Star Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that he had no home—hadn’t for nearly a year. His father’s tolerance for Brenin’s gayness had ended within weeks of his mam’s death. He’d been forced to leave and had resorted to living in shelters once his friends’ largess had dried up as well. That was how the monster had found him, a homeless piece of trash trying to survive without even his General Certificate in his hand. No family, not enough education and no decent job prospects had made him the perfect target. He still was, truth be told.

  Chop sent him staggering once more, this time against MacLerie. The man hugged him closer to his side. Brenin grabbed on to the man’s waist without thinking. He met implacable hardness. But when his side collided with the guy’s hip, he couldn’t hold in a grunt and hiss. MacLerie somehow pulled away while holding him steady.

  “Easy, there. You should go below and sit down at least. It’s a wee bit bumpy out here, given how hurt you are.”

  Shaking his head, Brenin tightened his grip on the man. “I want to be in the fresh air, if it’s all the same to you. I’ve been trapped inside for months.” He craned his neck back to gaze at the bright blue sky. “It’s glorious to be out in the sun.”

  “Oh, aye, I understand. Mind now that you don’t overdo. And I’m that sorry if you’re hungry. I don’t have anything t’hand, but I called ahead and Darling will have Cook putting on a proper breakfast for when we arrive.”

  Darling? “You have a wife, then?” Why did my tone turn surly again?

  MacLerie laughed, although it was genuinely joyful, not the grating gloating of Dracul. “Naw, Darling is my majordomo and a more dour man you’ll never meet, even though he’s half English. But he’s loyal to the bone. Cook’s a woman from the village and a dinnae ken her name. I’ve never thought to ask. She scares me a wee bit, truth be told.” He flashed a smile at him and Brenin had to look away from the gleaming beauty of the man.

  “I’m hungry right enough,” Brenin admitted.

  “Another hour or so should see us…there.” He’d meant ‘home’ and Brenin knew it. But he was sensitive and didn’t use it for fear of rubbing me the wrong way? Is it possible that this alien is what he claims to be and not what I fear?

  Time would tell, and staring out at the white-capped water, he knew for certain that there was a still a will to live in him. He wasn’t ready to end it just yet. Perhaps his sense of optimism was stupid. In a few hours, he might be trapped in another monster’s bed, weeping and as miserable as he’d been for months. If so, there would always be some chance to end his life. When he’d run from Dracul, he’d done it to live. If escape proved impossible in this life, he’d achieve it in the next.

  For now, he’d allow himself some small measure of hope that he was free from enslavement.

  * * * *

  The rest of the journey was made in relative silence and bracing enough to clear Brenin’s mind from the remaining fog of the drugs Dafydd had given him. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but he was looking forward to some relief once they arrived at MacLerie’s home. He didn’t bother to question why he remained at the man’s side, either, although, if pressed, he would have said it was to keep his feet under him. It simply didn’t hold the kind of fright in him that it should have. And, from the vantage point of the helm, he was able to enjoy the view.

  Rolling hills along the coast turned to craggier ones. Then, as they came around a curve in the shoreline, he spotted what looked like a fishery and behind that, sitting higher up, was a brooding castle.

  “That’s my precious salmon farm,” MacLerie said with a nod. “And beyond is the place I’ve lived for…well, a while now.”

  Soon, the man slowed the engines and pulled closer inland. They entered a small cove with a bit of a sandy beach to a dock that held a few other vessels. Some were smaller than the one they were on and one was much larger—a yacht, really—and it must have cost a pretty penny. These aliens had been on Earth long enough to amass some amount of wealth, he’d learned.

  “Sorry, laddie,” MacLerie said, pulling his arm away. “I’m going to need a wee bit of room to bring us in.”

  It took a perverse second for Brenin to make his fingers unfurl and step away. He told himself it was because he was afraid of falling. Really, he feared distancing himself from the man who he’d already become dependent on. There was an older man standing on the dock, peering at him with an expressionless, craggy face. He wore a dark suit with a vest in the same plaid Brenin still had wrapped around him. His stern demeanor reminded Brenin of the awful creatures that fawned over Dracul and did his bidding.

