by Lee Colgin
“Look, it’s complicated, but my name’s Franklin. I’m the man you saw with Gianni in the alley. I’m Gianni’s…” boyfriend, lover, enemy? “…friend. The Scourge has him. It’s my fault, but it was an accident, I swear. I’m going to get him out. I need your help.”
“The Scourge has Gianni?” She was close to hysterical.
Franklin felt the same way. “Yeah, yeah, they do. Please, can we meet?”
“No way. I don’t trust you.”
“I understand, but I can’t do this alone. I’m going to need help from vampires to have any chance at all. You’re my only contact. Please. Can you put me in touch with your leader?”
“My leader? We’re not aliens. I can get you in touch with the council if that’s what you want. Though I may have a better idea to save Gianni. The council’s process is slow. They’ll have to convene. There’ll be a vote. I’m sure they’d attempt a rescue, but it might be too late.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know who’d drop everything and take the risk for Gianni.”
“Who?”
During the following pause, Franklin had time to fully experience the nausea settled in the back of his throat, threatening to explode.
“Oswald.”
Shit.
16
Visit
Gianni
On the third night—at least he thought it was night—Gianni awoke in his cell, the hunger pangs spiked to alarming levels. He’d been given no food and no blood. Water was only provided when he was so weak from dehydration he physically had trouble complying with orders. Repeatedly, they’d collected samples; soon, he wouldn’t have any blood left. At this rate, dying of electrocution over starvation might have been preferable.
When Dr. Lojan arrived, he was set to beg, but it wasn’t necessary. Her assistant, Zeb, tall and wiry with short blonde hair, approached his cage with a tray of food. Gianni’s empty stomach clenched in response. Dr. Lojan went straight for the dreaded button on the wall. Gianni stayed perfectly still.
“Zeb is going to unlock your gate and place the tray on the floor. Do not move, or I’ll be forced to use our security feature. If you make me shock Zeb, you’ll regret it,” Lojan said.
Gianni obeyed. Zeb left the food for him, exited, and locked the cell. Only then did Lojan back away from the button.
“You may eat.”
Gianni’s entire body ached, but he managed to crawl from his bed to the food, holding the bedsheet around him as he went. Some sort of hot cereal—oatmeal maybe—two hard-boiled eggs and a banana. He didn’t bother getting off the floor. He just picked up the spoon and dipped it into the porridge.
“Don’t eat too fast,” the doctor warned, “and don’t eat it all at once. If your anatomy is anything like ours, your stomach will need time to adjust.”
She was probably right, but Gianni didn’t care. He was starving. He shoveled the goop into his mouth, warmth filling his belly. If he paid for it later in stomach cramps, so be it.
They were taking medical instruments from cabinets and drawers, preparing for something. Gianni would ignore them for as long as he could. Their presence brought pain, the hours between their visits a lonely reprieve.
What was Franklin doing? Was he being rewarded for fooling Gianni? How long had he been planning this? From the beginning. The truth of it struck deep. Devastating didn’t begin to cover it.
Gianni wasn’t stupid—he’d known Franklin worked for the Scourge. He had known their relationship probably wouldn’t pan out in the long run, but he’d thought they’d been friends. More than that. The burning anger with himself for believing it came and went. Trading anger for hopelessness was easier.
The oatmeal was gone, and Gianni started on the eggs. Already, his stomach showed signs of protest, but the memory of hunger drove him. Would they wait another three nights to feed him again? He’d save the banana, just in case.
Whatever Lojan and Zeb were getting ready for, they were nearing completion. Zeb stared at Gianni with an eerily eager cast to his gaze, making the food in Gianni’s stomach feel poisoned.
“Gianni,” Lojan ordered. “Get up. Come here.”
Gianni knew better than to protest or stall. He rose and stood at the bars. Would they take more blood? Surely he couldn’t keep up the brutal pace they’d set for him. His legs were wobbly. If the bars hadn’t been silver, he’d cling to them for support.
