by TA Moore
Good.
He ditched the shotgun and stalked over to Took. Whatever he’d been about to say dried up in his throat as Took tipped back his head to peer up at him out of bloody eyes.
“Madoc,” he rasped as he curled his mouth in a crooked smile. “I knew you’d come.”
Love sucked, Madoc thought dimly as he dropped onto his knees. All that anger and justified frustration—Took knew better than to walk into a trap—drained away, and all he was left with was the desire to fix this. Fix everything.
“Really?” Madoc rasped as he wiped blood from Took’s cheek. He grazed a finger over the raw hollow pierced just under his cheekbone. “Because it’s not like you left a note.”
Took laughed, the sound rough in his throat, and grabbed Madoc’s shoulder to push himself to his feet. He wobbled, winced, and grabbed his side as the smell of his blood filled the air.
“We need to go back to Charleston,” he said. “You were right. Someone did set me up, just not who you thought or for the same reason.”
Madoc unfolded gracefully and wedged his shoulder under Took’s arm. “So I wasn’t right at all?” he said.
“Not about much,” Took said with a laugh as they staggered out of the bar. “If it helps, I fucking missed it.”
The truck was still parked outside. Madoc half expected it to have four flat tires, but apparently Gabriel’s offer had been genuine. The vehicle looked unmolested. Madoc didn’t trust how long the truce would hold. Gabriel might not have cared much about his dead, but once whoever was out there learned that the cardinal had killed them all, that might change.
He shoved Took into the passenger seat and then boosted himself over the hood to get the driver’s side. The keys were in the ignition. Madoc revved the engine, the growl of it in the dark a challenge answered by wolves that sounded closer than they’d been, and spun it around to head for the dirt track back to what passed for a main road.
Halfway there, the headlights caught yellow eyes at the side of the road. Gabriel stood in the shadow of the trees and watched them approach. He dropped his long muzzle in some sort of acknowledgment as they passed him, but those acid-yellow eyes weren’t focused on Madoc.
A dozen questions occurred to Madoc. He weighed them all and then deliberately discarded them. Immortality was best navigated when you knew what answers you could live without. Took had come to VINE with secrets—a con man’s sharp mind and the stomach for a kill—and if Madoc had ever chased the answers, he’d have had to do something about it.
Or should, he supposed. Since whatever the answer was about what connected Gabriel and Took, Madoc knew he wouldn’t act on it.
Silence made the facade of his loyalty to the Accord, to the deeper ties of the boyar, easier to keep up. He wouldn’t be easier to kill, and there would be a price to pay one day, but if the Senate found out he had something to live for—to want—outside of duty and death, they might decide to empty their pockets.
“I’d tell you the truth,” Took offered from the passenger seat, “if you asked.”
Madoc shot him a look. “You know me that well?”
“Better than my own father,” Took said dryly as he rubbed his hand through his hair and blood streaked through it like wax.
“Yet you really thought I’d ever hurt you?” Madoc asked as he spun the truck hard around the turn at the end of the road. It left a dark track of rubber etched onto the sun-bleached gray. That would make it easier for The Salt guards to find it.
He didn’t get an answer from Took. Maybe, he thought sourly as he called Tac to report the werewolves, Took knew he’d rather not know.
THE PREFAB hut did triple duty as the air field’s office, a crash pad for the pilots, and a place to stash contraband for the staff at The Salt. Madoc dangled a Ziploc bag with a bloody, neatly clipped blonde ponytail in it and wondered who’d paid to get it here. Not that they’d get it now. He tossed it onto the small, stained desk with the rest of the morbid keepsakes and supposedly magical bones and tatters he’d found under the fold-out bed. A few of them pricked against his fingers with the cold sting that he felt sometimes on the other side of the world, but most were just rags and dead parts.
“So, is one of our Salted undead a fool with their money,” he asked as he fastidiously wiped his hands. “Or do they just want to compromise one of the guards?”
The sound of the shower in the small water closet flicked off. Madoc listened as Took dragged his clothes back on and cursed softly under his breath as he coughed out a strangled curse.
