That shut everyone up, although Emil gave Jase a brutally hard hug and Val swatted Mackie’s arse before doing the same.
Duncan opened the bag he carried. “Here’s the suit and I grabbed a diving knife, too.”
Malcolm took both from him. “Bless you, Sergeant.”
“I, ah…had to guess on the size and ended up taking one from the women’s rack. I also left some money on the counter because I’m a cop and these things are expensive.”
Malcolm was already helping Brenin strip down. “Looks a good fit and I’ll reimburse you the cost.”
“Nah, not necessary. My point was that I didn’t like the idea of a small business being cheated out of their stock.”
“Admirable.”
Malcolm’s attention really wasn’t on the conversation, Brenin realized. The man’s face was extra-grim and his hands appeared a little shaky. Brenin didn’t remark on it, though. He figured this was a weakness that the man rarely showed and it humbled Brenin to know it was on his account. It made him even more determined to succeed.
As he was outfitted for his journey, the others adjusted to the new plan. First Duncan, then Logan and finally the doctor stripped off the Kevlar vests each of them had been wearing and silently handed them over to the boys. Or, rather, they gave them to the boys’ significant others, who muscled them onto their boys, whether they wanted them to or not.
“There, now.” Malcolm patted Brenin’s shoulders, checking the dry suit’s fit. Then he took the knife from Duncan and tucked it into the pocket on the side. The last thing he added was a tiny homing beacon. He’d shown it to Brenin on the way over. Once Brenin had reached the cistern, he was to activate it, so that the others would know he’d made it and the next phase of the operation could begin.
“That should do it, laddie. Ready?” he asked, grabbing his torch.
Not trusting his voice at the moment, Brenin merely nodded. He followed Malcolm up the slope to where a trickle of water turned into a shallow stream and into an overgrown hole in the side of mountain. Malcolm shoved aside the vegetation growing there and ushered Brenin into the dark. It didn’t stay that way for long, however. Malcolm quickly followed and turned on his torch to give them a beam of light to follow.
The dank space made Brenin’s nose twitch and the roots growing from all around them made walking hard. He focused on the illumination and hooked his fingers around Malcom’s waistband for stability. The space was so narrow that they had to walk single file. He would have much preferred to be safely tucked under his lover’s arm. This wasn’t a walk in the woods, however. It was a mission and he needed to keep his nerve and do what only he could for the greater good. If he succeeded, he would have helped eliminate a threat to the entire world.
As the water level rose, the tunnel narrowed. At a certain point, Malcolm squeezed Brenin in front of him. A turn in the bend revealed why.
“Here’s as far as I can go, laddie.” At this point, the water was up to Brenin’s thighs and he was glad for the dry suit. Malcolm’s kilt was sodden and wrapped around the man’s legs. He held out the torch. “You’re going to need this. It’s waterproof.”
Brenin took it. “Right.” The gloves Duncan had taken were flexible, so it was easy to get a good grip on the thing. He used it to highlight the slit in the tunnel he’d have to squeeze through. “It’s going to be a tight fit, mind, given how much you’ve fattened me up.”
He was trying to lighten the moment. Instead, he made his own eyes water with emotion and, next thing he knew, Malcolm was hugging him. “You have a care, now. Don’t take any unnecessary chances.”
“I won’t. I want to survive. I have something to live for now.” It was chancy for sure, but he needed to be brave in all things. “I love you, Malcolm.” He buried his face into the man’s chest and hugged him with all the strength he had.
“Och, laddie, you stole my line.”
Brenin lifted his head. “Really?”
Malcolm nodded. “Aye. I didnae want to distract you with something as heavy as my feelings right at the moment. Now that you’ve said it, though, I can admit my own.” He kissed him, then, the kind that stole Brenin’s breath at the very moment he needed all of it.
Brenin didn’t mind. He used the opportunity to borrow some of Malcolm’s courage by inhaling his scent. Then, sensing he would have to be the one to end things, he broke away. Without another word, he plunged forward.
