Healing Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  Ric thought of the young man shattered by his new-fangled gun. “Yes, that’s true.”

  Delia snapped her fingers. “Oh, we almost had another one for you this morning. A kid came in during the wee hours with plastic sticking out of his eye, among other places. We managed to save the kid, although not his sight. It reminded me of a few days ago, when the outcome was very different.”

  That perked up Ric’s interest. “You mean another exploding gun?”

  “Yup.” She shook her head. “Like we didn’t have enough gun violence to deal with… Now we have to worry about that.”

  Ric opened his mouth to ask more questions. He didn’t get the chance, because an SUV rolled up to the curb, driven by Duncan and carrying Anderson in the passenger’s seat. They were his transportation for the big party at the club, at Duncan’s insistence, even though the Boston public transportation system was convenient.

  “Oh, sorry. This is my ride.”

  Delia’s eyes popped. “Huh! Gay men have all of the luck. Two hot guys?”

  Ric flashed her a grin. “They’re only friends. Good to see you, Delia.”

  “You too.” She waved as he got into the car before turning to walk down the sidewalk.

  “Who’s that?” Anderson asked before Ric had even buckled up. “She’s pretty.”

  “I thought you were already occupied,” Ric said by way of answer.

  “I’m not saying I’m interested, merely curious.”

  Duncan shook his head as he pulled away. “Careful, Karl. I’m pretty sure Kitty can snap you like a twig if she has a mind to.”

  “Yeah,” Karl sighed. “That’s one of the things I love about her.”

  “Well, as you asked,” Ric said, “that was Dr. Delia Verona. She had some interesting information about another emergency patient suffering from the shrapnel of an exploding gun.”

  “We’ve heard.” Duncan’s tone was matter-of-fact, yet grim. “I’m going to give everyone an update in Alex’s office before we chow down at the clam bake. You know MacLerie floated into town this afternoon,” he added, glancing at Ric through his rearview mirror.

  “Oh, good to hear.” He wasn’t sure he was truly happy with the visit. It all depended on how it affected Dafydd’s mental health. Seeing Brenin again would either be a good thing or a bad one. There was no way to predict which it would be, and Ric felt helpless anyway. He couldn’t aid Dafydd if the guy didn’t allow him to.

  The ride was mostly a quiet one and once they arrived at the club, they made straight for Alex’s office, when Ric would have preferred to seek out Harry or Lucien for an update about Dafydd. No, what he really wanted was to find the man himself. He hoped to see him at dinner yet didn’t dare ask anyone about it directly. His feelings for the Welshman were both complicated and too private for him to tip his hand in any obvious way.

  “Ah, gentlemen, come in,” Alex called out the moment they came into view. “You remember Malcolm, surely.”

  The alien Scotsman rose like a statue from Easter Island, large and imposing, his expression inscrutable even with a flash of a smile. And he wore an unusual combination of a T-shirt, kilt and heavy black boots. As smitten by Dafydd as Ric was, he couldn’t help but admire the raw sexuality of the man on a purely primitive level, battle scars and all. He shook Malcolm’s hand when it was his turn and found himself pinned by the man’s stare.

  “When you have a moment, Dr. Paz, I’d like a word, if you dinnae mind?”

  “Certainly. And please call me Ric, remember?”

  “Ric, then. I’ll find you later.”

  That was all that was said, yet Ric could tell there was genuine concern lurking behind the man’s eyes and words. It made Ric wonder if something was wrong with Brenin. It was either that or an issue with the human slaves Malcolm and Brenin were trying to rehabilitate. Although, if that were the case, Dr. MacPhee was more than capable of handling it, at least based on what Ric had seen of the woman. If Brenin was the problem, Ric was eager to help, if only because it meant he and Malcolm shared a common predicament. They both loved one of Dracul’s victims and were anxious to heal them.

  The room was filled with all of the alien men, plus Kitty and the vet, Logan. It made for a cramped space, but it was probably the most private location in the club other than the basement. Ric found a sliver of room on the arm of the couch and settled down. Duncan and Anderson also squeezed into spots. Val shut the door for privacy, no doubt. None of the boys were there, which was just as well. They were all strong and brave, yet they also deserved some time free of worry. Ric understood the desire of every man in the room to shield the ones they cared for. There might not be anything noteworthy anyway, not by the aliens’ standards.

