That visible sign that the monster hadn’t tortured the desire out of him had been scary, so much so that he’d raced to the shower and drenched himself in freezing cold water. It had killed his erection but not his images of being consumed by Malcolm. He’d dreaded seeing his host again at breakfast, worried that something of what he’d dreamed of would show in his eyes. The arrival of Willem and Annika had been a Godsend, a buffer behind which he could hide. Then Malcolm had innocently put his hand on Brenin’s and his imagination had taken off again. He could still feel that touch.
But now was not the time to dwell on it. He had a task to do, an important one. His drawing had always been a private thing, something he didn’t show others because he’d known his family, and even his friends, wouldn’t understand it. They were laborers and damn proud of their heritage of working deep underground back in the day. Making pretty pictures on paper meant gay, and gay meant something bad. He’d hidden his talent, such as it was. It was hard to believe it could benefit the alien war.
Still, Malcolm had reacted excitedly at the news and Brenin was doing his level best to recreate the route that he’d taken. Sheet after sheet had been filled with each scene of his frightened journey. Perhaps because his emotions had been so high, he had no trouble picturing the details. Recreating them on paper was easily done.
Each time he set a piece aside, Malcolm would snatch it up and study it. The man made all kinds of murmurs before sharing them with Willem. Annika sat across the table still, drawing herself, although her pictures appeared to be of unicorns. And she was using crayons while Brenin used a fine-point pen. Still, from the glimpses he got, the little girl was very talented. There was something eerie about her. She was too adult-like and was surprisingly sanguine about the company she kept and the alien war she was embroiled in.
“These are excellent, laddie.” Malcolm’s voice was like a balm and his praise lifted Brenin’s spirits.
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I’m that glad. There’s one left.”
This last vignette would be tricky, as it involved what he saw as he stumbled out of the bolthole’s tunnel. He didn’t want to draw the truth because it would leave him possibly vulnerable, but he also wanted to help as best he could. For no other than his own personal and selfish reasons, bringing the monster down was paramount.
So, he let his fingers fly of their own accord, not fretting over what he produced, merely sketching the memory as accurately as he could. He didn’t dare think of Malcolm as he did so. And when he’d laid down the last stroke, he merely sat back and let the guy figure out for himself that Brenin had finished.
There were long seconds of quiet in which the only sound was Annika’s coloring and the beat of Brenin’s heart. Both seemed unnaturally loud. He focused on the first and tried to ignore the second. If he allowed it, he figured he could send himself into a full-blown panic attack. Finally, Malcolm reached down to pick up the piece of paper. His coolness and scent flowed over Brenin. He took a deep breath and felt calmed.
“Is this how you see me?” Malcolm asked in a low voice.
“At the time, yes,” Brenin admitted.
Willem chuckled. “It’s a perfect likeness. You look every inch the wild highlander—or a demon of the woods, perhaps. It’s a wonder he didn’t run from you.”
“He tried,” Malcolm replied, his voice strained. “I wouldn’t let him.” His hand landed gently on Brenin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
Brenin closed his eyes, enjoying the touch even as he struggled with the why of it. “Couldn’t be helped. And I’m not scared of you anymore.” Opening his eyes again, he stared over his shoulder.
Malcolm gazed back at him. His violet eyes were darker than usual. Brenin understood what that meant and he still wasn’t afraid. He dropped his line of sight to the spot right in front, where Malcolm’s kilt lay in folds over his crotch. There was nothing to see, not really, and still Brenin knew the guy was aroused. He could practically smell it.
Don’t be daft, mun. It’s only your imagination.
He’d never been a good liar, not to himself any more than to others. Worse, there was a stirring of interest in his own body. The reaction disturbed him, so he forced an image of Dracul into his mind. That did the trick. His growing arousal died and he shuddered at the memory.