The narrow opening was only the half of it. The tunnel didn’t widen appreciably after that for quite a distance. All the while, the water rose until only his head was above it, and he bounced along the floor on the balls of his feet. When he needed to go underwater, he took two deep breaths and let them out. On the third, he went under and clawed his way sideways along the tunnel.
The space mercifully opened sufficiently for him to swim horizontally instead. He could go faster that way, and there was no good estimate of how far it was to the cistern. His limit on holding his breath was seventy-five meters. Not bad for an amateur swimmer, but it also meant he had to estimate how far he’d gone so that he could turn around when and if necessary.
He wasted no time shooting through the tunnel. It was easy, this. He’d always liked the peace and liberating feeling that came from swimming, especially underwater where there was nothing to see or feel other than its cocooning embrace.
This was no sanitized pool, though. The tunnel was icky, in a horror movie kind of way. He half-expected eyes to stare back at him as he flashed the beam of light in front of him or hands to reach out from the slimy dirt walls. If he allowed himself to think about it too hard, he’d freak out. He couldn’t let that happen. Besides, the mud turned to metal quickly. The sight gave him heart. He’d obviously entered the part where the cistern had been created. He was almost at his destination.
A few meters more and his heart sank. The monster hadn’t been so stupid as to leave an entry to his fortress. A metal mesh grate barred his way. Swimming up to it, Brenin showed the light around the edges of the bar. It was a kind of door with hinges on one side and a padlock on the other. Brenin wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the grate and tugged. He pulled with all his might, trying various points—the lock and even the hinges. Nothing gave. The thing was slimy, and clearly old, yet it wasn’t compromised and held fast. Beyond the barrier, he could see the cistern. He was so close to his goal.
A burn in Brenin’s lungs told him his time was running out. He had to get back to Malcolm so they could figure out a way for him to get past this roadblock. Reluctantly, he turned around in the tight space and took off back the way he’d come. A wave of dizziness washed over him and the urge to breathe became overwhelming. He’d come farther than he’d realized. Or no, he’d judged his capacity based on the boy he used to be—fit, well-fed, in perfect health. He wasn’t that boy anymore, hadn’t been for months now.
It was going to be a close call as to whether he could reach air before his lungs gave out. He would do it, though. He had to because Malcolm, who loved him, was waiting on the other side.
* * * *
It was taking too long. Malcolm braced himself against the dirt wall and tried to push away his worry. Not possible. The beacon in his hand remained silent. Brenin hadn’t reached the cistern. It had only been a few minutes since he’d let the boy go, the hardest thing he’d ever done. Not even watching the life leave Fergus’ eyes had taken such a toll on Malcolm’s emotions. He loved Brenin and, miraculously, the boy loved him back. Perhaps it was only circumstantial and, after this hard work was finished, Brenin would realize his love was only gratitude. If that were the case, it would kill Malcolm to let him go. He would do it, though, because Brenin alive was all that really mattered.
How long can a human go without breathing? A couple of minutes, maybe longer for a good underwater swimmer. But was Brenin even that, still? He’d been a prisoner for months. The boy wasn’t in good shape. Damn it to hell. Malcolm knew that and had still let him go? Yes, for the gr
eater good, he had.
Fuck that.
He whipped off his sweater and kilt. Kicked off boots and socks, then, shoving the beacon into his smallclothes, he charged the narrow opening. It was merely dirt and roots and it was only his skin to lose. He pressed against the constriction, scraping every inch of himself. He could feel his flesh turning to dust. His nose broke against a jutting rock. The taste of his own blood fueled his efforts. All the while, he hoped to feel the beacon go off, and when it didn’t, he redoubled his efforts, grunting with the pain, yet determined to reach Brenin, no matter the cost.
The mountain was an unforgiving bitch. She pressed him, making it impossible for him to go far. The tunnel was filled with water at the point he started to flail against the impediment. Holding his breath was nothing. His lungs could hold a lot and naturally suppressed the carbon dioxide. But his fucking body was too damn big to squeeze through.