  Alex nodded toward Duncan. “Sergeant?”

  The man cleared his throat. “So, here’s the story. We’ve now had two incidences in which a 3-D printed gun has exploded during use by drug-dealing gang members. One was a personal vendetta situation in which the gunman died. That one we already discussed. The second incident occurred earlier this morning during a robbery of a convenience store. That perp lived, although he’s in rough shape and, to my knowledge, hasn’t been properly questioned yet. This information is all fifth-hand, if you will, because it’s an FBI investigation and neither I nor Karl rank.”

  “I just heard of this myself,” Ric added, repeating what Delia had told him. “I assume that his survival will eventually lead to our knowing who is behind this.” He looked at Duncan when he said it.

  “Maybe. Both of these guys were low-level criminals in the grander scheme of things. One thing we do know, however, is that they were part of the same gang.”

  “So, they got the guns from only the one source,” Val said.

  “Probably,” Duncan allowed. “It’s too early to tell.”

  From where she lurked in the corner, Logan raised her hand.

  Alex swiveled his chair in her direction. “You have something to add?”

  Logan lowered her hand and stared at the floor. “Yes, sir. Word is the guns came from Maine.” Although the woman had been given a room at the club, making her in theory no longer homeless, she did still spend a lot of time out on the street. That was according to Emil, who constantly worried about her.

  Duncan nodded. “That ties in with what we know about Tony Two Claws. And it’s weird enough to generate gossip. I’m not sure the FBI will have acquired that kind of intel. They’re relying on Boston PD’s local CIs, which means the flow of information is spotty. You’re my best confidential informant, that’s for sure,” he added with a grin toward Logan. “I’m lucky in that.”

  The woman shrugged and shrank back into her corner. “That’s what I hear, anyway, for what it’s worth.”

  “Does that tell us anything about who’s behind it?” Ric asked. “Does it help in figuring out whether this has anything to do with your kind?” He winced at his own word choice. It sounded so racist. “Alien-driven, I mean. No offense.” Jesus.

  “No need to worry about the thickness of our skin, Doctor,” Malcolm assured him. “It is the million-dollar question and I, for one, am hard put to say one way or t’other.”

  “Karl and I will keep our ears to the ground. The FBI might be able to get something out of this second guy that will clue us in better. In the meantime, assuming the weapons are being manufactured or smuggled in from Maine, I think we can rule out a major city like Portland. There’s too much activity there, especially around the harbor, to use it as a place of import or export. They’d want something more low-key.”

  Anderson added, “Plus, I’d say we can assume it’s somewhere in southern Maine. There would be no reason to make distribution harder than it needed to be by hauling stuff for hours down the Maine state highway system.”

  “Okay, since we’re playing what-if,” Val said, “I’ve already pulled up my files on what we know about Dracul’s weapons dealing. He did use a small coastal town about ninety minutes from here as a smuggling point year
s ago. Putnam’s Cove.”

  Ric perked up at the mention of the place. “I’ve been there.” When everyone swiveled their gazes on him, his cheeks heated. “It’s very gay-friendly and quicker to drive to than Provincetown.”

  MacLerie frowned. “Sounds like a lovely place to visit, but why would anyone smuggle in these computer-printed guns when making them can be done anywhere? It’s just a matter of materials, isn’t it?”

  “And that’s the issue,” Duncan replied. “The material is easy to obtain, but the quantity necessary if you were to go into mass production can raise red flags if anyone is looking. Before countries started cracking down on publishing and possessing the plans themselves, there were some notable opportunities taken to crank out a lot of them. Parts of Europe and Australia in particular had problems. If Dracul had already gotten in on the act, maybe one of his boys is simply picking up where he left off and getting the weapons into this country.”

  Val nodded. “It fits his pattern with more conventional weapons.”

