Liminality: Gay Shifter Vampire Romance (Kingdom of Night Book 2)

by L. C. Davis

  Kingdom of Night:

  Liminality

  L.C. Davis

  Copyright © 2016 L.C. Davis

  All Rights Reserved.

  Acknowledgments

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  L.C. Davis acknowledges the trademark status of all brands and copyrighted works mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Warnings

  This book contains explicit male/male and male/male/male sexual content, themes of violence, suicide, bdsm and mention of past sexual assault. This is the second book in a continuing series. HFN, Cliffhanger.

  “Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”

  -Aristotle

  1

  “Remus, your six o'clock session is here.” Clara peeked into the lounge. Her freshly-shorn black hair fell in an angled bob just below her chin.

  I set my tablet on the coffee table and stood to stretch. “Thanks. Ready to go, Brendan?” I looked back at tall wolf whose giant shoulders were hunched over as he typed out a message on his iPhone. He looked up and swept his tapered brown hair out of his eyes.

  “Yeah,” he said, leading the way out of the lounge.

  “Room fifteen,” Clara said, quickly stepping aside so we could pass.

  Brendan put his hand on my back and pushed me forward towards the elevator that would take us to the most obscure wing of the dungeon. He didn't say much, but at least he was willing to talk to me. It had been three months since my accident at the rest stop and most of the others were either afraid of me or disgusted by me now that they knew what I was. Even Clara looked at me like I was ready to snap at any moment. Either Brendan didn't have any hangups about vampires or he was too hung up on whoever it was that he was always texting to care.

  We came to a stop in front of what was my unofficial room for seeing guests. When I wasn't there, Brendan or one of the others was babysitting me in the lounge. They all took shifts watching me when Victor or Ulric weren't around—all but Sebastian, of course. On that particular day, Victor and Ulric were investigating rumors of a werewolf slaying in the Western half of the state that had hunters written all over it. Ulric's seniority came into play and Victor's psychic abilities were needed just in case there was trouble with the local pack.

  They would be gone for a day at least, making me the pack's burden for the time being. The first task while pet sitting the resident vampire was to feed it once per day to keep aggression at a minimum. Victor had left a pint of his own blood in Clara's freezer, but it had to be injected to work and human blood was now a requirement for my body. Fortunately, there was no shortage of vampire enthusiasts among the bdsm community in Washington.

  I heard the familiar sound of metal rattling and put my hands behind my back as Brendan secured the handcuffs around my wrists. The precaution was hardly out-of-place in the dungeon, but humiliating nonetheless. At least Brendan only kept them on me when it was time to feed. He could have been like the others and insisted that I wear them at all times.

  “They're not too tight, are they?” he asked.

  “No, but thanks.” I stepped back so he could open the door. When I walked inside, I wasn't prepared to see Maverick sitting in the metal donor chair. His master was tall for a human, even though the wolves made his stature seem unimpressive in comparison, and he loomed over the bondage chair with his hand on the back.

  Maverick's pretty blue eyes were tired and his reddish-brown hair fell over his shoulders in uncharacteristic disarray. I hadn't seen him much since my return to the Lodge—I was still being quarantined from humans with the exception of my daily feeding—but the bruises on his arms hadn't healed. It was a struggle to focus on them and not the way his pulse pattered like a hummingbird under a thin layer of deliciously pale skin.

  Our eyes met in a moment of shock followed by shame. I knew exactly what I had to be ashamed of, but I couldn't imagine why he would be acting that way. I turned to his master, hoping for answers. He wasn't one of my usual donors and he certainly didn't have the look. My regulars came in collars, striped shirts, pants with chains and black leather boots, not sweaters and corduroy jeans.

  I almost spoke Maverick's name but I remembered Victor mentioning that it was rude to address a submissive directly in front of his master. “Good evening, Mr. Hall. I didn't expect to see you here.”

  “When I heard about your unique sessions through the grapevine, I thought it would be an ideal punishment,” he replied in his usual matter-of-fact manner.

  “The grapevine?” I asked, concerned.

  He gave me a proud smile. “I've been a member of the Lodge for over ten years. I hear things. Don't worry, your secret is safe. I'm hardly a stranger to the supernatural community.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I was still worried. Not for myself, but for Maverick. We had ways of making sure the secrets of the Lodge stayed within the dungeon walls, and Victor was one of them. Emotional lobotomy or not, I still considered Maverick a friend and didn't want him caught in the crossfire. “That's good, but I'm not sure this is a fitting punishment for anything.”

  I noticed that Brendan wasn't speaking at all. He wasn't looking at Mr. Hall or at me. Instead, he was staring straight at Maverick like the frail young man strapped lifelessly into the chair might spring up and attack him at any moment.

  Maverick looked between us and his listlessness turned to fear. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn't afraid of us—not even me now that he knew what I was—but rather his master. I'd had a bad feeling about those two from the first time Maverick came to visit me at the Lodge sporting bruises, but life had been too hectic to give it much thought. I wasn't sure if it was because I was a vampire now or simply because I was experiencing a brief intermission in my own drama, but the nature of his situation seemed plain as day now.

