He chewed, swallowed and finished his milk, staring at where his feet pushed up from under the covers. If there was something he was supposed to say to all of it, he couldn’t imagine what that was. So, he fell back on being a good, silent little slave and waited for instructions.
“Jase?”
“Yes, Master Emil?”
“Do you have any questions?”
He realized that of course he had one. In all the fairy-tale telling of his Master’s nature, he’d forgotten for a moment who and what he was. He picked up the tray and placed it beside him on the bed. “Yes, Master Emil.”
“What are they?”
“Only one, if you please.” He glanced at him with a flutter of eyelashes that he hoped would be appealing. “Would you like your morning blow job now?”
* * * *
“So, I need you to peel all ten bags of potatoes and put them to soak in this pot of cold water. That will keep them from oxidizing before I have a chance to roast them. Don’t worry about cutting them. I’ll do that later.”
Jase nodded like the dutiful slave he was, even though he already understood what he needed to do and why. “Yes, Master Emil.”
“Jase, remember what we discussed.” Master’s tone was infinitely patient.
Jase cringed anyway. He didn’t like fucking up, and not only because he feared punishment. There was something about this new master that made him want to please him. “Sorry. Yes, Chef.” In the kitchen, Master was always to be called ‘Chef’. Master was for the bedroom, at least he thought so. The rules for that place were murky at the moment.
No blow job or sex of any kind had happened since breakfast. Instead, Jase had been ordered—kindly—to bathe in Master’s house-sized shower with four spray-heads beating down on his tired, creaky body. Big, fluffy towels had dried him quickly and like a soft hug. Toiletries had been brought by the ever-helpful Mackie, because apparently alien vampires didn’t have body odor quite like humans. It made Jase a little self-conscious. He’d have to be extra careful to stay clean and fresh. The boy had also brought a brush, because Master merely ran his fingers through his hair with some gel to create his spiky look.
Clothes and sneakers had come from Quinn, because he was closer to Jase in size, and Jase didn’t have anything other than leathers to wear at the club—or anywhere, really. His lack of clothing had made Master mad. Lots of weird things did, like offering the blow job. Master’s face had gone all red and Jase had been sure he was in for a beating. But no. Master had only refused and said no more offers of that kind needed to be made. Jase had wanted to ask if that meant never, except he’d figured he’d used up his quota of questions, and the idea that his new master would never want sex from him was absurd. This master wasn’t the same as others had been. His wishes would be harder to determine, and Jase would have to watch out for that.
So, no sex, at least for now. Instead, Master wanted him to help out in the kitchen and Jase was actually excited to do something new and useful. It didn’t matter how boring or menial it was. It served a purpose other than getting some slobbering man hard and off. And for this work, he didn’t have to be naked. Over his T-shirt and jeans, he wore a jacket—‘whites’, Master called them—the way he’d done when he’d sat in this nice, safe place eating bread. This time, though, a jaunty white cap sat on his head to keep his hair away from the food and the jacket fit because it had been supplied by a quirky guy named Damien. Damien was a human and he didn’t know that Master was an alien vampire, so mum was the word on that.
There were lots of new rules for him to learn. That was fine. Of necessity, he’d become a fast learner. Secrecy was also something he was well used to. Jase had had years of practice both obeying and hiding the nature of who he and his master were, both in absolute terms and relative to one another. Nothing much had changed. Really, one type of monster over another hardly mattered, although this new twist on that theme wasn’t as scary as it should have been.
Everyone at Club Lux had treated him kindly so far, the Stelalux family in particular. He was still learning who was what, but it didn’t take any effort to understand that anyone tall, pale, black-haired, violet-eyed and male fell into the category of vampire. While Master had emphasized how important it was not to talk about the family’s unusual nature, he had also said that the bartender knew the secret. And the cop from the playroom obviously did, as well. That didn’t surprise him, actually. He’d spent the last several years of his life discovering that lots of men in powerful positions lived within the tight circle of men who liked underage boys. He’d made the mistake once of thinking he could confide in a man with a badge, only to end up being his toy for the night. Lesson learned. So, yeah, a cop hiding a group of vampires didn’t faze him.
“Jase, are you listening?”
His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, Chef.”
Master nodded. “Good. I don’t want you to tire yourself out. If you need a break, take it. Make sure to sit on this stool if your feet get sore.”
“Yes, Chef.” Jase was kind of touched that Master showed any worry about him. He could stand for hours if need be—had done so often in a corner for being bad, and after a beating. At the moment, given his full night’s sleep and the fact that his body was free of restraint, he felt better than he had in a long time.
Master didn’t look convinced. “Hmm… Remember what Harry said about not overdoing it and how the effects of the pill I gave you will linger for a few more hours.”
Jase nodded. The kindly vampire, who was apparently a doctor, had gently examined him at Master’s insistence after the shower. It was way weird that a blood-sucker also healed people. Weirder still, when Jase tried to give him a blow job as a thank you, the man had refused with a look of such utter pity that Jase had felt ashamed. The rules of this place definitely mystified him. Like cops, doctors played with young boys all the time. Patching them up always came with a price, too. If Jase wasn’t valued here for the sex he could provide, what was his worth?