“Could be both,” Took said after a second. “Not all of them are up there with the boyars. The hair was probably for Ellis McKinley, and he was stupid enough to think that his victims couldn’t testify against him because he raised them afterward.”
The silver itched under Madoc’s fingertips, a little pain that he’d felt often enough that it was a pleasure, and then he shrugged off the leather jacket. He hung it over the back of a chair and stripped off the thin undershirt.
“Time for another purge anyhow,” Madoc said. It wasn’t unexpected. The Salt was a sour duty, physically harsh and emotionally worse. The presence of a single boyar had a weight to it, a gravity that pulled at your soul instead of your flesh. There were ten of them imprisoned here, salt-mad and bloated with plots. It was enough to turn anyone’s head far enough that they’d say something, promise something, they couldn’t take back. “It’s almost due anyhow.”
Took grunted his agreement as he shouldered the cubicle door open and stepped out in a cloud of calla-lily-scented steam. He was clean and his shirt was damp from a quick scrub in the sink, but he moved as though it hurt, and the wounds on his face and jaw were still raw.
“Tac will be torn,” Took said absently as he hitched his trousers up over his hips. “He wants out, but he takes pride in doing a good—”
He stumbled to a halt over his own tongue as he looked up and caught sight of Madoc. Whatever sting lingered on Madoc’s ego was soothed a little by the flash of hunger and appreciation that passed over Took’s face. He looked… caught.
“When did you last feed?” Madoc asked.
Took blinked in confusion and then rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I… yesterday.”
“From whom?”
Took was a good liar. He met your eyes, he kept the answers simple, he didn’t stumble or justify.
“Some man,” he said. “In a club. I didn’t get his name.”
Madoc walked over to him and reached up to tug his collar out of the way. The bruises had faded, but the scar was still pink and tender against Took’s skin. He rubbed his thumb over the raw heart of it and watched as Took shuddered in reaction.
“This would have healed,” Madoc said. “Are you starving yourself? Because in the end, you’ll just lose control and kill someone. I’d rather not have to clean that up.”
Took licked his lips but didn’t lean away from Madoc’s touch. “I feed twice a day. That’s what the doctors recommended. I’m in control.”
Of course, Madoc realized with the sour taste of guilt. Whoever had made Took hadn’t taught him how to be an Anakim, had probably not intended for him to even remember he was a person, and the one person who should have stepped in had let Took push him away. All Took had left was VINE’s doctors and their “theories,” the Senate’s best efforts to castrate the Anakim until they were just humans with bad teeth.
“What did they give you?” he asked. “Injections? Pills?”
Took looked flustered for the first time as he looked away. “They provide everything I need,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Maybe if you were a lawyer or an accountant,” Madoc said. A vampire took more than nutrients from blood, and while he knew a few Anakim who’d tried the no-bite diet, he didn’t know anyone who’d stuck to it. “You’ll get yourself killed. Or me.”
Even with Took’s eyes still averted, Madoc could tell he hadn’t convinced him. It was in the stubborn set of his jaw and tightnes
s of his throat.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Took said. His voice was thick with the memory of nightmares. Just because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—remember that missing year didn’t mean that it was gone. Madoc knew that. In a long life, there were a lot of old wounds you tried to forget. Some of them were just anchored too deep. “He wanted me to do it, but I wouldn’t. It was the one thing he couldn’t make me do.”
There was something in Took’s voice that was more than stubbornness. It felt brittle, dangerous, like the sort of thing you couldn’t put back together again if it broke.
Something in Madoc instinctively shied away from that resolve. Sometimes sanity lay in the line you’d drawn in the sand, even if no one else could see it. Took would have to find his compromise with that on his own, but for now, they didn’t have time to wait for Took to patch himself back together. If Waring’s silence had given Annabelle and the dhampir children some protection, it had expired, and Took was the only one who had any ideas about what lay back in Charleston. He needed to be in one piece in order to walk them through his theory.
