle them. “When it’s done voluntarily as part of a loving relationship, it’s an amazing thing.”
Brenin’s eyes popped open again. “Do you have that, a husband and sons?”
“No.”
“Oh, okay.” The boy was quiet for a few moments before asking another question. “How does it even happen, like?”
Malcolm started the process of rinsing the hair again, although this time, he did it more slowly and not bothering to tip Brenin’s head back. “It’s a thing that happens in my species—this changing from male to female—and our blood allows us to do it to yours.”
“I think maybe in school I learned that some animals here can change sex when necessary.”
“Aye, I believe so. For us, on my world, we don’t have the equal gender ratio that you humans do. The queens birth a powerful amount of children but most of them are males. Of the few daughters they have, not all can reproduce on their own, and those that do birth a lot fewer offspring.
“In the old days, the queens fought for territory using their disposable sons. Sometimes the hive was overrun and the queen and her daughters were killed by the invaders. Those males that managed to escape had no way of joining another hive, as that isn’t a thing for us. And, of course, they couldn’t create a new one without at least one female, so nature found a way. The innate femaleness of us all could be brought out in very young males and change them. Of course, in my species, the turned males were wholly female and could produce daughters. Eventually, a new queen would be born and the hive would be replenished in earnest.”
Star Dance Page 5
