Anna looked at him uncertainly, then automatically began to scrub.
“That’s right.” Dark nodded. “That’s the way, baby. Could you please just scrub these for me and concentrate really hard on getting all the dirt off them? I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit.”
“All…all right,” she said dully, nodding. “I can do that.”
“Thank you.” Dark wished he could drop a quick kiss on her cheek but almost all of the kitchen staff were watching now—even the sullen, angry Targo who had been keeping to himself ever since Dark had put him in his place. So he contented himself with squeezing her arm and murmuring, “Everything is going to be all right—I promise.”
Then he had to leave her and go tend to the banquet food, which was only half-way ready. He promised himself that later they would talk more on this subject—much more. Apparently Gorn hadn’t been leaving her alone while he waited to breed her. But what was the big bastard up to? Until he could get the story out of Anna, Dark wouldn’t know.
But I’ll find out, he swore to himself. You’d Goddess-damned better believe I’m going to find out. And if that Trollox bastard had laid a hand on her, I’ll kill him—mission or no mission, he’s going to fucking die.
Chapter Seventeen
“Uh, Chef? They’re calling for you—the Master and his drewgs, I mean,” one of the kitchen crew who had been serving the dessert of chilled and candied glorm brains said to Dark as he came back through the double metal doors.
“Calling for me? Why?” Dark asked warily, wiping his hands on the white towel he had slung over one shoulder.
“Dunno.” The male shrugged. “I just know your Master, Gorn, and Master Yark told me to tell you to come out before the company.”
Dark frowned. Now what in the Seven Hells could this be about? Either they were going to complain and berate him for what they thought was substandard food or, more likely, make some special request. Either way, he hated to leave the kitchen because Anna was still there.
She was sitting in the same alcove and scrubbing the same tuber he’d put into her hands hours ago, Dark saw, glancing back at her. There was a shell-shocked look on her face that said she still hadn’t gotten over what she’d seen when that bastard Yark had been showing off his new heir.
Dark didn’t like to leave her alone—not even for a minute in that condition. But he didn’t see that he had much choice—not with Gorn and Yark both calling for him.
“You better hurry, Chef,” the male who had given him the summons in the first place said. “I don’t know about your master, but ours don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“All right,” Dark muttered. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Straightening his white jacket, he pushed through the swinging metal doors and went out into the dining room.
Sitting at the long, food-smeared table, were Gorn, Yark, and their drewgs—the other Trollox who had been invited to the celebration. Their faces were filthy with their dinners and many had dribbled down their fronts as well. Hands were sticky and slimy and the odor of their combined belches and the remains of the Trollox cuisine was almost overpowering, even though he’d just come from the kitchen which reeked of the cooking food.
“Yes, Master?” he said, looking at Gorn. “I was told that you summoned me?”
“Ah, yes—yes indeed!” Gorn’s left head bellowed. “We wanted to compliment you, pretty boy! On such a fine feast!”
“He’s quite a good cook for a Replicant,” Yark said, both heads nodding salubriously. “I might have to buy him off you, Gorn—if you’re selling!”
For a moment Dark’s heart hammered in his chest. If Gorn sold him, he would be leaving both Anna and the Shannom-rah behind! What was he going to do if—
But Gorn was shaking both his heads.
“Sorry, Yark,” the left head proclaimed. “But he’s much too valuable to sell. Its’ damn near impossible to find a decent cook that can do Trollox food proper-like!”
“Don’t I know it,” Yark said dryly. “Which is why I had to borrow yours. Well, thank you for lending him to me for tonight, my friend. This has truly been a memorable occasion.”
“Here-here!” one of the Trollox bellowed, lifting a grease-smeared goblet in one clawed hand. “A cheer for Gorn who brought us such fine fare!”
“Here-here!” the other Trollox shouted, also raising their glasses.
“Thank you, thank you!” Gorn’s right head nodded and smiled slyly.
“And let’s have a cheer for Yark’s new heir—such a fine, three-headed Trollox as I’ve never seen!” the left head bellowed.
