Bailey Morgan [Seven Brothers for McBride 1] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “I don’t know that he ran. I only know that he left.”

  Narrowing his gaze, McBride assessed Caleb. “And you didn’t have anything to do with him going?” McBride wouldn’t put it past Caleb to intimidate the companion of his master.

  Rather than react as McBride expected, Caleb looked down at the table and a profound sadness darkened his features. McBride had expected anger at being obliquely accused of wrongdoing, but what he got was a man in torment.

  “Did you hurt Jonas?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with Jonas.” Caleb’s fist clenched and then released. It was clear he didn’t like Jonas, but why?

  “If Jonas bought you, then why didn’t you have anything to do with him?”

  “Because he wasn’t my true master.”

  “My father was.” McBride thought he now understood.

  “No he wasn’t. Jonas bought us.” Caleb looked up briefly then returned his attention to the table. “But neither man was my true master.”

  Only through years of training was McBride able to absorb the information without exposing his shock. All along he thought his father had bought the Morgan brothers, but, apparently, his companion had brought them into the relationship. As tempted as he was to ask about Caleb’s true master, he refrained, because he had a feeling it would only drag him into an argument.

  “Explain to me how it worked with your brothers, Jonas, and my father.” McBride needed to understand the dynamics so he could ascertain if Jonas would be back in an attempt to reclaim his property.

  “Jonas would feed from us and then in turn feed your father.” Caleb kept his gaze lowered.

  McBride had heard of some masters doing that. They kept their companion well fed by providing him with multiple slammers. It seemed Jonas had come into his relationship with McBride’s father already owning his own blood stock. But that begged the question of how had his father fed throughout the years?

  “You had no scar until I came,” McBride pointed out. He’d found that odd at the time but then thought he simply hadn’t examined his neck closely enough. Doing so now revealed he only had the one mark, which was the scar McBride had made against his bronzed skin.

  After a brief hesitation, Caleb said, “Jonas was very gentle.”

  McBride wondered then why the other brothers had had scars. Only Caleb hadn’t been marked. Had he been untouched? A curious thrill tightened McBride’s belly, but he dismissed the notion. It simply didn’t matter, but he wondered why Caleb was lying. “My father never directly fed from you?”

  “No.”

  If all of what Caleb said was true, then why was he afraid of the restrictor? McBride had threatened him with it once, noticed his reaction, and never threatened him with it again until tonight. As a law official, McBride knew when to push a suspect and when to retreat. He had a feeling that if he asked anymore about the situation, Caleb would clam up tight and not speak another word. So McBride let the matter go. For now.

  Considering Caleb’s slump-shouldered position at the head of the table, McBride was stunned to realize he didn’t enjoy Caleb when he was thoughtful and reflective. He liked him proud and arrogant. Damn. He shouldn’t be having such thoughts about Caleb at all. McBride should see him as nothing more than a slammer who worked his land and offered up his neck.

  McBride moved until he stood behind Caleb. Usually he fed from all his slammers in this position—he stood behind them while they sat. That way, he could drink, his slammer could masturbate and so could McBride if he chose to, but they did so without touching. And McBride had the joy of watching his men find satisfaction. Long ago he’d heard the term voyeur, never thinking of it in connection with himself until he came here. But he was because he thoroughly enjoyed watching his slammers jack off.

  “Put your hands on the table. Palms down.”

  “I won’t fight you.” Caleb suddenly sounded decades older and very tired.

  “Good. Put your hands on the table. Palms down. And don’t make me repeat that order again, or I will have no choice but to use the restrictor.”

  Caleb did as instructed. His massive hands were dry and callused, but not from picking the rough husks of the tallos, because he wore gloves for that, but from the other work he did on the farm. Caleb kept the machinery running, including the mechanical houses. McBride knew he probably did something else, too, but he simply didn’t know his inherited brothers that well yet. He’d only been here for a few months and had spent far more time at work than on the farm.

  “Present your neck.”

  Caleb tilted his head to the side.

  Since McBride had ordered him to place his hands on the table, he couldn’t very well expect him to pull his hair aside. If McBride were honest with himself, he’d realize that he’d given himself another opportunity to handle Caleb’s compelling hair.

  Without touching him, McBride leaned forward and breathed against the scar on Caleb’s neck.

  Caleb’s fingers dug into the surface of the table.

  Having never been fed from, McBride didn’t know exactly what it felt like to have a bite mark teased, but from what he’d seen and read, it was like any other erogenous zone, except it was far more sensitive. For some unknown reason, the nerves around the scar multiplied and became exquisitely attuned to the master’s touch. If Caleb were to stroke his own scar, he wouldn’t feel anything but a regular touch. If another man who had not fed from him touched the scar, he wouldn’t feel much of anything, either. But when McBride touched the mark he had made, there was a powerful reaction. Even his breath surged pleasure over Caleb’s mighty frame.