  MacLerie pulled the boat alongside the dock with obviously practiced ease and tossed the rope coiled nearby to the man. He had to be the majordomo, Darling. Such a funny name, although Brenin would bet the lines in the man’s face hadn’t been made by humor. Nevertheless, the guy caught the rope handily and tied it off without any obvious effort, something he’d done plenty of times, likely. That surprised Brenin. Surely there’d be more people working such a large estate. Then again, how easily could an alien get and keep human help? Maybe the rest of the aliens were somewhere inside the castle or the outbuildings.

  Hanging from rafters or lying in coffins until the sun goes down.

  He wasn’t sure where his sense of humor came from, given his circumstances. And he knew that no matter how much these creatures captured the legend of vampires, they didn’t only come out at night or burn up in the sun. MacLerie was testament to that much. The guy didn’t seem to mind being outside. He easily shut down the boat and helped his man secure it to the dock before turning to Brenin.

  “Let’s get you inside, laddie.” He held out his hand.

  “You can call me Brenin, you know.”

  MacLerie flashed grin. “Brenin it is, then. Come. I’ll help you up.” He held Brenin’s hand with his big one to get him up on the side and over the narrow span to the dock. He didn’t let go, however, even after Brenin’s feet were both on the wooden planks.

  “Take a second to get your land legs back,” MacLerie said cheerily. “I know we were on the boat for only hours, but still, it was that choppy, so…” He turned to the other man. “This is Darling. Darling, this is the young Mr. Jones I told you about.”

  The majordomo inclined his head. “Welcome to Castle Rionnag, if I may be so bold.”

  Pulling the plaid tighter, Brenin said, “Thank you, I guess.”

  Darling looked at his master with one eyebrow raised.

  “Mr. Jones is reserving judgment about us, Darling,” MacLerie said rather cheerily. “And given his time with Dracul, who can blame him?”

  “Indeed, sir, most unfortunate.” The older man turned his steely gaze on Brenin. “I assure you, young master, this is a safe place.” His sincerity and his obvious humanness did a lot to relax Brenin.

  “Is Doc McPhee about, Darling?”

  “Not as yet, sir. Old Mrs. Cameron down in the valley is taking her last journey and the doctor is helping to ease her way as best she can. She promised to come as soon as she is able. She did add that if matters were urgent, her medical assistant could come earlier.”

  MacLerie’s palm slid up to the center of Brenin’s back. “I don’t think that will be necessary. We might give the boy some ibuprofen with his breakfast. Surely that won’t hurt. What do you think, Brenin?”

  It took him a moment to appreciate that he was being asked his opinion. It had been a while since that had happened. He nodded. “Um, yeah, if you please.”

  “That’s fine, then. Let’s get you up to the castle. Can you walk or would you like some help?”

  Brenin briefly pictured being swept up in those brawny arms. The image frightened him, although not as much as it should. “No, thanks, I can walk.”

  Darling cleared his throat and looked pointedly down at Brenin’s feet. “I think you’ll find the crushed stone path uncomfortable, dressed as you are, sir.”

  Scrunching his toes, Brenin considered that observation.
“I guess you’re right.”

  MacLerie stepped into his line of vision. “I’ll be as careful as I can.” That was all he said before tucking his arm around Brenin’s waist and behind his knees. A split-second later, he was airborne and cradled in the alien’s embrace. His heart beat frantically before he could calm himself. The pressure of the fingers gripping him increased.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” MacLerie’s voice was as tight as his hold.

  Brenin dared to look up at him from under his lashes. Those violet eyes were wide and fixed at a point around Brenin’s mouth. No, at his neck, where his jugular pulsed. And a bit of pearly white showed around the man’s lips. Brenin mewed in distress, memories of fangs sinking into his flesh making him fearful at an animalistic level.

  “Shh, dinnae fash yourself.”