What was his purpose?
Master held out a peeler. Oh, right…potatoes. Taking the wickedly sharp thing in hand, Jase stepped to the first bag. He opened it and started working. Master hovered nearby for a minute or two until Jase proved trustworthy with the simple task, then he left. Normally, Jase would have felt relief. Oddly, he missed the guy’s presence as soon as it was gone. He pushed aside the feeling, though, and concentrated on the job. It was easy and rhythmic and soon his worries fell away and he settled into a groove.
Being open twenty-four-seven to its members, the club played music nonstop. It was piped into the kitchen and Jase appreciated how it accentuated the sounds of chopping and whisking around him. It was almost as if the kitchen staff, himself included, were part of a rhythm band, keeping time to the beat of the song. He hadn’t had much chance to listen to rock or hip-hop or any kind of modern music. Washburn had preferred classical, which was nice. This newer stuff, though, seeped into him. He found himself nodding his head and shaking his hips. It helped to pass the time.
“You like to dance?”
Consumed with what he was doing, Jase hadn’t heard Master return. With a jerk, he fumbled the potato in his hand, and when he stopped it from falling, he nicked his fingertip with the peeler. He hissed and pulled his hand back so as to not bleed on the food. A rush of warm air bathed his face, and Master grabbed his hand with his much larger one. Jase looked at him and gasped.
Master’s eyes had gone from their unusual violet to a deep black, which was way better than the red of the previous night. His nostrils flared and his breathing was labored. No fangs protruded, but he licked his lower lip while he stared intently at the bead of blood welling up on Jase’s finger. His grip tightened almost painfully around Jase’s palm and wrist. In a flash of understanding, Jase figured black had to do with passion, as opposed to anger, which was red. That had to be it. Master wanted Jase, at least in this way. Maybe the guy wouldn’t want sex, only blood.
He�
��s going to suck it. He’s going to suck my finger!
Jase held his breath as he waited for Master’s lips to close around the wound and tug. What would it be like? Would it hurt? The idea of pulling his hand away barely registered as a thought before he tossed it aside. The worst sin of a slave was to fight the attentions of a master, no matter how frightening they were. Yet, he wasn’t so sure he could say he was scared. More like curious.
A second passed, then another and another. Master didn’t suck Jase’s finger into his mouth. Instead, he pulled back and turned his head. His gaze met Jase’s only for a heart-stuttering moment before he looked over his shoulder.
“Hey, Damien, please bring the first-aid kit.”
“Sure thing, Chef.”
“I’m sorry,” Master said to Jase. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”
Jase was still trying to process how a master had apologized to his slave, when he noticed that Master’s eyes had gone back to normal. He found himself curious again about the color change. Red has to be for anger, and black must mean lust? These aliens were sort of like chameleons, except only their eyes changed, and it was based on feelings, not environment. That had to be it. But was it simply the blood that had made Master feel so, or was it Jase’s blood in particular that appealed to him? Wow, that was a completely strange and random thought. Jase had long ago surrendered any idea that he might actually be attracted to a man and want his attention. Those thoughts and feelings had just started to waken within him when his stepfather had dirtied them forever.
Or at least Jase had thought they were gone for good. Perhaps not. For a brief second before Damien trotted over with the kit, Jase imagined what it would be like to have Master feast on his blood. Mackie had said it made one come extra hard. That was assuming, of course, that one was already hard. Or, again not. Maybe alien vampires could arouse someone simply by the act of sucking a fingertip or a wrist—or a throat. A shiver ran through him at the very idea of Master’s mouth pressed against his exposed neck.
Master obviously felt the slight tremor because Jase could feel his eyes boring into him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Chef.” He wasn’t sure he’d told the truth. The small cut didn’t bother him, but Master’s proximity and touch did, though not in the usual way of a master. This was different, much different, and it disturbed Jase. His unfettered dick twitched a bit, as if it were trying to rise from a long slumber. For a second, he actually worried that he might become hard. Then, the idea of coming in his pants in front of bags of potatoes amused him.
A giggle escaped his lips before he could bite it back. The sound startled him and Master both. He hunched in his shoulders, expecting admonishment. Instead, Master smiled. The expression poured down on Jase and filled him with a lovely feeling. He couldn’t help smiling in return.
“This is kind of weird,” Master said in a low tone. “I’m glad you’re not scared.”
Jase had nothing to say to that observation, not that he expected his opinion to matter anyway. Damien arrived with the kit, and Master asked the boy to play nurse while Master doctored Jase’s finger with ointment, a bandage and a surgical glove to keep the potatoes from contamination. When he was done, he politely thanked Damien for his help and sent him on his way.
“There…all done now.” He released Jase’s hand. “Do you need a break?”
Jase perversely missed the contact as soon as it was gone. “No thank you, Chef.” He dared to look, and that’s when he realized how tense Master was. Not angry, yet clearly trying hard to keep his shit together. That massive chest rose and fell on labored breaths and his lips were held in a grim line. And while the man’s jacket hid his groin, Jase expected he was aroused. The signs were there. Jase knew them well.
