Blood Fury

by J. R. Ward

  Coming back to the present, Ruhn looked down and found a full mug in his hand. Guess he had poured himself the coffee.

  Taking a test sip, he found that the taste was perfect--but a sting suggested his lower lip was split. "As I said, I needed to be the one who fixed it. My father was too old to fight, and I was out of my transition by about twenty years at that time. I've always been big and very strong. Sometimes what we do to survive...is harder than what we do when we die." He shrugged. "But my parents were able to rebuild their lives. My sister...well, that was another story." He looked at the solicitor. "Please know, it was not something I would have chosen freely. It is not in my nature to be violent, but I learned that I will do anything to take care of those I love. I also learned that if someone is trying to hurt me...I will defend myself, to the death."

  He shook his head. "My father...he never got over what happened. He never bet a single penny after I went away, and by the time I came out, they were both working and in good health. I couldn't see them, of course, while I was fighting. You were not allowed out of your stall."

  "Stall?" Saxton said with horror.

  "They kept us underground in stalls, as you would horses. The spaces were six feet by six feet. We were allowed out only to fight, and we had no visitors except for the females they gave us to feed from. That's what they wanted to use my sister and my mahmen for." Through a tight throat, he added, "And sometimes we had to service...well. Anyway."

  Saxton seemed to wipe his eyes. "I cannot imagine what that was like."

  "It was..." Ruhn touched the side of his head. "It did something in here. It rewired me, and I wasn't sure whether it was permanent....Until tonight, I hadn't been in a position where I was fighting again. It came back, though. All of it."

  He took another draw from the mug, not because he was particularly thirsty, but because he was done with the conversation. The facts had been shared, and he had tried to be honest without talking too much about how ugly it had all been.

  How ugly he had been when he'd been there.

  As the silence stretched out, he risked a glance at Saxton--

  His breath caught. The male's eyes were full of compassion, not disgust or fear.

  "Come sit down," Saxton said softly. "You're bleeding and I want to clean you up. Sit."

  --

  When Ruhn continued to just stand there, Saxton went over, took the male's hand, and nudged him toward the table. As Ruhn sat down, the coffee in his mug was wobbling because his hands were shaking.

  That made two of them on the trembling front, Saxton thought as he walked to the sink and started the water to warm up. Peeling free a couple of paper towels from a roll mounted on a dowel, he tried to comprehend what Ruhn had been through.

  No wonder the male's affect had changed as it had during the fight behind the restaurant--that blank stare had been more upsetting than the violence itself. Indeed, after living with the Brotherhood for this long and hearing their stories of being in the field? Saxton was more than well-versed in violence. No, the disturbing thing had been the fact that Ruhn had disappeared into some other part of himself and had had to be all but pried off his prey.

  A wild animal unleashed.

  Saxton tested the rush of water with his forefinger. It was warm enough. Pumping a little soap onto the Quicker Picker Upper, he got the towel wet and then turned back around. Ruhn was staring into the mug, his brows down, his shoulders tight.

  One did not have to guess where the male had gone in his mind.

  To have to save his sister and mahmen from being used as veins and no doubt sexual outlets for the fighters? Kept in a stall? All for the mistakes of his sire?

  For ten years, penned up like a tiger, not knowing at any given hour whether he was going to be sent back into the ring to be beaten or killed. And along the way, he had to have been injured and learned to live with loneliness and pain.

  It was too sad to even contemplate.

  Walking over, he expected Ruhn to look up. When he did not, Saxton put his hand lightly on the male's shoulder.

  Ruhn jumped and knocked his mug over. "Oh! I'm sorry--"

  "I've got it." Saxton went back and snagged the paper towel roll. "Here. I've got it."

  Unraveling a bunch of the Bounty or whatever it was, he threw the stuff down and let its absorbency work its magic.

  "Turn toward me." He hooked his forefinger under Ruhn's chin and brought the male's face around. "That's it."

  Ruhn flinched when he made contact, but Saxton was pretty sure that was more because, for him, reality was a jumbled-up mess at the moment.