Malcolm pulled his hand away and took a hasty step back, understanding in his expression. Except, he’d misunderstood, thinking it was him and his touch that had caused such a reaction. Brenin immediately wanted to reassure him on that point then decided against it. No good could come from acting on this unexpected and inconvenient attraction. There had to be some deep psychological problem in him to react as he did. After everything he’d been through, starting any kind of relationship, especially a physical one, was insane on the face of it.
“You’ve done well, Brenin. Alex and Val will have to study these to make our plan,” he added as he gathered all of the drawings. “I dinnae have a head for strategy. That’s Alex’s and Val’s job. And I’m sure they’ll have questions for you.”
“I’m happy to answer any they have,” Brenin assured him. “I want to help as best I can.”
Malcolm shot him a brief smile. “You’re a good lad. Darling is going to take your picture and get your passport and visa done this afternoon. You can stay in Boston with the human boys that live with Alex and the rest. I’m sure they’ll be happy to show you around. There’s no need for you to return here while we, ah…clean up the mess in Wales.”
Brenin wasn’t sure how he felt about that news. On the one hand, he didn’t want to ever go back to that castle of horrors. On the other, he didn’t much like the idea of being separated from Malcolm, particularly given that the guy would be heading into a deadly situation.
Before he could think of a response, however, Darling came in with a mobile phone in his hand. “You have a call, sir, from Boston. I took the liberty of answering it for you, given that you didn’t bother to keep the phone in sight.”
Malcolm grabbed the phone. “It’s not like I have pockets, now, is it?” He winked at Annika when she giggled. “Alex?” He frowned. “Wait. I want to put this on speaker. Annika, lass, why don’t you let Darling take you into the kitchen? I’ll bet Cook is baking up some sweets she’ll let you have a taste of.”
The girl stood. “You want me out of the room for the call, Mr. Malcolm? I understand.” She skipped out of the room, the majordomo trailing in her wake.
Putting the phone on the table, Malcolm said, “Go ahead, Alex.”
“Dracul has taken Harry and Demi.”
Malcolm cursed and Willem’s eyes turned flinty. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“He had them taken while they were away from the club—snatched right on the street and hustled into a vehicle. That’s according to the one witness our friends on the police force could find and question.”
Brenin placed one hand on his stomach, as if he could settle the sick feeling that had popped up at the news. He didn’t know these people, but he knew all too well what it felt like to be kidnapped. He could easily imagine how frightened the monster’s latest victims must have been.
As if sensing his distress, Malcolm sidled over and, once again, put his hand on Brenin’s shoulder. He gave a quick squeeze. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday afternoon. We’ve been trying to put the pieces together and hoping to find them before they took off. As near as we can tell, they’ve already left, using a secret airstrip or something. There’s been no takeoff of a private jet from Logan Airport.”
Malcolm ran the fingers of his free hand across the top of his head and tugged at one of his braids. “Damnation. You want me to go back to Wales and see what I can learn?”
The other man blew out his breath over the phone. “No. We have to assume that’s where they took them, although the why of it mystifies me. Dracul must know we won’t negotiate over hostages. He’s been down that road before and fai
led. Although this time, he has one of our sons.”
“He’s in a panic, perhaps,” Willem offered, “as well he should be. We’re going to finish him. That’s what he gets for staying in one place for so long.”
“He might have taken off, given that Brenin escaped.”
“No,” Brenin heard himself say. “I’m nothing. He would never believe that I can be any kind of threat to him.”
Malcolm’s touch became firmer. “The more fool he, then.”
Brenin leaned into the man, not bothering to contradict him. He’d known his worthlessness long before the monster had got hold of him. A thought occurred to him, suddenly, though.
“Isn’t Harry the doctor, then?”
Malcolm looked at him with surprise. “Aye, he is. Why?”
The idea formed quickly and he almost didn’t continue, thinking he couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. Still… “Dafydd got his drugs that helped to free me from the doctor, Drogo. What if D-Dracul realized that and killed him?” He swallowed past the bile rising in his throat at the memories that swamped him. “He has a powerfully bad temper. And he wants his son that’s inside Dafydd. That much I do know. Could a human doctor be trusted or forced into safely delivering the baby?”