He peered into the murk. Brenin!
Like that, the boy appeared, a ghostly apparition that was obviously in distress. Malcolm shot his hand out as far as his arm could reach. Brenin managed to clasp it. Malcolm yanked him forward before releasing his hand to grab the back of his head. Pressing their lips together, Malcolm opened his mouth. He used his tongue to force Brenin to do the same, then breathed into him.
The boy, bless him, caught on quick and inhaled. As he gave his love the very breath in his lungs, Malcolm clawed his way back. Having done nearly as much damage to the tunnel walls as they had done to him, retreat was quicker. He had Brenin at a point where he could lift his head above the water in seconds—long, long ones that nearly stopped Malcolm’s heart from fear. He didn’t lose the sense of terror until Brenin gulped in a great breath on his own. Malcolm wasted no time on his relief. Instead, he muscled them both out. When they reached the entryway, he collapsed on the floor and pulled Brenin onto his lap.
They sat there shaking for long minutes, saying nothing and everything at the same time. It was Brenin, in the end, who showed the greater courage by pushing away from Malcolm’s embrace and explaining what had happened.
Malcolm listened then wrapped his kilt around the boy. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He returned to the group, who sat silently where he’d left them. “Who has the bolt-cutters?”
Logan pulled the tool out and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks and turned to leave. He caught Alex’s gaze and wanted nothing more than to rail at the man for everything Brenin was going through. That would have been foolish, he knew. This wasn’t Alex’s fault, none of it. It was Malcolm’s because it all started a thousand Earth years ago when Malcolm hadn’t done the right thing and warned his captain that his chief navigator wasn’t up to the job.
Tonight he’d rectify that mistake.
Chapter Eleven
Brenin figured that many people might think him awfully brave to plunge back into that tunnel after nearly drowning. To his way of thinking, it was Malcolm who’d shown the most courage. He’d let Brenin do it. The price he’d paid emotionally had been written across his face. He’d said nothing, actually, as he’d handed the bolt-cutters over. His handsome face and magnificent body were battered and scarred from his Herculean effort to reach Brenin. If he hadn’t done it, Brenin was pretty sure he would have drowned. It had been that close.
But there was no point in dwelling on it. This time, he made it through. As he hoisted himself onto the ledge around the cistern, he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the place. It was ancient and someone had taken care to add art to something that was functional. The water that dripped down from the roof when it rained ended its journey in a space that pleased the eye. He was likely one of only a few who would ever see it.
He stopped his wool-gathering and pulled out the beacon. Pressing the button was immensely satisfying because he could picture the relief Malcolm felt seeing that Brenin was safe. Well, he’d made it into the castle, at least. Saying that he was safe was a bit of a stretch. The mission was far from over.
He stripped off the dry suit and his underwear. He’d given this part of the plan some thought. If he was going to try to blend into the kitchen staff as one of them, being naked made the most sense. He’d seen very little of those other boys, only those who cleaned the monster’s personal lair. They’d been either naked or wearing short, rough kilts. As hard as it was for him to strip off his clothing and his dignity, it was practical. So was leaving the knife behind. There was nowhere to hide it on his person, and really, he doubted he could use it effectively to fight off any of the guards.
Because the castle’s inhabitants drew from the cistern for all their water needs, the kitchen was right above it. That made sense and worked perfectly into the plans. He found an ancient stone staircase leading up. It was dusty and full of cobwebs. He powered through his natural disgust for all of it and eventually reached a point at which he gauged he’d gone up an entire floor level. Slowing his steps, he creeped around the last curve until he found himself in front of a door.
It had rusty hinges and a latch handle, testament to its age and disuse. Of course, the water was drawn through pipes. There was no need for anyone to actually go down to the cistern. Nevertheless, he had no way of knowing whether he’d walk directly into the kitchen or somewhere more remote. He pressed his ear to the door and, hearing nothing, went ahead and pulled on the latch.