  Really? Was Brenin truly not supposed to worry about how he was trapped, not only in an alien’s control but in his very arms? The pathetic thing was, he’d almost forgotten his precarious and morbidly bizarre situation.

  “Mr. Jones?” The majordomo gently tapped his shoulder. When Brenin shifted his gaze to the man, he said, “I have been in MacLerie’s employ for over fifty years now and I can assure you, he does nothing without consent. You are safe here, and may God strike me down if I let anything untoward happen to you.”

  Brenin blinked back at him, amazingly comforted by the old-fashioned, yet obviously earnest, vow. “Th-thank you.”

  “You are very welcome.” The man flicked his gaze at MacLerie. “You might stop standing around with your fangs flashing if you want to prove an amiable host. Sir.” With that admonishment, the man turned on his heel and marched off.

  MacLerie started after him, although at a slower pace. “Well, if ever I get too big for my britches, there’s always Darling on hand to bring me back into line. I’m sorry, laddie-Brenin, for my lapse. My nature is not unlike Dracul’s, and while I do a far better job of keeping it under control, I’m not always as strong as I’d like to be.”

  Brenin curled inside the plaid. “Do you drink blood?” He had to ask. It was the one thing in particular that the monster had done to him that he couldn’t abide the thought of. Even the constant rapes and beatings had paled in comparison to having his vein tugged at.

  “Aye, I do, yes. That’s our nature, but I get my blood by the bagful normally these days. And, like Darling said, I never take what isn’t given freely.”

  “I will never do that for you.” Brenin didn’t care what the consequences were for his refusal.

  MacLerie kept his gaze on the path ahead. The lines around his mouth tightened. “Of course not. I’ve told you. You’re not a prisoner and you’re not my slave. You are my guest. I take nothing and expect you to give me nothing, except time to make the world safer for you and everyone else.”

  There was no more talking for the rest of the short journey up to the castle. They entered through a side door that looked hundreds of years old. Up close, he could see that the structure was mostly ancient stone with some weathered wood here and there. It was one of those buildings that had been expanded on over the centuries. He wondered how long MacLerie had lived there and what had happened to those that had built it in the first place, if the alien hadn’t.

  The master of the place didn’t put Brenin down once they were inside. Instead, he carried him into a small dining room that was positively medieval. A roaring fire was lit in the large stone fireplace at one end. A plump, middle-aged women bustled about, setting food down in two places, one at the head of the table and the other to the right of it.

  She looked up at their approach and smiled broadly. “Now, here is the dear lad. Come. Put him right on this chair. I’ve got a nice hot bowl of porridge for him. Don’t make that face, laddie,” she scolded good-naturedly. “You haven’t tried mine yet to judge and there’s a wee bit of honey in there as well, to make it go down better. And I’ve got some scones and bacon for later, once we’re sure your poor stomach is taking to everything all right.”

  The woman had a point, he realized. He hadn’t been given much to eat since his capture and all of his insides were a bit tender from the beatings, as well. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said sincerely as MacLerie put him down beside, not on, the chair she’d indicated.

  “Now, you just call me Cook. Everyone does.” She smiled brightly again. Her homey appearance could have guaranteed her a spot in any period piece put on by the BBC.

  Brenin slid into his seat, trying to hold back the wince that still came from any change in position. After picking up his spoon, he dipped it into the oatmeal and took a small bite. It was good, a little sweet and creamy. He smiled in gratitude.

  “Good and all, then,” Cook said with a firm nod. “Go on and tuck in yourself, sir. Imagine haring all the way to Wales without so much as a snack.” She shook her head and tsked. “Eat your black pudding. I’ll be getting that pain reliever for you, dearie,” she added before leaving.

  MacLerie sat in his chair and laid his napkin across his lap before picking up his cutlery. His plate was piled high with all manner of food, including the dreaded black pudding. Brenin made a face when the man cut a piece in half and stuffed it into his mouth.

  The alien grinned as he chewed, then swallowed. “Don’t look so horrified, Brenin. A proper Scotsman would eat this without my alien nature.”

  Brenin returned his attention to his bowl. “I know, mun. I just don’t like it myself.”