“Here-here!” they all shouted again.
Dark saw that their focus had drifted away from him and was greatly relieved. He didn’t want anyone else offering to buy him or asking if Gorn would lend him out. He needed to stay in Gorn’s house near Anna and the Shannom-rah so that he could complete his mission and keep Anna safe.
He began walking quickly and quietly back to the kitchen but just as he was entering the hallway that led to it, he heard a piercing cry—a feminine cry.
“No, no, please!” a soft voice pleaded. “Please, don’t! Please, just leave me alone!”
Anna! She’s in trouble! Dark’s eyes went wide and he took off at a dead run down the hallway.
What he saw when he shoved through the swinging doors made his fangs grow long and sharp and his lips peel back from his teeth in a protective snarl.
Standing in the middle of the room was Anna. The white feather cloak was puddled at her feet, revealing a sheer white dress through which her breasts and the rest of her body was clearly visible. She was trying to cover herself with her hands but Targo was pulling at them, forcing her to show herself.
“Look here at the pretty little girlie the Replicant’s in love with,” he was sneering. “Looks pretty ripe to me, boys—what do you say we all have a turn in her sweet pussy?”
As he spoke, he grabbed a pair of kitchen sheers and used them to cut right down the center of Anna’s dress, baring her breasts completely.
“No, please!” she begged and then her eyes widened when she saw Dark. “Oh, Dark!” she exclaimed. “He…he won’t leave me alone. Please!”
“Oh, is pretty boy back?” Targo demanded, turning with the sharp scissors still in one hand. His double-pupiled eyes narrowed. “Come on then, Replicant—you won’t catch me off guard again!”
Dark snarled at the ex-head chef and a curtain of red Rage dropped over his vision, turning everything crimson.
“You fucking dare to touch my female,” he growled, advancing on Targo. “You’re going to fucking die!”
Targo’s pale purple face turned a belligerent shade of puce.
“The hell I will, Replicant! Come on!”
Dark sprang on him and grabbed him by the wrists, grappling with him and pushing him against one of the solid plasti-steel countertops. Still the other male wasn’t deterred.
“Dumb fuck!” Targo grunted, trying to get free of Dark’s punishing grip. “You don’t even have a weapon! How do you think you’re going to take me down?”
“Like this,” Dark snarled. Striking as quickly as a snake, he sank his long, sharp fangs into the other male’s throat and ripped it out.
Targo’s double-pupiled eyes went wide. Dark let him go and he clutched at his throat, staggering to stay upright. Dark purple blood fountained out around his fingers and he made choked, strangling noises as he slowly went to his knees.
“Oh my God.” Anna’s soft, trembling voice finally cut through the fog of red Rage that had clouded Dark’s vision the moment he saw the other male hurting her.
“Anna?” He turned to her but she took a step back from him, her eyes wide.
“You…bit him.” Her voice was little more than a whisper and her eyes were so big they threatened to swallow her face.
“I had to—he was hurting you.” Dark realized he had the other male’s blood on his face—in his mouth. Taking the towel from his
shoulder, he spat in it and rubbed his face clean. Then he knelt and picked up the white, feathered cloak. Standing, he draped it around Anna’s shivering shoulders. “Here—let’s cover you up.”
She allowed him to put the cloak on her but her eyes were still wide and frightened when she looked at him and she seemed to shrink in on herself when he got too near.
Dark felt a surge of frustration. He couldn’t help it that his body had gone into Rage—the state of berserker fury a Kindred warrior enters when he thinks his female is being threatened or hurt. It was an automatic reaction—as normal for a Kindred as blinking or sneezing when the stimulus was right. And no matter how savagely he had killed Targo, he would never, ever hurt Anna.
But of course, he couldn’t explain any of that now. Not with her looking at him like she’d seen a ghost and the rest of the kitchen staff staring at him in awe and fear. For the moment, everyone just seemed frozen.
One of them must have unfrozen long enough to go get Yark and Gorn, though. Because a moment later, the two huge Trollox came bursting through the double doors.