Master stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Why wasn’t he acting on his desire when Jase was his for the taking? A better question was, “Why do I care?”
* * * *
“I suppose we should be grateful that we’re invited to this debriefing at all.”
Trey spared Karl a glance. They were propped against the back wall in a room filled with federal, state and local law enforcement, and in a line-up such as that, he and Karl were definitely part of the kids’ table. “Yeah, makes me wonder why, too. We’ve been kept in the dark since the second explosion. They obviously think there’s a connection between that one and the warehouse, but sharing would be nice. We know how to keep our mouths shut.”
The complete irony of that last statement wasn’t wasted on him. He’d spent the better part of the previous night hiding what had happened at Lux. Although the autopsy was pending, he was sure Washburn had died from a combination of what he’d ingested, not simply because a vampire had bared his fangs. And keeping the kid out of it was still the right thing to do. Trey didn’t worry about how he hadn’t contradicted Val and Harry when they’d given their statements. As far as the official report was concerned, Washburn had been playing with a random that he’d picked up somewhere before keeling over from an apparent heart attack. The random had left right after sounding the alarm, without giving his name. Trey had happened to be visiting his friend, Val, when it had all gone down. Blah, blah, lie, lie. It held because no one really cared about a guy like Washburn.
Trey’s conscience was clear, certainly. Jason Purdue had obviously been a victim of sex trafficking. When the time was right, and when Emil in particular didn’t look like he’d rip Trey’s throat out for approaching the kid, he’d see if he could learn enough to give another report to vice or the FBI. In the meantime, the kid was in safe hands. Emil had the biggest heart of anyone Trey had ever known. His obvious attraction to the boy notwithstanding, Emil would protect him—even from Emil himself.
So, yeah, Trey was the epitome of discretion. What bothered him most wasn’t that he was doing it. It was how easy it was and how used to it he’d become. Standing there, waiting for the debriefing to begin, he just knew down to the very marrow of his bones that Dracul was behind these bombings. And yet, he wasn’t going to say a goddamn word about it. No, he would bide his time until he could get to the club and update a group of aliens who had somehow become his masters, if he were honest with himself. It was the best course of action if he really wanted to protect his own people. He understood that intellectually. It still sucked.
“Okay, everyone, let’s get started.” A tall man, successfully rocking a Vin Diesel look, had stepped up to the podium. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Agent Franklin of Homeland Security. I am leading this investigation.”
He made eye contact around the room, asserting his dominance, although not in a dickish way. “I appreciate how all of you have been working diligently together on this tragic event. Once again, Boston has been the scene of terrorism. Only this time, we can’t say who is behind it. No organization has stepped forward to claim responsibility, which in itself is surprising. We haven’t heard any chatter, either, about it on the usual sites that we monitor. At this point, we’re working on the belief that our unsub—unknown subject—is both not currently in our data base for previous bombings and acting alone. That, of course, could change.
“What we do know,” he added, starting a PowerPoint presentation, “is the two recent explosions—one at the warehouse and one at the nightclub, which have claimed a total of seven innocent lives and have left another half-dozen hospitalized—are connected.”
He went through a series of photographs, side-by-side from both cases to show comparisons in damage. “The material itself that caused the detonation and the subsequent fire is organic-based.” He brought up a picture of some charred mass. “It’s vegetation, but not your usual basic fertilizer. The labs are working on further analysis. At this time, however, its nature and origins match no known plant. It’s alien to this area. That much has been established.”
Fuck! Even though he’d known it was coming, it still hit Trey low in the gut. Whatever was being used was something Dracul had
either created on this world or brought with him from their place of origin. That was something he’d have to ask Alex. That thought had barely settled in his brain before the next slide made his heart stop.
“This remnant of what looks like a credit or membership card was found at the second scene. As you can see, the lettering is almost completely charred, leaving only two, maybe three characters that are readable. We’ve got analysts researching if they have any particular meaning, although that’s a stretch, given the possibilities.”
Karl stirred. “Hey, Trey, isn’t that—?”
“Yeah.” There was no hiding this. If he didn’t step forward, Karl would. He raised his hand like he was back in middle school. “Excuse me, sir. I think I can help you out with that one.”
Chapter Seven
Agent Franklin was not an idiot. He had listened to what Trey had had to say about Lux and the Stelalux family without immediately jumping to conclusions. His questions had been equitable and reasonable. He’d raised his eyebrows when Trey admitted that he’d developed something of a personal relationship with them, something that Trey believed fell into the category of necessary confession. His word and his ability to steer this investigation in a safe direction depended on his remaining in the know. If Franklin decided he was a liability, he’d be out of the loop and no good to Alex and company. Karl, bless his big, loyal heart, had claimed that he, too, had been invited to Val and Mackie’s wedding and had been unable to attend. That lie lent credence to Trey’s claim that it was more gratitude than real friendship that allowed him to go to the club. The look his partner shot him afterward said they’d be having a private conversation later about it, however. Oh well, worse come to worst, Trey could blame Demi’s infatuation for his invite.
Slave Dance Page 10