“You can’t hurt me,” Madoc pointed out. He smirked as Took finally flicked a wary glance back at him. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I think I already did,” Took murmured quietly as he skimmed his hands up Madoc’s lean hips to his waist. The brush of callused fingertips sent a tremor of pleasure through Madoc’s skin. It faded too quickly. “That’s not what I wanted.”
Madoc shushed him with a kiss. He lipped at the soft curve of Took’s mouth until he coaxed it open and he could chase the tart sweetness of old blood over Took’s tongue. It should have tasted weaker, watered down with supplements and the vampiric equivalent of anemia, but it hit the back of Madoc’s throat like good whiskey.
“You didn’t ask me to love you,” Madoc said as he pulled back. Because, fuck it, he wanted to say it just once. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Took didn’t flinch at the admission. That was something.
“I do,” he disagreed. “You didn’t do it. I know that now.”
Madoc grazed a kiss along Took’s jaw. It was glazed with a starburst of little scars, like threads under his lips. “Because you know I love you and I’d never hurt you?” It was a promise as much as anything else—a pledge.
“Well, yeah, and because you were in New York,” Took said.
For some reason that didn’t sting. It was such a typically him response that it just made Madoc chuckle against Took’s throat.
“Heartwarming,” he drawled as he worked his way down to the still pulse point in Took’s throat. He bit down roughly on the thin skin, careful not to graze the old wound with his fangs, and felt Took clutch desperately at him.
Hunger clenched in Madoc’s groin, a hot drag of lust at his balls and cock, but he tried to ignore it. The justification for this was that it was what Took needed, not just what Madoc wanted.
“I always wanted to trust you,” Took said, his voice stiff with the discomfort of honesty. “There was no reason to, though, and that scared me. It made me second-guess myself, because my mind’s not what it was. I can’t trust it like I used to.”
That sounded almost rote, like something he’d learned at someone else’s knee. It pricked at something in Madoc’s brain. There was a familiar cant to the words, but he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. He flagged it for later attention.
“The minute you looked at this case, you knew there was something wrong,” Madoc pointed out. “Without you, Waring would be dead and Nora Aron would still be in her box. You’re still a smart bastard and a bit of a dick about it. Not that much has changed.”
“And you say you love me?” Took joked awkwardly.
“Yes,” Madoc said simply. He did. Everyone knew it. Even Took knew it, for all he didn’t trust it. He tilted Took’s chin down and kissed him again, words murmured between his lips. “Prickly, smartass, suspicious….”
“Ruined?”
Madoc bit him. This time he didn’t bother to guard his fangs. Took yelped at the sharp little pain and then leaned into it, one hand cupped around the back of Madoc’s skull. His mouth slanted hungrily over Madoc’s, slick with blood and edged with wickedly sharp, still-new fangs. The scrapes they left on Madoc’s lips, along the edges of his tongue, made Took gasp and lick hungrily at the small wounds. It was sweet foreplay, but a dribble of blood wasn’t enough to mend him.
“Did I hurt you?” Madoc asked as he grabbed a handful of Took’s hair, knuckles pressed against the hard bones of his skull, and pulled his head back.
Passion glazed Took’s eyes, his pupils swollen and rimmed with blue as he licked black-stained lips.
“No,” he admitted slowly. “But I don’t… I’ve never….”
Virginity hadn’t impressed Madoc that much for a long time. It was just something that someone hadn’t gotten around to yet. You might as well be excited that someone hadn’t eaten a steak before. But the idea of being Took’s first Kiss was different. The mixture of nerves and lust as Took looked at his throat, his tongue pressed absently against the point of his fang as he thought about it, caught in Madoc’s balls and twisted into a hard knot of lust.
“If you do it wrong,” Madoc said as he guided Took’s head down to his throat, “I’ll tell you.”
Took licked his throat and then kissed the wet spot, lips soft and cool as the desert air. “This is sex, right?” he asked as he gripped the curve of Madoc’s ass in both hands and pulled him closer. The hard jut of his erection pushed against Madoc’s hip, eager under his slouched trousers. “Or am I just… off?”