“What’s this? What’s my head cook doing on the ground? Is he dead?” Tark demanded, kicking Targo’s supine form with one vast, blocky foot. The hand the ex-head chef had pressed to his neck fell away, revealing the gaping hole in his throat. That and his wide, unseeing eyes, already glazing in death, made it clear he was gone.
“Pretty boy—did you do this?” Gorn shouted, pointing at the dead chef.
“Yes, I did.” Dark lifted his chin. He was about to explain, but Yark started shouting that he was owed reparations.
“Your chef killed mine!” both of his heads roared at Gorn. “I thought he was a Replicant! Who ever heard of a Replicant that kills? You owe me, Gorn! You owe and you must pay!”
“Master,” Dark began but Gorn shook both his heads.
“No!” the left head bellowed. “Shut your mouth, pretty boy! You’re in the shit now and that’s where you’ll stay! I should give you to Yark right now as payment for the cook you killed!”
“He was protecting me!” Anna suddenly stepped forward. She was clutching the feathered cape tightly around her but she had her chin lifted and she was staring defiantly at Gorn.
“Shut up, stupid girl!” the right head hissed but Anna would not be deterred. She put herself between Dark and the angry Trollox and looked up at him.
“That man—that male—was trying to hurt me. To…to breed me,” she said, pointing at Targo’s body. “He would have too, if Dark—I mean pretty boy—hadn’t come back just in time. He saved me, Master!”
“What’s this?” Gorn’s left head frowned and focused on Dark. “Is this true, Replicant?”
Dark nodded shortly. “I told you when you bought me I was built for two things—cooking and protection, Master,” he said. “I have fulfilled both functions tonight.”
“It’s true,” one of the kitchen staff, a quiet male who had done an excellent job with the desserts, spoke up. “Targo was tryin’ to get a taste of the girlie there. Pretty boy was only defendin’ her. Saw it myself, I did.”
Some of the others spoke up, agreeing with him, much to Dark’s relief. Gorn and Yark still didn’t look happy, but at least the latter had stopped demanding that he be paid or remunerated for the slave he’d lost.
“Fine,” his heads snarled at last. “I won’t make a claim. Just take your breeder and your fucking Replicant and go—I don’t want to see either of your fucking faces in my house again!”
“What?” Gorn’s left head looked angry and the right looked upset. “But Yark, surely we can settle this like drewgs, so we can!”
“You’re no longer a drewg of mine!” Yark snapped. “Now get away from here and take your miserable piss-ant slaves with you before I change my mind!”
Then he swept out of the kitchen, both heads with stony looks on their faces.
Gorn looked like he might very well explode. He glared at Dark and Anna angrily and then jerked his left head towards the doors.
“Come on, you lot,” he growled. “We’re fucking going.”
Chapter Eighteen
The ride home was silent and fraught with tension. Anna sat curled in on herself, filled with misery. There were things she had seen tonight that were stuck in her head forever—things she couldn’t unsee. Not just the awful three-headed Trollox baby but also the savage way Dark had used his fangs to tear out the other male’s throat.
Not that she wasn’t grateful to the big Replicant—she was. He had saved her from being assaulted yet again. But seeing the change in him—the way his bronze eyes had gone blood red and his fangs had grown so long and sharp and scary…well, she was certain the sight would be with her for a long, long time.
And it wasn’t a memory she wanted.
She had felt so safe with Dark before this—so cared for and protected. He was always so gentle despite his size that she’d begun to feel completely at ease with him, as she hadn’t felt at ease with any male since Lazlo had betrayed her trust and hurt her so badly. Now, confronted with the evidence that Dark could be violent as well as gentle, she no longer felt quite so comfortable around him.
She’d been telling herself for days that he was safe because he wasn’t a real man—now she felt as though she’d seen another side of him that made her question everything she’d allowed herself to believe. How could a Replicant be so violent and deadly?