  "This is quite a cut," Saxton murmured as he went to work on a laceration over Ruhn's brow. "And it's getting more swollen by the moment. Maybe we should take you in to have Doc Jane or Dr. Manello look at this."

  "I've had worse."

  Saxton paused. "Yes. I'm sure you have."

  As he resumed cleaning off the dried blood, he wished he could say the right thing, the proper thing...anything that could possibly relieve some of that decade. There were no words, however.

  But there was a remedy.

  "Is the fighting operation still ongoing?" he asked tightly.

  Ruhn shook his head. "There was a revolt by the fighters about a year after I left. They got themselves loose, killed the guards and the enforcers, and slaughtered the boss. The compound is all overgrown now." He cleared his throat. "I went back, you see. Not once, but a couple of times. I was trying to...make sense of it all. Ultimately, I failed."

  "I don't know how you could."

  "As I said, I did it for my family. That is the only peace I have ever found." Ruhn exhaled long and slow. "But you know, I also regret that I let my sister down. Maybe if I had been home, she wouldn't have fallen in with that violent male. Perhaps I could have done something before he moved her so far away, up here to Caldwell. After I got out, I tried to find her, but she'd left no trail. My parents knew that he was dangerous--I think he must have relocated her as a form of control. I hate that she died without me there to save her."

  "You did what you could," Saxton said sadly. "At the end of the night, that's all any of us can do."

  He went back to the sink with what was left of the roll and got some wet with nothing but water. Over at Ruhn once again, he made sure he wiped all the soap away. The rest of what was on the male's face was bruising, and you couldn't clean that up.

  "You say that I did an unselfish thing with Bitty," Ruhn said roughly. "I didn't. I saved her from me. What I did to those men out in that parking lot? I've got a bad side, and in the end, I knew she was safer with Rhage and Mary. Plus...what if she ever found out? She couldn't have a father like me."

  "What do you think Rhage does for the race?"

  "That's different. I wasn't saving anyone."

  "Other than your sister and mahmen."

  "I don't know."

  Saxton dried off the area. "This looks bad."

  "It'll be all right." Ruhn glanced up. "You are very kind to me."

  Saxton brushed a fingertip over the male's jaw. And then he stroked the thick hair back, and touched Ruhn's lower lip.

  "You're cut here, too," he whispered.

  Leaning down, he gently kissed the place that had been torn by a human's fist. And as he straightened, a warning started to go off at the base of his brain.

  As much as he was attracted to Ruhn, and wanted to be with the male, hurt people...hurt people.

  Yes, yes, it was the kind of thing you could see with a sappy image as a meme on Facebook, a trite little four-word construction that seemed custom-fit for the snowflake generation's perpetual, depressive sensitivity. But as a rescuer, it was entirely like him to take in a stray who had been abused. How did he know that Ruhn's past was truly over, though?

  He thought of that look in the male's eyes--or rather the absence of expression--during that fight, especially when Ruhn had been about to snap the human's neck.

  "It's okay," Ruhn said roughly as he pushe
d his chair back and got to his feet.

  "What is?"

  The other male took a step back. And then another. "I understand."

  "Understand what?" Saxton asked.

  "I don't trust me, either."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I can see it in your eyes." Ruhn nodded. "And I get it. You're trying to reconcile what you saw with what you wish me to be. I live with that all the time. Every day when I close my eyes, I am reminded of the things I did. And if I forget, I just have to look in the mirror."

  "Ruhn, don't make up my mind for me."

  With rough hands, the male took off his jacket. Then he turned around and yanked his shirt all the way up to his shoulders.

  Saxton gasped. That broad back was covered with a pattern of welts--except no, that wasn't it. They weren't marks made by a whip. The four-inch-long cuts were far too regular, too surgical--and there were at least thirty of them, fanning out from the spine. They had to have been brined into place, salt being poured over the open wounds when they had been made to ensure that the things didn't close and disappear as the skin regenerated.

