Seven Brothers for McBride 2
Gannon Morgan
What if your soul mate wasn’t what you bargained for?
When a virus destroys all women and turns most men into blood drinkers, keeping the blood supply untainted is of paramount importance. Sheriff Dillion McBride has inherited his father’s holdings, including the seven Morgan brothers. They will run his farm and provide him with a steady supply of pure blood, but to get them at optimal capacity for both, McBride needs to find them suitable mates, all the while ignoring his inappropriate longings for Caleb, the eldest Morgan brother.
For Gannon Morgan, McBride buys Alden Jones. Gannon is stunned when he finds out Alden is deaf. Gannon feels slighted until he realizes he has more in common with the terrified thrall than he thought.
Alden isn’t too trusting, but he has no choice but to accept Gannon. Once he gets past his slovenly ways and his terrible scar, he hopes to discover a true soul mate, but he isn’t holding his breath.
Will the two men overcome their differences and manage to forge a relationship in this new world?
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Futuristic, Paranormal
Length: 34,691 words
GANNON MORGAN
Seven Brothers for McBride 2
Anitra Lynn McLeod
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
MANLOVE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove
GANNON MORGAN
Copyright © 2013 by Anitra Lynn McLeod
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-939-5
First E-book Publication: January 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
For my intrepid editors, who always make my work shine. Thank you!
GANNON MORGAN
Seven Brothers for McBride 2
ANITRA LYNN MCLEOD
Copyright © 2013
Chapter 1
After his success finding the first Morgan brother a mate, McBride was hoping for a repeat performance. He was early to the platform, mainly so he could escape the lure of having another erotic interlude with Caleb. Their encounter yesterday filled his mind and made him hard despite the epic climax they’d shared. Caleb had pushed him for a kiss and he’d refused, but then he’d grabbed him and planted one on him anyway. At first, the kiss had just been a hungry swirling of their tongues, but then Caleb had swiped his tongue against the sharp point of McBride’s extended canine, spilling blood into McBride’s mouth. By mixing blood and lust, Caleb was attempting to entwine McBride deeper into the obsession he already had for him. McBride didn’t need any help with his unnatural and totally inappropriate interest in one of his seven slammers.
By law, McBride could only use his slammers for blood. As a landed gentryman, he needed to feed daily, but sometimes he needed several draws during a particularly draining day. Today was looking to be such a taxing time. In addition to blood, he also ate food, but he hadn’t been able to do that yet since he’d been in a hurry to get away from his tallos farm. The visual of Caleb with his long black hair streaming down his back as he picked the fibrous bulbs might prove to be too much for him.
Watching Caleb work was something McBride had caught himself doing since the day the farm became his. Each time he looked toward the fields, his gaze was drawn automatically to Caleb. Of the seven brothers, he was the oldest and the largest. Caleb was also the only one who had long hair. McBride thought that it would be ratty and unkempt, but Caleb took pride in his locks. The black strands gleamed in the sun, and even when his hair was wet with sweat, it was still stunning. Serpentine hanks of hair would cling to his chest, drawing McBride’s eye down to the powerful bulge in Caleb’s trousers.
McBride tried to keep his mind off of the angry and lusty Morgan brother, but there wasn’t much else for him to do as he waited for the thrall merchant to arrive. Woven Spire was a small town at the foot of what once was called the Rocky Mountains. Those days were long gone along with the women and horses. A virus had swept through the populations of Earth, decimating the billions down to only a few million. Rebuilding society had been an arduous process when so much had been lost.
From far off down the road, McBride saw a rising plume of dust. He knew it was the man he was waiting for. Settling in, McBride closed his eyes and let the dry air steal away what little moisture was left in his skin. When he returned home, he wished he could shower and sleep, but that wasn’t what was in store for him. Today would be another long day of getting the next Morgan brother situated with his mate. His only hope was that it wouldn’t take too much of what little time he had. A million details and duties clamored for his attention. Then again, McBride wondered what he would do with himself if all he had was free time. He’d probably go mad from boredom or get himself deeper into trouble with his alluring slammer.