He winced at the squeak it made and opened it only so much as needed to slip through. He found himself in darkness but, of course, he had left the torch with the knife. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was a storage room and, beyond that, he found a hallway that lead to the kitchen.
His heart beat double time and his palms went clammy. This was it. Either he succeeded in going out into the back courtyard unimpeded or the slaves milling about would all stop, point their fingers at him and screech out a warning.
Okay, he was being silly. This wasn’t a remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. If he kept his head bowed, likely none of them would recognize him. He’d been face-down in the monster’s crotch or on the bed any time they’d come into the room. Few, if any, of the guards had seen him, either. Even if he were recognized, the worst that would happen was he’d be dragged up to Dracul. If that was the outcome, he was already prepared to confess he’d been hiding inside the castle all along. Malcolm and the others would find another way in. He had to have faith in that.
Hunching his shoulders, he bent over, picked up some random nearby bag and shuffled into the kitchen. Being night, there were only a couple of boys about. One was on his knees servicing a guard, so neither of them paid any attention. Brenin could feel the other boy’s gaze on him for a few seconds, but it came to nothing. He was able to go straight to the back door, open it and step outside.
He scanned the area before heading to the spot Malcolm had shown him where the surveillance camera was stationed. He could see it easily enough once he’d arrived, so he had no trouble blocking it with his body. Whatever guard manned the security room would see only a dumb human fussing with a bag. Brenin made sure, as well, to place his privates in the frame of the camera in the hope of being a distraction. It sickened him to do it, but nothing compared to keeping Malcolm safe.
A couple of flashes in the corner of his eye told him that his lover and Val had entered the kitchen. Now, Brenin just had to wait until the others confirmed the coast was clear. It didn’t take long. They emerged from the woods. Dropping the bag, Brenin joined them. He had to blink back tears of relief when he entered the kitchen and saw Malcolm taping one of the boys’ mouths shut. The other was already rendered mute and they both had their hands zip-tied behind their back. An empty pile of clothing and a bit of dust lay where the guard had only recently been feeding his dick to one of the slaves.
While Quinn and the other boys went to soothe and guide the humans into one corner, Brenin went to his man. Malcolm greeted him with a quick kiss and a broad smile.
“I’m that proud of yo
u, Brenin, my lad. The rest is up to me and the others. You stay put at the spot we’ve delegated. No place is safe, but at least it’s out of the way of every exit. Under no circumstances are you to confront anyone. Understand?”
“Aye.” He gave him a cheeky grin.
“Good lad. And here… Put this on. You’ve been awfully brave running around in your altogether. This will keep you warm.”
Malcolm had pulled out Benin’s clothing, except he also had a kilt in his hands. It was just like the one he was wearing, except smaller. He handed it to Brenin with an unusual uncertainty in his eyes. “I’d intended to give this to you when this was over. Now seems a better time.”
“I’ll be proud to wear it,” Brenin said, conveying, he hoped, all of his love and respect for the man and understanding how momentous it was to wear someone’s plaid.
“Right, then,” Malcolm said with a nod. “Let’s finish this.”
* * * *
“It won’t be long now. The brat will be born, the slut will die and your father’s cooperation will no longer be necessary. Then you’ll be all mine. Dracul has promised.”
Demi rammed his elbow into Kronid’s gut, smiling in satisfaction when the guy grunted. His bravado didn’t last long, however. Kronid grabbed Demi by the hair and yanked his head back.
“You’ll need disciplining. I look forward to that, too, cunt.” The asshole clamped his teeth around Demi’s earlobe and scraped.
“Demi!” His father’s voice rang out over Dafydd’s pitiful moaning. “I need you here. Now!”
Kronid had no choice but to release him and Demi wasn’t embarrassed to flee to the relative safety of his father’s side. He trembled as fear threatened to overtake his optimism. Dafydd’s time had come and yet rescue hadn’t. It wasn’t worry about himself that was overwhelming him, so much as the sure knowledge that, even if Dracul intended to keep Demi’s father alive, the moment Demi was thrown to Kronid for his amusement, Papa would die trying to stop it.
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