by Kallysten
He didn't dare come out of his room after that, unsure how his control would fare if he met Blake now. He could hear the shower running, so at least Blake was listening and cleaning up. Lying down on his bed, he listened intently, imagining Blake under the spray: washing the come off his hands and belly; turning off the water and stepping out of the shower; toweling himself dry; getting back to his room and sliding between the heavy cotton sheets; curling his hand around his hardening dick; stroking softly just like Marc was doing now; teasing himself rather than seeking quick relief until it became too much, and all that mattered was letting sensations take over and swallow everything.
It took a long time for Marc to fall asleep, and when he finally did, Blake haunted his dreams, memories of past nights mingling with fresh fantasies until they were undistinguishable from each other. He woke up early in the morning, panting, instinctively reaching for the brown-haired head that had been between his thighs only seconds earlier, before realizing it had only been a dream.
Hands clenched in the sheets, he stared unseeingly at the ceiling, his mind slowly coming to grips with what had really happened and what he had only dreamed, and he couldn't help but wonder how long he would last in these conditions before he started taking advantage of Blake. He had been close, so very close the previous night; he couldn't let anything like that happen again. He wanted Blake, but he wanted Blake to want him, as well. He wouldn't sleep with Blake until Blake was well enough to say yes, and mean it.
Deciding that washing off the scent of dried come and lust before Blake woke was probably the best thing to do, he slipped out of his room, frowning in disapproval at the clothes still strewn across the living room floor. With a sigh—some things would never change, and Blake leaving a mess behind him was one of them—he picked up the socks, sweatpants, boxers, and t-shirt and brought them to Blake's room. The door was open, Blake never closed it, and Marc stepped in quietly, dropping his bundle in the clothes basket.
It was Blake's heartbeat that alerted him that something was wrong, and when he turned to him and saw him, tense and struggling against ghosts in his sleep, kicking at the covers that trapped him, Marc immediately knew that he was having a nightmare. Again. Without a second thought, he came to the bed and gently closed his hand on Blake's wrist, preventing him from clawing any more at the already bloodied tattoo. Blake's eyes shot wide open, and he stared at Marc in the darkness, his heart still beating too fast.
"It's all right,” Marc murmured. “It was just a nightmare; you're fine. Safe."
The words seemed to calm Blake, and Marc forced himself to keep talking.
"No one is going to hurt you. Not even me. You're safe. You know that, don't you?"
As it so often happened, Blake merely stared vacantly in front of him and didn't reply; Marc had rarely wished for an answer more than he did at that moment.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 16
* * * *
Seven more weeks passed before they found Jen again. By the end of it, Kate was ready to stake her on sight, questions be damned.
The first five weeks, there was no trace of her whatsoever. Every morning and every night, Simon did the localization spell, Kate standing with crossed arms at his shoulder, but there never was any result.
They remained in the town they had helped save from catastrophe. Daniel had claimed he wanted to take a step back from fighting, and so Kate was surprised when he helped reorganize the soldiers that protected the town, and called in the squad hierarchy to send reinforcements. He trained the new recruits and organized reconnaissance missions to find the breach. When they had found it, he made the speech that was now all too familiar to Kate. She gritted her teeth the entire time. She understood the importance of closing this breach, and every other one they could find. She also understood that, as far as they knew, Jen had gone through it, and who knew where she would come out again if they closed it?
On the night of the closing, when she was standing just feet away from that shimmering rectangle of light, she was tempted, more than ever before. With slow, careful steps, her sword tight in her hand, she approached the breach, tried to peer through. She couldn't see anything. Maybe Jen was standing right on the other side, maybe all Kate had to do was step through, grab her, and pull her back. Maybe it could be that easy.
Miracles were possible; she knew it now. Blake had come back to her. But she couldn't go back to him until she found Jen.
She was just two steps away from the breach when Daniel's hand closed over her forearm and jerked her back.
"Have you lost your mind?” he shouted at her, eyes wide and worried.
Kate honestly didn't know what to answer.
Three days later, Jen reappeared on the localization spell. Simon was so surprised that he dropped the candle he was using to focus his magic and set fire to his maps. Kate could have screamed in frustration—and probably did, too. A few moments later, though, they had new maps, and Simon was performing the spell again under the attentive gazes of both Kate and Daniel. Jen was hundred of miles away, far enough that they would need several days to reach her.
"We've got... we need to leave right away,” Kate said, tripping over her own words in her haste. “We can be—"
"Wait a second,” Daniel cut in, laying a hand on her shoulder. “How about we go at it a different way this time? So we don't rush there only to find that she's jumped through again."
Kate was so full of energy and frustration, she could barely stand in place. She started pacing the small room. “What different way?” she snapped. “We need to get to her—"
"And we will,” Daniel placated her. “Maybe we just don't need to do it alone.” He pointed at the map, his finger tapping a town close to where the spell said Jen was. “I've never heard of this place, but the map is recent enough that it should still be populated.” His finger moved further south to a larger point. “This town, though, I know. The squad has troops there. I can contact them, ask them to send a few people to look for Jen. I've reissued the warning about the way she operates, but the smaller towns don't always get the news. She might be trying to pull the same plan again. If she is, the squad can stop her before she can do any damage and hold her until we get there."