Malcolm shook his head slowly. “Not likely.” He flashed a smile. “You’re on to something there, laddie.”
“Indeed,” the man in Boston—Alex—said. “Thank you, Brenin, is it? We’re glad to have you on our team. We look forward to seeing you.”
“Aye, and he’s drawn sketches of Dracul’s castle as best he could based on what he remembers from his escape and his considerable skill with a pen.”
“Excellent. And this theory of why Dracul took Harry and Demi will give Lucien some comfort. He’s worried sick over what’s happening to his family. If Dracul needs Harry for his medical skills, and he needs Demi to keep Harry quiescent, then they’re safe for now, at least until the baby is born. Any idea, Brenin, on how close Dafydd is to his time of delivery?”
“No, sir,” he said with a quick shake. He stared worriedly up at Malcolm. “But it’s going to be soon, I think.”
“Then you’d best hurry up and get here, Malcolm.”
“Aye, sir. We leave tonight.”
* * * *
Demi stumbled as he was shoved up the stairs, preferring to risk smashing his nose on the stone steps than remain within Kronid’s grasp. Throughout the journey, the asshole had pawed Demi at every chance. Demi could still feel the putrid creature’s touch. That, plus a lack of opportunity for any kind of bathing, left him feeling as if bugs were crawling all over him.
He was alive, though, and, more importantly, so was his father. Demi had been careful not to react to Kronid’s assaults, keeping his breathing even and his heart rate steady. Poor Papa had spent the entire plane ride not only with his hands tied behind his back but also with a hood over his head. Despite Petru’s baiting, he was clearly afraid that Papa would succeed in overtaking them. That was the only explanation for keeping him so under control. And knowing, because he could see for himself how heavily armed their captors were, not to mention that two of Dracul’s other goons were piloting the plane, Demi didn’t want his father to try anything. It would be suicide. Demi couldn’t risk giving away his distress by allowing any sounds of it to filter through the hood. He had no doubt that nothing would send his father into a fit of rage faster than knowing his son was being harmed.
It wasn’t anything more than juvenile groping anyway. Like now, with Demi a step above him, Kronid took the opportunity to slide his filthy fingers up the inside of Demi’s leg. Disgusting and infuriating, but bearable. He gritted his teeth and twisted away while focusing on keeping his footing. At least he wasn’t hooded and his hands were tied in front of him. Obviously, they didn’t think he constituted much of a threat to them and, sadly, they were right. He’d resisted much of the training his father had tried to provide him with, determined that his life wouldn’t be consumed by this dumb, old fight. He felt differently now, of course. After this experience, he wanted nothing more than to kill Dracul and all his men himself.
The end of the stone staircase came abruptly around the next curve. A large wooden door stood open. Papa was pushed inside and Demi hurried to join him, if for no other reason than it might put him out of Kronid’s range. He blinked against the brighter light of the room. He felt, as he had since the moment he’d entered this castle, as if he’d stepped back in time—or maybe into a video game or a movie set.
His entire life, he’d lived in whatever passed for modernity at the time. This place was different. The room was circular and stood at the top of a tower. He would have found it eerily beautiful, except someone was going to die in here. If no one else, it would be the boy chained to the four-poster bed that dominated the space.
Oh God. This was the nightmare version of what his own human father had once gone through. The prisoner was naked and hugely pregnant. The sight of a male body in such a state was startling. Demi knew the basics, naturally, of how he’d come into the world. Seeing it literally laid out for his viewing made his empty stomach lurch. There was no happy father-to-be, only a pale, sunken-eyed person of indeterminable age shivering in the cold. This wasn’t a matter of a loving couple bringing a child, however strange and different, into the world. This was the product of sexual slavery. There was no question about it.