  "Thirty-seven," Ruhn said baldly. "I killed thirty-seven males with my bare hands. And every time I did, they took a knife to me and added to my tally. It was done for the crowd, so they would bet more money. It was for the show."

  Saxton covered his mouth with his palm, tears spearing into his eyes.

  As Ruhn pivoted back around, all Saxton wanted to do was throw his arms around the male and hold him until the memories didn't hurt quite as badly.

  But it was obvious that was a no-go.

  Ruhn pulled the shirt back into place and put his jacket on once more. "I'm going to go now. But you need to tell me where to drop Mistress Miniahna's things off." In a dead voice, the male tacked on, "And not to worry. I will not interact with the females. I'll leave the things in a safe place and stay away from them."

  "Ruhn, please don't--"

  "So where am I going?"

  "You are not lesser than, Ruhn."

  "Oh, I'm worse. I'm a straight-up killer. None of those males wanted to be there any more than I did. They were all conscripted, too, working off debts. They were not killers, not any more than I was--at least not when I first arrived there. But I am a walking trophy to what I turned into. I have blood on my hands, Saxton. I am a murderer."

  The male walked over to the archway. "So tell me, where am I dropping off the--"

  "You're not a murderer."

  Ruhn's head lowered in defeat. "That's an emotional declaration, not a legal one, and you know it."

  "Ruhn, you--"

  "Look, I don't like to talk about all of this." Ruhn's eyes skipped around the kitchen. "I sweep it under the rug during the waking hours and I pray during my sleep that I won't remember my dreams. The only time I ever discussed it before now was when the Brothers looked into my background because of Bitty--and even then, I didn't...well, it doesn't matter. I guess I'm telling you all this because I feel like you deserve the honesty. There was something happening between us, and it was on both sides. But see, I know who you are, and you don't...well, unless you know the truth, you don't really know me. And that look in your eyes? The wariness, the suspicion, it tells me I did the right thing."

  "I can trust you."

  "You don't have to." Ruhn touched over his heart. "One thing that I have learned after all these years working for the glymera is that the poor have only their dignity and pride to offer the world. My father taught me that. And I cannot have my dignity if I lie to someone I'm falling in love with."

  Saxton's breath caught in his chest.

  But before he could respond, Ruhn shook his head and turned away. "You know, I actually think it's best that someone else make that trip into town. I've got to go."

  "Ruhn--"

  The male stopped, and did not look back. "Please, just let me go. Just...let me leave."

  Every instinct in Saxton's body told him to stop Ruhn from going.

  But it wasn't up to him.

  A moment later, the front door of the farmhouse shut quietly, and Saxton fell into the chair Ruhn had been sitting in. The coffee was still warm in his mug.

  That did not last, however.

  "I know you want to fuck me."

  Peyton looked up as the human woman addressed him, and it took him a couple of seconds to focus on her--then again, Ice Blue, the club he usually hit, was hoppin', the music was loud, and he'd done half a dozen bong hits before he started drinking.

  Oh, and then you had the blue lasers spearing through the smoky air and the fact that he hadn't slept properly for a day or two.

  "Did you hear what I said?" she purred.

  She was dressed in a skintight white latex dress that was cut low to show off her spectacular breasts and hemmed high to give plenty of leg. The shoes were strappy and tilted her delicate feet so far forward, it was like she was en pointe, and her hair was dark and flowing in curls around her shoulders and her lower back.

  In the VIP section, she was hands down, going away, the trophy of the night, the most erotic, beautiful thing there was, and she wanted him. Why? It was not his scintillating conversation--they hadn't said anything more than a quick hi-how're-ya. Hell, he didn't know his name--

  Her name. He didn't know her name.

  No, it was his suit-and-tie. His ostrich shoes. The fact that he and his crew had come in the back where they didn't have to worry about getting said shoes ruined by the snow or being inconvenienced by the wait line. It was also the bottle service here in this private banquet, and the way security deferred to him, and the hundys he flashed around as drinks were brought over. He was an apex spender and she was prepared to use her physical assets to get on the money train.