Lojan stood across from him, her posture rigid. “Give me your arm.”
Carefully, Gianni extended his arm between the rungs for the needle. He’d become desensitized to the stinging pinch; it was ordinary now. When Lojan instead produced a scalpel, Gianni found himself still capable of an adrenaline spike. The urge to pull his arm back overwhelmed him, but the alternative was the evil button. Panic activated his fight-or-flight response, only Gianni could do neither. Fear must have shown in his eyes because Lojan spoke up.
“No need to worry. I’m only taking a few skin samples. You’ll hardly feel it.”
Nothing about that statement was reassuring. Lojan wasn’t cruel, but she wasn’t kind either, a stalwart scientist who likely considered him much the same as she would a lab rat. Ultimately, her job was easier with Gianni’s cooperation. She would say or do what she needed to, within limits, to ensure his good behavior.
“Can you numb it first?” It was worth asking.
Gianni was met with her irritated sigh. “Don’t be silly. It’s a simple procedure. I’ll be quick.”
Still not reassuring. Gianni resigned himself to the pain and tried not to flinch as the scalpel came down on his arm.
After collecting their macabre bits of flesh, Lojan and Zeb left. Gianni lay on his cot, trembling in his bedsheet, eyeing the bandages around his forearm. He was tempted to rip them open and lick at the wounds. If only he could have some blood.
Oswald’s blood would have been powerful enough to heal the slices on his arm and ease the ache in his belly. For a moment, he indulged in hopeless longing for his old boyfriend. Oswald might have been an asshole who betrayed him, but he was preferable to the asshole who’d betrayed him and sold him out to the Scourge.
Better the devil you knew.
Gianni was drifting off to a restless sleep when the lab door’s opening chime broke the silence. Dread consumed his gut. Were they back already? What would they take now? Gianni didn’t know if he could bear a second round. He couldn’t look. Instead, he hid his face in his bedsheet. The back of his neck began to tingle.
“Gianni?” A familiar voice invaded the space.
You’ve got to be kidding.
If Gianni were honest with himself, he had been wondering whether the slayer would pay him a visit. Apparently not content with his victory, he must have come to see Gianni’s suffering with his own eyes.
Without moving or uncovering his face, Gianni asked, “Did you come to gloat?”
“Of course not. I came to bring you some things.”
No way would he admit to being curious. Gianni remained frozen.
“Please? I have clothes for you.”
Clothes would be an improvement. “Just leave them.”
“Gianni, please. Look at me.”
He wanted to. In spite of everything, Gianni wanted to get up and go to him. He also wanted to murder him and had thought up a host of fantastic things to yell, but he resisted. The thought that Franklin might use the button on the wall struck terror into his heart. He flung the sheet away and sat up. Naked. Let Franklin see what they’d done to him. He’d lost weight, and both arms were black and blue.
Franklin had caused this.
The slayer stood frozen at the bars, his face contorted with misery. What the fuck did Franklin have to be miserable about? He held a pile of clothes in his arms, but that wasn’t what drew Gianni’s eye. The man held a note to his chest. Gianni stepped forward to read it.
They can hear us.
I have a plan.
I’ll get you out.
Gianni sneered. Like he was going to believe Franklin now. He didn’t know what the man was up to, but he was done trusting people. He raised his eyes to meet Franklin’s.
“Well. Hand them over.”
Franklin passed the clothes through the bars, tore the note in half, and crammed it into his pocket.
Gianni fingered the soft sweatshirt before setting it on the bed to pull on the pants. “Are you going to watch?”
“Oh, sorry.” Franklin turned his back to Gianni while he dressed.
The material was a grey, lightweight, ring-spun cotton. After the scratchy bedsheet, it felt like heaven on his skin. The socks were a luxury better than anything Gianni had previously known. He almost felt like a person again. Almost.
“Okay.”
Franklin whirled back to face him. “Is there anything else you need?”
“A key would be nice.”