  “I don’t know,” Anderson injected. “It still doesn’t make any sense to me. The 3-D printed ones have to cost more than a metal gun. Why would a relatively low-level guy like Tony Two Claws and this other idiot have them?”

  “Marketing.” This came from Logan, whose head was up once more. “It’s big news on the street because they’re just regular guys. Word gets around, creates a buzz. Everyone wants one if those guys have them, like a pusher giving away free drugs.”

  Duncan turned toward Ric. “You nailed it, Doc. That was his theory a few days ago,” he added to the room at large.

  Yes, it made sense, and Ric was rather proud to have thought of it himself, except… ”Who wants to peddle something that’s so obviously bad for its user?” he asked. “You won’t get many orders for a defective product. I know people say that all publicity is good publicity, but surely not in this case.”

  MacLerie hummed. “I bet that’s not part of the plan. Poorly made, is it? They handed out free guns only to find out they’d cut a corner and the fucking things are literally back-firing on them?”

  “Excellent points, gentlemen,” Alex agreed. “It doesn’t tell us any more about whether this falls under our purview, but would anyone be surprised to find out that Petru or Bran, more likely, tried to pick up the ball and fumbled it?”

  “No, not all,” Emil answered, and everyone else nodded.

  Ric couldn’t agree because he didn’t know as much as the others in the room. He had heard murmurings about how Dafydd’s twin sons were pale shadows of their alien father—and thank God for it. It was probably why it had been relatively easy for them to bring down Cadoc’s short, brutal reign as the king of the boy prostitutes in town.

  “So, we what? Wait and see?” he asked.

  Malcolm shrugged. “Not necessarily, Doc. We could take my yacht up the coast for a wee holiday and have a poke around. I promised Brenin we’d see the sights here in Boston, but nothing says we can’t also find a bit of fun elsewhere first. Is there a port for me to dock in?” he asked Val.

  “Fuck if I know…but I’ll find out,” Val amended when his friend glowered at him.

  “Many thanks.” The almost-Scotsman turned his attention to the one who made all of the decisions. “What do you say, Alex? The boys are having a sleepover, as they call it, on the boat tonight. We could easily take off as early as tomorrow if I can make arrangements at this Putman’s Cove. There’s no need for hotel rooms, which are like as not hard to come by.”

  “It would be nice to go somewhere without the sure knowledge that it was a call to battle,” Emil said. “Jase could use a treat, and his classes have ended for the summer.”

  “Same with Demi. And given the short drive, I can join you when I’m off duty,” Duncan added.

  Ric felt a spurt of envy at the casual way the cop could assume he’d be welcome.

  Anderson shot a look at Kitty. “We could hold down the fort as usual, right?”

  The woman’s icy demeanor thawed slightly and only for a second when she answered. “Sure, we can. I don’t like Maine anyway. There are too many tourists down here at this time of year. Up there, it’s a nightmare.”

  Alex slapped his palms on his desk. “Well, it’s settled then, I suppose. We take a nice little vacation and hope that’s all it turns out to be.” He stood. “Shall we go upstairs and eat?”

  “I’ll go check on how Damien is doing.” Emil weaved his way around everyone to leave first.

  Ric got up along with the others, happy to be included in the festivities for the evening, yet worried about whether he’d see Dafydd at all.

  Malcolm came up behind him and clapped him on his shoulder. The big hand jolted him enough to make him grunt. “You’ll do the same, then, will you, Doc?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Come up when your day of work is done. I’m sure Duncan will give you a ride if you need one.”

  “Oh, um, that’s a kind offer, but…” He wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to be where Dafydd was.

  As if Malcolm could read his thoughts, he added, “I’ll make sure Dafydd and the baby come along. It will do him some good, I figure, plus Brenin could use some time with his friend. I think they’re the only two people on the planet that can understand how each of them feels.”

  Ric paused and looked up at him. “Is Brenin having problems? Is that what you wanted to speak with me about?”

  “Aye.” Malcolm pulled him aside so that all of the others could pass them and move on. “I think he’s struggling a wee bit.” Then the man sighed heavily. “That’s not true. I ken he’s struggling a lot. I’m at a loss as to how to help him.”