  “That's hardly your call to make,” said Mr. Hall.

  Thirst and aggression began to well within me, but it wasn't Maverick's throat I wanted to rip open. It was his.

  “If he's not comfortable with it, you'll have to wait until his master gets back,” said Brendan, taking me by the arm to put himself between us. He was protecting Mr. Hall by giving me a chance to rein in my temper. We both knew that if Brendan had to restrain me, it wouldn't even be a contest. I was stronger than I had been as a human, but even the strongest vampire was no physical match for a werewolf as huge as Brendan. Even Foster could easily put me on my back if he needed to.

  “So you're refusing a member?” Mr. Hall clarified, looking between us. He remained calm on the outside, but his blood rushed furiously. “I can safely say that's never happened before.”

  Brendan shrugged. “One for the scrapbook, then. Any dungeon staff have the right to refuse any service at any time for any reason. Your dues pay for access to our facilities, nothing else.”

  “We'll see. Let's go, Maverick,” he said gruffly, looking down at Maverick with misdirected rage gleaming in his eyes as he moved for the restraints. It occurred to me that I was taking a stand only to inflict a far worse fate on the very person I was trying to protect.

  Brendan flinched as Mr. Hall tore Maverick's bruised arm from the restraints with no care. His body lurched in what I recognized all too well as the final step before a wolf lunged
and a low rumble built in his chest.

  “Wait,” I called, stopping the attack only the intended recipient was unaware of. All eyes were on me. Maverick's pleading gaze made my decision an easier one. “I'll do it.”

  Mr. Hall relaxed and raised his head, giving me the look of an entitled shopper who had just won his way by throwing a tantrum with the clerk. He had no idea how close he'd come to becoming a wolf's prey. “Glad you've come around.”

  Brendan looked me over doubtfully. “Are you sure? You don't have to do this.”

  I nodded. I thought of speaking to him telepathically—Victor's lessons had allowed me to hone that ability, even if I still wasn't capable of what I had been during my showdown with Sarah—but decided against it. Wolves were understandably funny about anyone being inside their heads, especially a vampire. They even shied away from Victor because of his abilities. I didn't want to risk my tentative rapport with the only wolf in the house who wasn't afraid of me. “I'm sure,” I said.

  He relaxed a little and returned his attention to Maverick. “Fine,” he said, taking up his station leaning against the wall to observe.

  “He's not staying in here,” said Mr. Hall. It was a question, as much as he wanted to pretend like he could order us around. Part of him knew better.

  “The hell I'm not,” said Brendan.

  “If you know about supernaturals, then you know I'm in these handcuffs for a reason and it's not because Brendan has a kink,” I said. “If things get out of hand, he's around to make sure they don't.”

  Concern flickered across Mr. Hall's face for a moment before his features returned to stone. Maverick made a small whimpering sound and his master turned on him instantly. “Shut up and at least take your punishment with a hint of dignity, you whore.”

  Maverick flinched. I would venture to say the only reason I didn't attack was the same reason Brendan stood glued to the floor, his entire body tensed and his eyes burning a hole through the back of Mr. Hall's head. Once either of us attacked a customer there was no going back and we'd probably never see Maverick again.

  Mr. Hall turned away and straightened his tie, as if regaining his composure. The most unsettling thing about the entire episode was that he hadn't truly lost it at all. His pulse wasn't racing the way it had been when I defied him. He was calm now, wearing rage as a mask in some completely unnecessary game of keeping up appearances. “Let's get on with it, then.”

  “Remus can decide when he's ready,” Brendan said with a murderous edge in his voice.

  “It's okay,” I said quickly, walking over to Maverick. “We can begin, if he's ready.”

  He nodded weakly.

  I leaned in as if sniffing his neck. “I'm sorry you had to find out this way,” I whispered. “I'll be gentle.”

  He gulped before I leaned away. “Please pull his hair back,” I said, reluctant to bring his master any closer to him. Mr. Hall obliged, pulling Maverick's hair over his other shoulder. His neck was exposed, filling the room with a soft floral scent marred only by the pheromones of terror. Normally I didn't entrance my donors, especially considering that it made it harder for them to give me the crucial signals I needed that they were in distress, but it seemed cruel to bite him in this state.

  “Look at me.” His almost violet eyes found mine, full of terror. “I'm not going to hurt you.” I held his gaze, using slow, deliberate speech to draw him into a calmer state of mind. When his blood pressure slowed and his pupils shrunk a little, I knew I was working.

  “This is a punishment,” said Mr. Hall. “Stop relaxing him.”

  I turned sharply on him and he took a step back. “I can't bite him with this much adrenaline pumping through his veins,” I lied. “If you take issue with my methods, you're welcome to wait in the hall. I'm sure Brendan would be happy to escort you.”

  Brendan smirked in silent affirmation.

  Mr. Hall's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. At least there were some benefits to the whole vampire intimidation factor. I turned my attention back to Maverick and made a conscious effort to soften my expression. It was so easy to look menacing now without really trying.