Of course, there was more going on than just her renewed distrust of males. Gorn was simmering in the front seat as he piloted the ship and his right head kept casting baleful glances back at Dark. It was clear he blamed the Replicant for his split with Yark, who was at the top of his social hierarchy—a hierarchy he had just been cast out of.
Anna was afraid there was going to be hell to pay, for the Trollox in a rage could be absolutely ruthless. She prayed she wouldn’t have to watch him rip Dark limb from limb as she had seen him do with so man other Replicants. Despite her fear of him, Dark was still the closest thing she had to a friend in this hellish existence and she had foolishly begun to allow herself to have feelings for him. The thought of losing him now tore at her heart and she hoped desperately it wouldn’t happen.
But Gorn was angry and it was clear he wanted to take his rage out on someone. The minute they landed and got into the house, he pointed at the big Replicant.
“You, come with me,” the left head growled. “It’s the punishment box for you, pretty boy!”
“Punishment box?” Dark frowned. “What’s that?”
“You’ll see, pretty boy. Oh yes, you’ll see,” hissed the right head.
Anna knew what the punishment box was well enough. Gorn had left her in it a few times when he was displeased with her. Despite the fact that she no longer felt as comfortable with Dark as she had, she still didn’t want him to suffer.
“Please, Master,” she begged as Gorn took Dark by the arm and started dragging him down the dark hallway that led to the Fuck room and the other unsavory parts of the house. “Please, don’t punish him! He didn’t do anything wrong—he was only protecting me!”
“He got me thrown out of my drewgs’ good graces, so he did,” Gorn’s left head snarled. “It’s the punishment box or I rip him apart, so I will! Your pick, girlie!”
Anna fell back, knowing that nothing she could do or say would change her captor’s mind. Dark shot her a look that seemed meant to reassure her.
Don’t worry—I’ve got this. I’ll be fine, he seemed to be saying.
But he had never been in the punishment box before and Anna had. She knew exactly how horrible it was—how the time seemed to drag on forever until your nerve broke and you screamed and begged and cried to be let out, even for a minute…
There was nothing she could do for the big Replicant, though. Nothing but watch him get dragged away and pray that he would somehow be all right.
* * * * *
What the fuck is the punishment box? Dark wondered, as he allowed Gorn to drag him alon
g. It occurred to him that if he wanted to break cover, now would be the perfect time. He could kill the big Trollox and hide his body and just take the Shannom-rah and Anna and get the Seven Hells out of here.
But if he did that, he would be going against the will of the Kindred High Council. They wanted to avoid a direct confrontation with the Trollox people at all costs and if Gorn was killed, someone would certainly come to avenge him.
Or maybe not, Dark thought. Since he’s on the outs with his drewgs now—maybe nobody would give a damn if he bit the dust.
Then again, he didn’t know if Gorn had any family. Just because he had been cast out of his social circle—his drewgs—didn’t mean that he was no longer a part of any circle at all. For all Dark knew, he might have fifteen older brothers who would want revenge if their kin was killed.
No, he decided reluctantly, it was better to stick to the original plan—although that certainly hadn’t involved being stuck in the punishment box—whatever the hell that was—all night! He—
“Here.” Gorn pushed open a door and dragged him inside a small white room. The room was little bigger than a large closet and it had no furniture or decorations at all—only a tall rectangular black box standing in the center of the plain white floor. The box was about eight feet tall by four feet wide and three feet thick on the side.
Dark didn’t like the look of it. Like an oversized coffin, he thought. It wasn’t that he was claustrophobic, but he didn’t exactly love being locked in small, tight spaces, either.
“Strip your clothes off, pretty boy,” Gorn’s left head growled. “Do it, now.”
Unwillingly, Dark began to comply.
“Master,” he said in a reasonable voice as he removed his chef’s jacket and trousers—thankful as always that the pseudo-skin shield that covered his male equipment stuck to him seamlessly and naturally. “I don’t understand why you’re punishing me for fulfilling my duties. Had I not stepped in, your…your breeder would have been bred by another. Is that what you wanted?”
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