It was a light question, but there was a hint of real fear under it, the dark undercurrent of “something wrong with me” that bubbled up in him every now and again.
Madoc nuzzled his temple as he considered how to answer the question. He stroked his thumb down to the soft dimple of skin under Took’s ear.
“If you never wanted to bite me again, I’d still fuck you,” he said. “If you never wanted to fuck me again, this would be really awkward.”
He worked his hand down between their bodies and into Took’s trousers. His fingers shackled the hard rise of Took’s cock, hard flesh wrapped in cool satin, and squeezed. Took groaned and bit down.
It did hurt. Took didn’t put enough pressure behind the bite—his fangs tore the skin instead of pierced it—and he chewed around the wound. It didn’t matter. Pleasure crawled hot through his veins. Some Anakim claimed it was a pulse of their old life, a reminder from Enoch that they’d once been human. Madoc had always run cool, even when he breathed, so it was a sweet rush of silken lust. And it was Took.
Took mumbled an apology as he nuzzled against Madoc’s neck. He lapped at the blood that spilled down Madoc’s throat and pressed closer as he sucked hungrily on the wound. Madoc groaned thick approval in the back of his throat as he tipped his head back pliantly, his fingers buried in Took’s dense, sandy-blond hair. It curled damply around his fingers.
He tugged on Took’s cock in time with the ragged, thirsty pressure against his throat. Each time he twisted his fist around the wet, tender head, Took moaned something hungry and half-strangled against his throat.
Under his pants, Madoc’s cock was so hard it ached. The throb of frustration clenched heavily in his balls and spread down his tense thigh muscles and up into his stomach. The ache of it settled behind the familiar sting of the thorn hooked through his navel until he could hardly feel the throb of the old brand.
Took unlatched from Madoc’s throat and lifted his head. His lips were black with blood, and the raw hole in his cheek had already faded to a puckered scar.
“So,” Took said as he licked the blood off his lips. He leaned to brush a kiss over Madoc’s lips. The taste of his own blood came back, spiced with the curse of another vampire’s Kiss. The sharpness of it, pine and snow and the ozone of a storm, caught on Madoc’s tongue like mulled wine. It almost distracted him from the sly curve of Took’s mouth aga
inst his. “You want to try and bend me over this bed? Because I’m not sure it can take it.”
Madoc wanted to hesitate, to protest nobly that it wasn’t necessary, that he’d wall his feelings up and play the platonic friend… once, that is, he let go of Took’s dick. It was the sort of thing he supposed a good man would do.
But he wasn’t a good man, so he didn’t. Instead he pushed Took down on the narrow cot, his lean body sprawled over the thin mattress and old sheets and his long legs dangled over the bottom of it. His feet were braced against the floor, and his trousers were already slung low around his hips.
A twinge of duty reminded Madoc that they didn’t have time for this, but he paid it off with a promise of quick and dirty. He unbuckled his belt and shoved his trousers down to his thighs. His cock rose eagerly toward his stomach, already thick and swollen with blood. He gave it a quick stroke with one hand as he looked down at Took.
He looked well fucked already, his eyes heavy with satiation and his lower lip dimpled where his fangs were still extended. Blood stained his lips, and his cock was swollen as he dragged his own hand down the length of it. It would be heavy in Madoc’s mouth, broad enough that his fangs would scrape the sides and spill blood before he spilled his seed. Or that bloody mouth would be wrapped around Madoc’s cock, the scrape of razor-sharp fangs a dangerous bit of foreplay.
Lust dried Madoc’s mouth out as he swallowed the knot of hunger wedged in his throat. There were a lot of things he wanted to do to Took, or with him, but quick and dirty. He wanted to be done before the pilot came to hammer on the door. As cardinal, he could have killed anyone who caught him in a compromising position, but Agent Madoc would just have to deal with the fact that someone had seen him pull out of Took’s ass so he could drag his trousers up.
Although the idea it would get back to West was not… without appeal.