Kate gritted her teeth and thought hard and fast. She didn't like this plan, didn't like the idea that someone else might capture Jen when they had been looking for her for months now. But she had to admit that it was probably better than running off wildly and arriving too late again. “As long as they understand they shouldn't kill her,” she said at last.
Daniel made the call. Six days later, they received word that a woman had been captured following the information they had given. She said her name was Ella, and her description did not match the one they had given, but she was a vampire, and she had approached the leaders of the town with claims about knowing where the breach was and how to close it.
Before an hour had passed, they were in the car and took turns driving until they arrived.
Days passed, and the only notable change in their routine was that Marc no longer nagged Blake to drink all the blood that was put in front of him. Instead, he observed that Blake always drank the same amount, and was comforted in his belief that he didn't need as much blood as a vampire did. This once more raised the question of what he was exactly, feeding on blood but with a warm, beating heart in his chest; healing almost as slowly as a human but with a thoroughness that was definitely that of a vampire, if the perfect smoothness of his back was to be believed. Would he ever know what had happened to Blake to make him this hybrid of sorts?
Something that absolutely did not change, to Marc's immense frustration, was Blake's refusal to bring himself to climax. Four days after what Marc had sworn to himself would be the last time he helped so directly, they were back to square one, with Blake naked, on his knees and silently begging, and Marc struggling not to do far more than what Blake might want.
"Not this time, Blake,” h
e denied even as his body answered quite differently. “Not again."
Blake merely stared at him, hands closed in tight fists on his thighs, exactly as he had four days earlier. The message was clear; he had gotten what he wanted like this before, and he certainly thought he would get it again the same way. But he wasn't counting on Marc's resolve.
And Marc's resolve wavered with each passing second as Blake's eyes begged him far better than his words had ever done.
Unable to say anything more, Marc picked up his jacket and strode out of the house and into the familiar, welcoming night. He locked the door behind him more out of reflex than real need; so far Blake had never shown any interest in going outside.
He walked for a few minutes, not realizing where his steps were taking him until he stepped into a bar. Eyes briefly turned to him, but it wasn't the first time he'd had a drink there and no one questioned his presence. He found a seat in a quiet corner, ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey, and tried, very hard, to think of anything, anyone but Blake.
It didn't work.
All he could see in front of him was Blake, wanting and pleading. All he could smell was the scent of Blake's lust, precome, and pain. All he could feel was the texture of his skin, the warmth of his flesh, the pulsing of his cock when he—
Raising his hand to catch the waitress’ attention, Marc gave up on the beer and asked for more whiskey. It didn't make him think any less of Blake, but at least it damped that nagging, guilty feeling that he was perpetuating whatever abuse had been inflicted on Blake. Then again, wasn't it also abuse, if of a different kind, to deny Blake the release he so badly needed? It was a slow torture of both body and mind. And Marc was being a part of it by refusing to help.
He realized it was the alcohol speaking; he wasn't drunk enough to delude himself that far, but he also was certain that, however late he returned home, Blake would be exactly where he had left him, and even more desperate, if that were possible.
All the way back to the house, he repeated to himself that it was the last time, the very last time he was doing it, that after that night it would be over and he wouldn't falter again, for Blake's sake and for his own sanity. He said it to Blake, too, in very clear terms, even as he sunk to his knees in front of him and reached for his hand.
But when Blake arched under their combined touch, his breathing so close to a whimper, Marc could only curse himself at the realization that, without a doubt and until he found a way to break through Blake's barriers, this would happen again.
Or worse, he would forget that it was Blake's conditioning that was causing him to request to be touched, forget that Blake had no way to stop him, and go too far. And that was a possibility he refused to live with.
His Master wanted something from him, but Blake couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what it was.
His mind felt slow and sluggish, and it was hard to think, sometimes more so than others. When he could think, however, when he could cling to ideas long enough to put them together like the pieces of a puzzle with no pattern to guide him, he always became frustrated with both himself and his Master.
Before this small house, before the box, before his voice had been taken from him, Blake had been at least allowed to ask for directions. It would earn him a few kicks, or a few lashes of a belt or whip, but these were nothing when compared to the alternative: not giving his Master what he desired as soon as he desired it.
But now... Now, he couldn't ask, and couldn't guess either. He thought his Master wanted him. Wanted to fuck him. He had to; he had been hard every time they had showered together, hadn't he? Blake had been so sure he would take him, then. So sure once he did, the games and tricks would be over. But not only had his Master not fucked him, he now refused to touch Blake. That wasn't new, of course not, and more than once his Master had made Blake hard and kept him that way for days, as though to see how long he could stay erect, maybe. On those occasions, though, coming had been forbidden. And the other times, when his Master had only wanted his own pleasure before granting Blake his release, it had been clear what needed to be done.