Eventually the gray-robed mer
chant was ready to display his wares. McBride was a little stunned to find he was the only one waiting. As the sheriff for the small town of Woven Spire, McBride should know what was going on, but he didn’t. There had been a horrific scene at the Larsden place, but he didn’t think news of that could have spread this quickly. He’d only been called to the crime late in the afternoon two days ago.
“Back again?” the merchant asked.
“I have seven brothers to buy thralls for.” McBride took a quick mental tally of what that was going to mean to his bank balance. It would hurt, but if he paired each slammer with a thrall, he would be assured of better blood from them and they would work even more diligently. Also, by letting the thralls work the farm, too, he was gaining some extra hands that would balance out the expense. Well, in the long run it would pay him back threefold, but right now all he was seeing was the expense.
“I only have one new one.”
McBride recalled the pasty, sickly looking thralls from the other day. Since time wasn’t likely to have improved any of them, he wasn’t interested in seeing them again. “Just show me the new one.”
“Of course, Sheriff McBride. But I don’t think you’ll want him, either.”
“Why? Is his factory seal broken?” The most valuable asset a thrall possessed beyond his untouched neck was his virginal ass. Slammers would take a used thrall, but they wouldn’t be happy about it. McBride didn’t blame them. Not knowing a thrall’s history could potentially open a slammer up to disease, which would in turn taint his master. Only a foolish gentryman bought bargain thralls.
“No, he’s intact, but he’s deaf.”
“How did that happen?” It had to be an after-market defect since thralls were genetically engineered just like all other men.
There was a set number of upper-, middle-, and lower-class men decanted each year. The Genetics Board oversaw the system, instituting new numbers when the population changed. For the most part, the numbers had stayed fairly constant. Men died from accidents, natural disasters, and health issues, but the Genetics Board made sure there were enough men of the right class to fill the empty shoes.
“I don’t know all the details, but some kind of sickness struck. He was perfectly fine, and then he lost his hearing. Still, he’s worth something.”
After a very long internal debate about how this thrall would be less money but cost him more time, McBride reluctantly realized he had few options. “Bring him out.” McBride waited at the edge of the platform.
The merchant brought out a tall, lanky young man with jet-black hair and smooth, pale skin. In many ways, he was similar to the thrall that McBride had bought two days ago for Bailey, but this one had a look of ingrained hurt on his face. As far as McBride could tell, he wasn’t happy with the world. As to what in particular, McBride didn’t know, but he was guessing having his ability to hear taken away was probably what had stamped pain over his features.
The collar he wore was yellow, something McBride had never seen, but he guessed it was due to his nonperfect state. McBride didn’t like to think of the young man as damaged, but that was essentially what he was. Most people would reject him as too much work to deal with, but McBride wasn’t most men. Since he wanted the thrall to feed and service his slammer, he wasn’t too concerned about him being perfect. But which brother would suit him best?
“He can read lips, and he can talk, but he can’t hear a thing.”
While the merchant talked, the young man kept his wary attention on McBride. His eyes were sky blue and very pale. What made them so striking was the long, black lashes that seemed to sweep up high, almost as if they’d been curled. Frankly, he was almost pretty. His lips were much darker than normal, but McBride noticed that as he stood there considering him, he was chewing at them. Drugs? As McBride checked him over thoroughly and found no marks or other indications of medication, he realized the young man was trembling. McBride didn’t fault him for being nervous. For a moment, he put himself in the thrall’s shoes. The notion of being checked over and bought by a man who could do anything to him must be stone-cold terrifying.
In an effort to project an attitude of gentle kindness, McBride smiled up at the thrall. “I’m Sheriff McBride.” Sadly, that only made him quiver more and increased the pace of his lip chewing.
“His name is Alden, but once you own him, you’re free to change it to whatever will suit.”
“Alden is fine. It fits him.” McBride looked at the yellow collar but saw no corresponding price on the sandwich board.
“Oh, it’s half the cost of pink. I so rarely get damaged stock that I don’t list the price. He comes with all the same extras that came with the pink you got yesterday.”
McBride couldn’t help but reconsider purchasing the thrall. His price was right, and the issue of his hearing wasn’t that big of a deal. The brothers would all have to learn to work with him, but maybe that would be good for them. For a brief second, McBride thought of Alden in Caleb’s arms. The image rankled. Not because he thought Caleb would hurt the young man, but because McBride didn’t want anyone in Caleb’s arms.