  “But you do like Cook’s porridge?”

  “Yes, it’s a proper breakfast for me right now. I wouldn’t mind a scone, though.”

  “As Cook said, see how that sits on your stomach. No one’s going to make you eat anything or do anything you don’t want to here, Brenin. We’ll see what the doc has to say about your injuries, and then,” he added with a sigh, “as much as it pains me, I’m going to have to start asking you questions about your time with Dracul. We mean to end him, my friends and I, and I think you’re the perfect person to help us succeed.”

  Chapter Three

  “Malcolm, are you still there?”

  “Yes, Captain, sorry.” He leaned against the hallway wall using one bare foot to prop himself up. His head wasn’t really in the game, as the Americans would say. His concentration was too absorbed by the closed door in front of him. Doc McPhee was in that room, giving Brenin an exam. Malcolm would have liked to have been there for the boy, except he understood that it was a private matter and he really had no right to gawk, however good his intention.

  “Let me guess. You’re pacing in agitation while waiting for the doctor to be done with the boy.”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes. There was a reason Alex was in command. He knew his men well. “Not as such, no, but I am standing out in the hall like an expectant father.”

  “These days humans go into the delivery room.” A breath blew over the line. “I know you’re worried. Poor kid. Dracul must have abused him terribly.”

  “From what little I’ve gleaned, aye, he did right enough. The fucker. I’m going to apologize right now, sir, for being stroppy with you when you first called about getting involved. If I hadn’t been doing surveillance, the boy would never have escaped.” Although Malcolm had had his fill of the war, he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the havoc Dracul wreaked, especially when it occurred in his own backyard, as it were.

  He rubbed his free hand down the front of his thigh and pounded the heel of his palm against it. What the bloody hell is taking so long?

  “He’s just as much a benefit to us as you were to him. To have an inside look at Dracul’s scheming may prove invaluable. Are you confident that you disguised your scent well?”

  Jamming his hand in the front pocket of his jeans, Malcolm pushed away from the wall and started pacing as Alex had predicted. “Well now, I would be if it had stayed a matter of my wandering about the place. Given that they could have been by the exit to the tunnel within an hour of my leaving, they might have sniffed me out under all that mus
ky cologne I doused myself in.”

  “Hmm, can’t be helped. Saving the boy was worth possibly losing the element of surprise. Humans may play number games with lives, but we can’t start thinking that way ourselves. I need you to bring him here as soon as you’re able.”

  Malcolm stopped and frowned. “You want us in Boston?” That hadn’t been part of the plan. Alex and the others were supposed to come to him so that they could launch an attack.

  “Yes. The boy changes things. We need to utilize him as a source of information as best we can. He may not be in a mental state where he’ll give you everything he knows. I can’t imagine he trusts you.”

  That was true, damn it all. He could see weariness, if not outright fear, in Brenin’s eyes. It could be a long time, if ever, before he’d truly believe Malcolm meant him no harm. They didn’t have a lot of time if they were going to stop Dracul before he launched more misery on the world.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Malcolm confirmed with a grimace.

  “That’s why bringing him here makes sense.” There was a pause. “We haven’t been in touch much lately, so you probably aren’t aware that Val has married a human. And, like Harry did with Lucien, he’s changing his husband for breeding.”

  Malcolm barked out a laugh. “The fuck, you say?” He was that glad to hear of it. While he’d been mostly separated from his brethren after Culloden, he’d caught up with them and their lives from time to time. He knew Val had lost his red-haired laddie long ago in childbirth. “I’m glad of it, and I do hope he’s happy.”

  “He is.” Alex cleared his throat. “And I have entered a committed relationship with a human, although we both think marriage is premature, mostly because he’s so young. He’s my life, as far as I’m concerned. Emil also has a similar situation—and with someone who was abused for years.”

  “You’ve all been busy, for sure, Captain.”

  “We have, even as we’ve fought against Dracul’s most recent battles. The point is these boys understand what’s at stake and may prove more successful in gaining your boy’s trust.”