Now, nothing was clear. Nothing was explained. His Master continued to try to trick him into touching himself, and seemed to get angry when Blake didn't. He had paid too much of a price to learn this lesson, though; he would never forget it again.
With smiles and quiet words at first, then harder looks and snapped orders when it didn't work, Daniel cleared the room until only he, Simon, and Kate were left to face the prisoner. The rest of the squad and town leaders would have their turn at interrogating her when they were done—unless Kate staked her before that. The presence of the wooden stake at the small of her back, wedged between her pants and belt, was almost comforting. In just one movement, she could put an end to Jen's life. She wished she could have brought Blake back to his old self as easily.
They had arrived in the town only minutes earlier, but the squad had been warned about their impending arrival, and Jen was waiting for them. Seated on a plastic chair, hands and feet bound in chains that were shackled to the floor, she held herself with her head high, as though she were in charge and the rest of them were only there because she allowed it. The only sign she gave that something was going on was a small flinch when Simon threw a handful of glittery powder at her.
"Is it done?” Daniel asked, stopping his pacing to stand next to Simon.
He was peering at Jen, eyes intent and unblinking.
"Simon!” he snapped, drawing his gaze to him. “Is it done yet?"
Simon swallowed hard and nodded, looking back at the woman again. “I... I think, yes. But there's... something around her. Like... some kind of magic. It looks... weird."
"What kind of magic?” Kate asked from behind them. She was standing in the back of the room, arms crossed over her chest as she waited for Simon to be done.
"I'm not sure. But I think... she looks different, doesn't she?"
He glanced back at Kate as though asking her opinion. Kate came forward, and for the first time took a good look at the woman. Her hair was longer than it had been in the city, and much lighter, almost blond. Her eyes had been brown then, but they were now green. Even the shape of her face was different, somehow, her body curvier, shorter. But nothing could disguise the glint in her eyes.
"She does,” Kate said. She thought about asking the woman to identify herself, but she didn't know if Jen was her real name, or Ella, so it wouldn't prove anything. “Did you betray us in the City?” Kate asked instead.
Jen gave her a look of utter contempt. “Yes."
Drawing a chair in front of Jen, Kate straddled it and rested her arms across the back. She drew the stake from behind her belt and held it tight in her hand. Jen's eyes flicked toward it for a second, and although her expression didn't change, the tension in her shoulders cranked up a notch.
"Are you taking orders from demons?” Kate asked, her voice level and cold.
Again, Jen looked and sounded scornful. “Like you don't know that already,” she scoffed. “Yes, I work with demons. Stop wasting my time and—"
"How long have you worked with them?” Kate interrupted her, keeping her voice calm, despite her growing irritation.
"Nine years. At least, it's been nine years in this dimension."
It didn't really matter how long Jen had been a traitor to their world, but Kate couldn't make herself ask what she truly wanted to know. She had tracked this woman for weeks, but now she was scared to hear what had truly happened to Blake.
"Is that why they took you to their world?” she asked, delaying yet a little more.
Jen rolled her eyes at her. “Don't be a fool, child. They wouldn't need to do that if I had been working for them, now, would they?"
"I don't know,” Kate said, shrugging. “You tell me. Why did they capture you?"
"Because I was there?” Jen's composure started to crack, as did her voice. “Because I was a soldier, just like you? Because they—"
Kate stood
again, pushing the chair away. She crossed her arms and glared down at Jen. “Not like me. I'd never betray—"
"You spend a week in one of their jails, and then we'll discuss what it is that you'd never betray.” Jen closed her eyes briefly, and her lips stretched into the mockery of a smile. “Not even that. Spend a day there. Just one day."
Behind Kate, Simon made a small, whimpering sound, and Kate knew exactly why. She wasn't far from doing the same. Blake had spent a lot more than one day in a demon cell.
Taking a deep breath, she asked her next question, yet again faltering before she could ask what she truly wanted to know. “What did they do to... to you?"
"What do you think they did?” Jen's voice hardened, shards of ice in her words lashing out the way she couldn't do with her hands. “They broke me. They made every day worse than the last until I would have done anything to get out. I'd have given them my Sire and all my Childer on a silver platter. And all they asked was for me to spy for them. I'd have been a fool not to do it."
Her chin was up, and for all that she was seated when Kate was standing, she seemed to be staring down at Kate. There was no beginning of apology in her expression or tone. Kate found herself at a loss for words. Could Jen really be this cold?
"Once you were released,” Daniel said, coming to stand by Kate, “you could have run."
Jen shrugged her shoulders. “Run where?” she asked. Her tone was scathing. “There are breaches everywhere. And they have the means to find me if they want to. I'll die before I give them a reason to jail me again."
For the first time, an emotion was creeping in her voice other than contempt: fear. The sudden contrast was startling, and more than Jen's words, more than the fact that Jen couldn't lie while under Simon's spell, it was this fear that convinced Kate that what Jen had experienced on the other side of the breach must have been as horrific as she said. Even more so.