Dismissing that idea, because eventually McBride was going to have to buy Caleb a mate, he turned to the merchant. “I’ll take him.”
Alden’s eyes widened. Clearly, he’d understood what McBride had just said, but he seemed stunned that he’d been bought. Or maybe, like yesterday, he thought McBride was buying him for himself. It was illegal, but that wouldn’t stop some unscrupulous country gentryman from doing it. McBride was finding out that given the remote nature of the huge farms in the county, the men living on them seemed to do whatever they pleased regardless of law, custom, or anything else.
“I’m buying you for one of my slammers.”
Alden nodded, and his lip chewing eased up just a bit.
“Are you afraid of large men?”
Alden looked away and then back, but he didn’t nod or shake his head. Perhaps he wasn’t sure what McBride was asking him. Once McBride placed his thumb stamp on the credit voucher, it no longer mattered. Alden was now his. McBride put the rectal dilator and grease pellets into his pouch, climbed on top of his dressiter, and then offered out his hand to Alden.
For a long moment, the young man peered up at him. He then looked back at the merchant, who was quickly taking all his gear down and packing it into his carriage. And then, Alden looked around as if he would run. McBride looked around, too. For miles, there was nothing but open prairie. The platform was at the crossroads of four towns, but that set it out in the middle of nowhere. Should Alden choose to run, he would only exhaust himself and annoy his new master. McBride had no wish to hunt the man down.
McBride waited for Alden to look up at him. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” McBride again offered out his hand.
Pressing his lips together, Alden obviously realized he had nowhere else to go. Tentatively, he lifted up his hand and clasped McBride’s.
Pulling him up onto the six-legged beast took hardly any effort at all, but that was no wonder considering how big McBride was in comparison to Alden. He outweighed him by twice his body weight. When Alden settled into the saddle and his bare buttocks pressed into McBride’s bulge, he strained forward.
“I said I’m not—” McBride cut himself off. He tapped Alden on the shoulder, but he refused to turn around. Sighing, McBride gave up on trying to reassure his newest thrall. He clicked and slapped the reins, causing the beast to move forward. As strange as the dressiter looked, it offered an amazingly smooth ride. Hardly a bump upset them as they rode in silence.
All the way back to the farm, Alden kept his shoulders hunched over as he tried to pull away from McBride’s cock. What was so sad was that McBride wasn’t even hard. After the spectacular climax he’d had with Caleb the other morning, he figured he could probably go another week before he had to do something about his raging hormones. Then again, just thinking about Caleb aroused him. He knew he had to get his mind off Caleb and onto something else, or he
was going to get hard and Alden would become completely unhinged.
As he rode with the morning sun warming his back, he thought of how dark those initial days had been when the virus first swept the planet. Not all men became blood drinkers, but many did. The separation of who did and didn’t actually helped the Genetics Board define the classes. At the top of the food chain was the landed gentrymen, who needed blood daily. Landed gentrymen were by nature extremely alpha. They were direct clones, chosen because they were big, strong, and intelligent. Next were the owned men known as slammers. They occasionally craved blood, but usually only as a part of their need to mate. Slammers were considered intellectually inferior to the upper class because they were crafted to be servants to them, but McBride didn’t think they were any less smart. At the very bottom were the thralls, who didn’t drink blood at all and were deliberately bred to be small and submissive. Sometimes the thralls had sharper intellect than the slammers, but they were wise enough to keep their brains hidden around their brawnier counterparts.
McBride was of the highest class. He was one of the few landed gentrymen. His fathers stretching back for generations had all owned vast tracts of land that were used to grow tallos. The fibrous plant was used for fabrics, but what made it special was that the plants grew in harsh conditions. Dry, claylike soil that would kill most plants allowed the tallos to thrive.
As the neat rows of tallos went by, McBride considered which brother would be best suited to Alden. Each of them flitted through his mind, and he rejected each in turn. Alden would need a brother who could be patient and learn to work with him, but the only brother that McBride thought could handle that was Bailey. Unfortunately, Bailey had gotten the first thrall, so McBride was going to have to pick another brother and train him in not only the ways of a man with his mate, but also how to even communicate with his mate.
Gannon Morgan [Seven Brothers for McBride 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 1