  And hey, he was wearing white, too, so it was, like, totally, predestined.

  "Let's take a selfie," she said as she straddled his legs and took her phone out of a bag that was only big enough for an iPhone. The small-sized one, not the big-as-a-Pop-Tart variety.

  "No." He put his palm out. "No pictures."

  She giggled and put the phone away. "You telling me you're famous? I don't recognize you."

  With practiced ease, she took his hand and guided it to her hip. "I'm up from Manhattan. I'm doing a photo shoot down by the river tomorrow. I hate the cold. I wish I were in Miami."

  At that, she pushed her hair out of the way in a very calculated, Oh, I'm soooo dissatisfied by my glamorous lot in life--and b.t.dub, my hair is just such a buuuuurden.

  It was the mating call of the female club rat.

  And usually, he'd start strategizing about dark corners and blow jobs at this point. For some reason, though, all he could think of was...If you'd rather be in Miami, hop a plane, and you paid for those damn extensions. If you don't want the shit covering your tits, pull it back in a rubber band, for godsakes.

  As she started talking at him again, he was very aware that this whole out-to-the-club thing was not following his playbook. Glancing over to his boys, he saw three other vampires dressed out of the same men's section of Neiman Marcus, the trio like variations on a set of cocktail coasters: The suits might have been different shades of blue or gray, but the cut was the same with skinny legs and thin lapels, and the shirts under those fitted jackets were subtly patterned in similar fashions. The watches were not Rolex, nope, too cheap. They were Audemars Piguet or Hublot. And in their breast pockets, they were packing coke and X. Oh, and there was a driver waiting in the back alley when they were through looking good while they polluted themselves. No Uber. Ever.

  And this little hors d'oeuvre in the white shrink-wrap would know all that.

  She also came with her own crew, her three friends the saltshakers to his buddies' pepper mills.

  So yes, everyone had gotten the memo.

  With no real interest, he squeezed her waist to test whether it was Spanx or dieting that had created that tight curve--and it was both, going by the whalebones of the corset she had on. Sh
e was too thin, he decided.

  He liked Novo's build better. It was power. Strength. Solidity.

  Man, this was so not happening for him. He was the plug out of the socket, his lounging sprawl for the first time because of boredom rather than entitled languor.

  With a lithe shift, the girl stood up off him, extended her arms over her head, and did a slow turn that presented him with her ass. Looking over her shoulder, her plump lips kept moving like she was saying something, but she might as well have been lecturing him on astrophysics.

  One of his buddies leaned into him. "You always get the good ones. But I'm coming up high and tight behind you."

  As if to prove the point, the male spun the girl who was coming on to him around as if he were parking an R8 next to a 911 and comparing the rear spoilers of the two sports cars.

  Peyton looked away--only to get one of those blue lasers right in his eyeball.

  For some reason, probably because the flash of light gave him a headache, he thought of his father. His sire had thrown a spectacular fit the minute Peyton had walked into the mansion, complete with all kinds of you-are-a-disgrace fireworks. And as with this club scene, he had just sat back, removed from the show even as his body was right in it.

  He'd thrown the guy a couple of bones to appease him, and then it had been upstairs to shower and dress. Three phone calls later had brought him right here.

  He had done this how many nights?

  Too many to count--

  His lady friend lowered that ass right onto his Gucci belt--wasn't there a rap about this?--and started working it.

  She was very aroused. He could tell by her scent.

  Placing his hands on her hips, he closed his eyes and tried to get into it.

  --

  Saxton sat in Minnie's kitchen with that coffee for a while, listening to the porch door's whistle from its loose weather stripping. What he really wanted to do was talk to someone, but the only person that came to mind was Blay, and that would seem too much like he was trying to prove a point about moving on or something.

  The weird thing about sexual attraction was its strength and power could create an illusion of closeness between two people: When the body was drawn to another person's, and desperate and hungry for a physical expression, it was like the brain felt it had to catch up by manufacturing an intellectual or emotional connection.