Franklin nodded sadly.
Pathetic. “So you chose to kill me after all, slayer.” Gianni wrapped his arms around himself. “I didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”
Franklin looked physically wounded. This was too easy. Temporarily fulfilling the part of himself eager for vengeance felt like a salve. And there was the other part, the side pained to see his lover in turmoil. That half wanted to reach out and offer comfort. Fuck that half.
Ultimately, none of this mattered.
“Darrow gave me permission to ask if you had requests. I know this isn’t ideal, but you don’t have to be miserable.”
“Don’t I? Phew, for a minute there I was pretty sure I did. Thank god you’re here to tell me otherwise.”
Franklin looked at the floor.
“I want blood.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“No. Your blood. I want it now,” Gianni demanded.
Franklin’s mouth hung open.
Gianni pushed while he was gaining ground. He held out his damaged arms. “Look what they’ve done to me. I can barely stand. I need it, Buffy.” Gianni resorted to his pet name and pressed his luck, gazing up through his lashes. “Please?”
He’d won.
The slayer was already rolling up his sleeve and passing his wrist through the bars.
Gianni snatched his hand and held it palm up. He trailed his fingertips along the delicate flesh of Franklin’s wrist, then brought it to his mouth and traced the same path with his tongue. Franklin’s pulse raced beneath his skin, and Gianni couldn’t delay any longer.
He was on Franklin in an instant, embedding his fangs in the soft flesh of the slayer’s inner palm. Human blood wouldn’t be as nourishing as vampire blood, but anything would help. Losing himself in it, he drank greedily. This was his slayer, who tasted of delicious honeyed pears and guilt, and Gianni would swallow him whole if he could.
Franklin wasn’t protesting. Would he let Gianni take all of it? Did he really trust Gianni to stop before it was too late? They barreled toward that precipice together, Gianni’s mouth on Franklin’s skin, both of their hearts beating rapidly.
When Gianni felt Franklin’s free hand in his hair, cradling the back of his head, massaging circles on his scalp, he came crashing back to his senses. What was this? Affection? Fingertips curled his hair gently. He might hate Franklin now, but he didn’t really want to kill him. He tore himself free.
As the blood warmed his chilled body, confusion dazed his senses. Gianni licked the punctures on Franklin’s palm and leaned into the man’s touch. He couldn’t stop himself. It felt good, Franklin’s hand in his hair.
Maybe if he asked Franklin to kill him, he would show mercy. Make it quick. It could all be over with.
Gianni stayed silent.
There was nothing more to say. He looked up into the emerald green eyes he’d grown to love, and heartbreak overtook anger. Gianni turned away; he didn’t watch as Franklin left. He couldn’t.
Franklin
“You let him drink from you?” Darrow questioned, rising from his desk. “The hell were you thinking?”
Franklin had known this was coming. He was prepared. His story only had to hold for another twenty-four hours, and then, for better or worse, this would all be over. He’d already cleaned out his room, destroyed his logs, and mentally let go of his life. Everything was about to change.
“I can reestablish our bond. I’m certain of it. The vampire is weak. He’s cooperating, sure, but when you start drilling him about the Farthing, he’ll shut down. You need me on the inside, now more than ever.” It sounded even better when he said it out loud. Convincing.
“He could have bled you dry. It wasn’t worth the risk.”
Franklin shrugged. “But he didn’t, and it was.” It wasn’t like Franklin to speak to a superior officer like this. He wouldn’t win over Darrow without confidence, so he forced it into his tone. “He wants it, the relationship. Without me, he’s completely alone. I gambled, and it paid off.”
He hadn’t known how Gianni would react. If he were being honest with himself, even in their dire situation, even angry and afraid, he knew Gianni would never hurt him. But when his jaws clamped down on Franklin’s palm, a spiteful expression had taken over his features. There were worse ways to die than in a lover’s embrace.