The monster responsible for this horror stood by a window with his leather-clad legs braced and his massively muscled chest bare. The sides of his head were shaved and his long top hair was pulled back into a severe tail that highlighted his sharp facial features. A dead, dark stare pierced Demi, making him feel dirtier than Kronid’s touch had. The monster gazed at Demi with a disturbing hunger, despite the fact that a beautiful boy clung to him. The kid was wrapped in a silk robe far too big and long for him, and his shaggy hair was striped white and black. He glared at Demi with obvious dislike. As Demi was forced farther into the room, he could see that the boy had one crystal-clear blue eye and one violet one.
The entire disturbing scene caused Demi to lose his control. His heartbeat quickened and he had to bite back a whimper as he tried to get closer to his father. In the face of this clear evil, his courage was failing him. Kronid grabbed his arm and pulled him in tightly against his chest. Then he cupped Demi’s ass and chuckled softly into his ear.
“I’ll keep you safe, bitch.”
Demi allowed one shudder to run through him before he stiffened his resolve and his body.
Dracul gestured toward Papa. “Release him.” His tone was sharp, yet also matter-of-fact, clearly someone used to being obeyed.
Petru did as told and Papa stood quietly for a few seconds as he acclimated to regaining his sight and his circulation. His gaze found Demi first. He took note of Kronid’s position and his mouth thinned while his pupils turned red. Demi tried to nod in reassurance and prevent his father from doing anything stupid on his account. It must have worked because Papa moved on to glare at Dracul then look at the bedridden boy.
That sight obviously moved him as nothing else had. He swept up to the bed and laid a gentle hand on the boy’s head. “Is it your time?”
The boy shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied in a shaky tone.
Papa glared once more at Dracul. “This is why I’m here? Where is Drogo?”
“Gone to dust, not that it’s any of your concern.”
“If you expect me to help, it is,” Papa retorted. Any fear he held of Dracul didn’t show. Demi felt a sense of pride at his father’s strength.
Dracul took a step forward, his human limpid sticking to him. “You’ll do so unless you want me to feed your precious boy to my men.” The guy smiled, showing his fangs. He ran his tongue over them. “He’s deliciously exotic. Maybe I’ll keep him for myself.”
The stripe-haired human made a mewing sound. Without looking at him, Dracul casually slapped the boy’s face. Far from reacting with fear or hatr
ed, the boy fluttered his lashes and, if anything, cuddled closer.
Papa straightened, although he kept his hand on the pregnant boy’s head. “You know me, Dracul. I will do everything within my power to help this boy deliver your son alive. I would have done so without the threat. But know this as well. If my son is hurt in any way, I’ll let yours die in the womb. You have plenty of toys to play with and, I dare say, so do your men. My son is off limits and doesn’t leave my sight.”
Dracul said nothing for long seconds. He stared at Papa, who stared back. Then Dracul smiled like a shark who’d just taken a bite of something tasty. “So feisty these days, Horatiu. I think I like the new and improved you.”
“Just so long as we understand each other.”
“Of course. I have nothing against your sweet boy. Untie him,” he ordered without bothering to look.
Kronid let go of Demi and, after pulling a knife out of his boot, slit the bonds around Demi’s wrists. In his haste, he drew blood, and the grin on the guy’s face told Demi it was no accident. Demi glared defiantly at him as he quickly licked his skin closed himself.
Dracul approached the bed and sneered down at the poor boy he’d impregnated. “I only want my son out alive. I don’t care about the slut incubating him.” His expression turned to disgust.
“Color me surprised,” Papa replied. Demi had never heard his father say anything so flippant before. “But you can’t have one without the other. This room is too cold and the boy obviously needs water and food, as do I and my son.”
Dracul shrugged. “Do what you must. Kronid will see to your needs. He’ll stand guard in here for as long as you are my guests.”
“Naturally. I wouldn’t expect you to be lax in your security, but tell him to keep his fucking hands off my son.”
The F bomb, really? Demi was seeing a wholly new side of his father and his estimation of him was growing by the minute. Dracul barely had to gesture in their direction for Kronid to step away from Demi. As soon as he was clear, Demi raced to his father’s side. He wrapped a comforting arm around Demi, who wasn’t too proud to lean into the embrace.
Star Dance Page 10