  Ric felt for the man, his expression and obvious distress a mirror for his own. “I understand. It’s…um, the same with me and Dafydd.”

  Malcolm’s expression softened. “Aye, I thought as much. We’re two peas and that’s a fact. What do we do, is the question? I’m hoping you have some suggestions.”

  Ric hated dashing the man’s hopes, as well as his own, so he gave them both false ones. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Malcolm landed his hand on Ric’s shoulder again, like a thunderbolt. “Good man. Now let’s see what all the fuss is about with this clam bake. Lobsters are big bugs, as far as I’m concerned. Nothing like salmon. Still, when in Rome…”

  Ric offered a smile and fell into step beside him, and if his heartbeat ticked up a notch at the idea of seeing Dafydd, so what? It was okay to have some faith that life would grant him his most fervent desire. Otherwise, what was the point of moving forward at all?

  Chapter Five

  Despite its size, Alex’s suite was crowded with the family, as Brenin supposed one might call it, ranged around eating the delicious meal Emil and his sous chef had prepared. For his own part, Brenin sat pressed against Malcolm’s side. He felt both comforted and guilty that the very size of the crowd made it easier for him to be with the man he loved. There was no chance of intimacy happening at the moment, which meant he didn’t have to remind his body that Malcolm’s touch was nothing to fear. It was something to welcome, yet the demons lurking deep inside him were lately forgetting that part.

  “Have you had enough to eat, laddie?” Malcolm’s slightly cool breath wafted over him, familiar and triggering at the same time. It reminded him of how Dracul had panted on him as he’d pounded into Brenin’s sore and battered body.

  He pushed the memory away and forced a smile to his lips as he looked up. His gaze slid, as per usual, to where scars marred Malcolm’s masculine beauty. He got those saving me. The reminder helped quell his anxiety, so he stared at those marks instead of into Malcolm’s eyes.

  “I have, yes. It’s a bit messy, though, isn’t it?” He held up the buttery fingers of one hand close to Malcolm’s lips.

  It had the intended affect. Malcolm flicked out his tongue to lap at them before leaning closer to suck them in. As he licked the fingers clean, his eyes flashed with need and his pupils
dilated with arousal. The touch sent a shiver through Brenin, testament to how constantly at war he was with his own mind and body. His cock hardened and he didn’t need to check Malcolm’s lap to know he’d affected his lover the same way.

  But Malcolm, ever kind and sensitive, didn’t push the matter further. Instead, he released Brenin’s fingers and went back to finishing his own plate of food as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  Brenin tried to do the same and found that nerves had filled the rest of his stomach. He put his plate on the coffee table and sat back. He snuggled closer to his man and made a conscious effort to relax before putting his hand with its still-wet fingers on Malcolm’s thigh. He could feel the man’s muscles twitch through the plaid.

  “Are you coming back to the boat with the rest of us tonight?” Brenin wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be.

  Malcolm snorted. “My yacht is a big vessel to be sure, but even so, I can’t imagine surviving a night with you boys partying. Alex has offered me his guest room, and I’ve accepted it.” He paused meaningfully and put his own plate beside Brenin’s. “Unless you want me to be there?”

  Brenin weighed what was the best answer and decided to go for the truth. “No, that’s fine. You’re right that we’ll likely stay up most of the night, dancing and gossiping.” He snorted. “We might even braid each other’s hair or some such nonsense.”

  Malcolm tugged a stray lock and tucked it behind Brenin’s ear. “Being a highlander, I heartily approve of that. I’ll miss you, though. You ken?”

  “Yes.” He slipped his hand up under the man’s kilt. The weather being warm, they were both commando. He had no trouble finding Malcolm’s semi-hard cock in the folds of cloth. He clasped it slightly. “We should say a proper good night before I go.”

  Malcolm put his hand over his with the kilt between them. “A kind offer to be sure, but not necessary.”

  Brenin flicked his gaze up. “I want to.” He licked his lips before adding. “Please.”

  Malcolm’s heated gaze penetrated him. “Nothing would make me happier, if it’s what you want.”