Darrow waved a hand in the air. “Fine, fine. You have open permission to visit the vampire so long as you don’t get in Lojan’s way. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Thank you, sir.”
That had gone better than expected.
Visiting Gianni in his cell, seeing what they’d done to him… It changed what he thought of the Scourge. His whole life he’d been a loyal soldier. For what? So they could kidnap and torture innocents? No more. Franklin was through.
Next, the meeting he dreaded—Oswald.
Franklin had no clever plan to ensure his own survival when he’d outlived his usefulness to the sovereign. The vampire would need him in order to get in and to lead him through the maze of hallways to find Gianni. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what would happen.
Oswald could kill him or take him hostage. If it came to it, he’d sacrifice himself for Gianni. There wasn’t time to organize a plan B for his own safety.
Freeing Gianni was paramount. Franklin had gotten them into this situation, and he would get them out. What happened to him afterwards didn’t matter.
Oswald brought an entourage worthy of a leader of nations. Over three dozen armed guards stood in formation around the sovereign. The vampire had chosen an empty commuter lot on the edge of town for their meeting place. It was isolated—dangerous for Franklin, but he didn’t have a lot of choices. He straightened his shoulders and approached the menacing group warily.
Oswald had dark hair, like Gianni’s, but longer. It hung stick-straight to his shoulders, lending his aristocratic features a severity at odds with his words.
“Welcome to the tea party. Hope you didn’t want any—we’re fresh out.” Oswald puckered his lips and pouted.
Franklin thought he couldn’t hate the man any more, but he was wrong. The vampire looked like a pimp in his dark purple suit and shiny black loafers coming to a sharp point at the end of his feet. All he was missing was a stupid hat.
Oswald came forward, managing to appear threatening despite the ridiculous outfit. Franklin gave no ground, still as a statue until they stood toe to toe. Oswald was taller and wider than Franklin. He used his bulk to intimidate, but Franklin had nothing to lose.
“Hayleigh tells me my Gianni is quite taken with you. You must imagine my surprise, as I’ve offered to take him back, forgive all his past shenanigans, and yet here he remains. With you.” Oswald sneered. “And I have to wonder why.” Oswald held both hands out, palms up, and shrugged. “Gianni is a pushover for some decent cock. How’s yours?”
Before he could react, Oswald’s hand was on him, squeezing his junk. Franklin slammed his elbow into Oswald’s nose an
d stepped out of his grasp. The vampire laughed as blood dripped down his face. Two of the guards stepped forward, but the sovereign halted their progress with a raised finger.
“Feisty. My, my, no wonder my pet likes you. Do you hit him like that, too? He’s sexy when he’s bleeding.”
It was all Franklin could do not to attack. Maybe this had been a mistake. “I didn’t come here to trade barbs. We both want the same thing.”
“Oh really, and what’s that? To rescue the princess locked in the tower? That’s what you need me for, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Get on your knees and say please.”
Franklin’s initial reaction was hell no, but he tamped it down. He needed this vampire’s cooperation, and he needed it now. Gianni was not faring well. Any longer in the Scourge’s laboratory cell, and he might never bounce back.
Franklin fell to his knees.
17
Oswald
Gianni
Gianni spent hours staring at the ceiling. There were no clocks in his prison. He missed a lot of simple things, like being able to check the time. He couldn’t sense the difference between night and day anymore. The random schedule Lojan kept was disorienting.
The doctor was there now, moving from computer to microscope to desk. She never spoke to him while she worked; words were for demands phrased politely as requests. Gianni had questions he hadn’t bothered asking, but one was boiling front and center in his mind, though he was afraid to say it. Not because he feared Lojan’s reaction—the doctor was predictably professional, if somewhat cold—but because he feared the answer.
Wallowing in hopelessness wasn’t doing him any favors. Gianni got up from the cot and stood at the bars. He began small.
“Excuse me, Dr. Lojan, would you tell me what you’re working on?” Most people liked to talk about themselves and their projects. Perhaps she would too.