  “Like I was saying, this is only going to hurt for a second. Then it'll start to feel really good, like that feeling right before you fall asleep when everything is safe and warm and nice. Or so I've heard,” I said, listening for his slowing heartbeat. That was how one of my donors had described it, and the experience seemed fairly consistent for humans. For werewolves—or maybe it was just Victor—the feeling was orgasmic.

  His breath came in slow, shallow puffs and his eyes were glassy. He was as calm as he was going to get under the circumstances. It was much easier to entrance a human than another supernatural, but I was still feeling lightheaded and fatigued from the effort. Maverick was worth the expense.

  I leaned in and braced myself for a moment. Maverick's blood was going to taste exquisitely if his scent was any indication. Brendan's pulse quickened the closer I got to biting him. He was protective of all his submissives, but I couldn't recall them ever having a session together and couldn't imagine Mr. Hall ever allowing it.

  Hoping to spare both my friends the further agony of delay, I sank just the tip of my fangs into Maverick's neck. He jolted a little even under the trance and I was relieved he was strapped in. It seemed cruel to bite someone who couldn't move at all, but Victor assured me that it was the best way to avoid triggering my instincts. Being restrained seemed to relax most of my donors, too.

  Maverick whimpered softly in my ear as my fangs pressed in deeper. When the whimpers turned into a breathy moan, I knew the serum leaking from my fangs was taking effect. It didn't work all the time, not when we were biting out of fear or rage, and certainly not with the first and only human I'd killed to date. I could only pray that with the techniques Victor was teaching me Clive Burns would be my last victim.

  One of those techniques was to hold my breath while I drank. It was difficult, but it helped prevent the sensory overload that usually led to an attack. I could only taste Maverick's blood, not see, smell and hear it as I had that night. It was just as sweet and floral as I had imagined, like a subtle bouquet of roses. I drank enough to keep me sated for the next day and nothing more. I withdrew my fangs and licked the wounds clean. They would scar, just as mine had before my awakening, but they wouldn't be as noticeable with the care I could only hope Mr. Hall would give him.

  Brendan was ready with the a clean towel to press against Maverick's neck until the bleeding stopped. Mav was staring off into space with a sleepy look on his face, but it wasn't dreamy like the ones the other donors wore after I fed. If anything, he looked like he was having a bad dream.

  Brendan undid my restraints since I was far less dangerous after a feeding and I wiped Maverick's blood off the corner of my lips, trying to ignore the look of smug satisfaction on Mr. Hall's face. He was a noxious man, but I was still hungry enough to imagine just how good his blood would taste in a large enough quantity to stop his heart. I wasn't even sure it was possible to drink enough to kill someone without ripping out their jugular as I had done to Clive, but it was nice to think about in Mr. Hall's case.

  “Thank you both for your generosity,” I said, only to avoid incurring more punishment upon poor Maverick.

  “I'm sure we'll be back,” said Mr. Hall, undoing Maverick's restraints before he pulled him to his feet. The poor submissive stumbled from standing so quickly after blood loss.

  “Clara is waiting for him in the infirmary,” said Brendan in barely concealed disdain.

  “Infirmary?” Mr. Hall frowned. “We're going home.”

  “It's part of required aftercare for this type of session,” he insisted. “If you don't comply, we're gonna have to ask you not to come back. Alpha's rules.”

  The mention of Ulric took the wind out of his sails. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing Maverick by the wrist. “It's highly invasive to tell me what to do with my own damn submissive, but fine.”

  “Yo
u can always put a card in the suggestion box,” Brendan said in a “helpful” tone. His wit was so dry that it was hard to tell if he was being serious sometimes. He'd gotten me more than a few times.

  Mr. Hall glared and stalked out of the room, dragging Maverick helplessly behind him. When the door was shut behind them, I collapsed in Maverick's chair with a deep sigh.

  Brendan punched the wall and I could only be relieved he missed a stud, because that would have broken too. We remained in sympathetic silence for a moment before I ventured, “Do you know him?”

  He looked at me in shock. I didn't think it was such a strange question, but I quickly added, “Sorry if that's too personal.”

  “No,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, probably from having to contain his rage. “No, I don't know him. I mean, I've seen him around the dungeon and I voted for him in the competition. No offense.”

  I smiled a little. “None taken. I think Ulric and I would both like to forget that I won that title. My daddy issues aren't that severe.”

  He snorted. At least someone could find humor in the situation. He seemed to be calming down, but my curiosity was far from sated. “You seem to hate Mr. Hall as much as I do.”

  “He's an abusive asshole who doesn't deserve to call himself a dom,” he muttered.

  “No, but I don't think Maverick would agree,” I said sadly. “He comes to his master's defense whenever I make the slightest suggestion that his behavior is inappropriate.”

  “You're friends, right?” he asked hopefully.

  I hesitated. “We were. I'm not sure about now that he knows I'm a bloodsucking leech.”

  “I doubt he'll care. He's used to them,” muttered Brendan. He winced. “Sorry. You know what I meant.”

  I shrugged. “Just because I've accepted what I am doesn't mean I can't be realistic about it.”

  He sighed. “Thank you for being gentle with him.”