  “You like it when I feed.”

  Caleb didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The truth was obvious.

  “The fabric of your pants must be straining to accommodate the swelling of your cock.” Gently, McBride stroked his fingers over the scar, which taunted Caleb with his touch but teased McBride with the softness of his hair. Smoothing the strands over the scar enhanced their arousal fairly equally. “I’m going to free my prick and stroke myself while you sit with your hands on the table.”

  McBride certainly didn’t need to tell Caleb what he was doing, but he did because he wanted to enhance his suffering. That thumb gesture flashed in his mind. One way or another, McBride was going to ensure his slammer never did that to him again. Not to his face, at any rate. What he did behind McBride’s back was immaterial since he couldn’t observe him morning, noon, and night, but he could ensure his owned man was not oozing insolence to his very face.

  Moving slowly, McBride unzipped his trousers so that Caleb could hear each tooth of the zipper pulling apart. Once he was freed, McBride sighed against Caleb’s scar, causing him to tense.

  “Zooks, my cock aches.” McBride eased Caleb’s hair away from his neck. He stood up suddenly, gathered a hank of his hair, then smoothed it against his shaft. The urge to climax was powerful, but McBride pulled himself away before he found release. That was not how a master behaved with his slammer. Lowering his lips to the scar, he bit delicately and started to stroke his own cock.

  Caleb uttered a moan and arched his neck.

  Remembering the feel of Caleb’s hair against his sensitized flesh pushed McBride into readiness for release. As he drank, Caleb stayed very still with his hands on the tabletop. Caleb’s fingers were turning white from his effort to leave them there and not lower them to his own needy prick.

  The taste of Caleb’s blood was richer than any of the other men. McBride didn’t know what it was about Caleb that made this so, but it was. Perhaps Caleb tasted sweeter because of McBride’s perverse attraction to him. When he hungered, it was Caleb’s neck he craved, Caleb’s body he wanted to press against, and Caleb’s growl of pleasure he wanted to hear when they both finally found release.

  McBride was on the verge of climax when the wireless device that was implanted under his right earlobe pinged, demanding his attention. Obviously, he was close enough for Caleb to have heard it as well be
cause he groaned.

  “Don’t stop,” Caleb begged, causing McBride to wonder if he might climax without touching himself.

  McBride would love to ignore the incoming call, but he couldn’t. Two of his deputies were sick and several of the backups were on vacation. He was one of the only men able to handle law enforcement calls at the moment.

  Tearing his mouth away, McBride straightened and hastily shoved his now doubly aching cock into his trousers and zipped up. His bloodlust had been assuaged, but his sexual lust was more aggravated than ever. He hoped that the call was just a check-in, but that hope faded fast when he tapped twice in rapid succession. The dispatcher gave him the address of a home on the edge of town. In hushed tones, the man described a horrific scene.

  “They need you there ASAP, Sheriff. And bring your biomask.”

  That particular addendum was not good. Dispatch didn’t suggest such a protective device unless the scene was extremely dangerous. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Faster would be better.”

  “I can’t teleport myself there, now can I?” McBride immediately regretted his harsh tone. The new dispatcher was young and had barely been out of the learning academy before he was placed in a demanding position. Besides, McBride wasn’t angry at him or even the situation. McBride was furious because his balls ached and it would be hours before he could even hope for release. “I will be there as quickly as I can.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff McBride.”

  “Over and out.” With two flicks he turned the device off.

  “You didn’t come.”

  “No.” McBride took a deep breath.

  “Let me suck you off.” The offer hung in the air between them. Finally, Caleb turned and looked right up into McBride’s eyes. “Ten seconds and—”

  “You’ll be telling everyone.”

  “I won’t tell. Ever.”

  As tempting as the idea was, because McBride knew that it would probably take less than ten seconds for him to find his release in Caleb’s mouth, he would not use him that way. It was inappropriate not to mention illegal.

  Without a word, McBride strode from the house. He left the restrictor where it was mainly because he didn’t have time to put it away, but also as a reminder to Caleb to keep his place. Once he had the door closed, McBride locked it. He simply didn’t trust Caleb not to make trouble. He was now stuck in his house with a restrictor and a prod. That should give him plenty to think about.

  On his way to his dressiter, McBride also locked Bailey’s door. He did this just on the off chance one of the other brothers got the idea to try out Bailey’s new companion.

  “A good lock keeps an honest man honest,” McBride reminded himself. From the closet in the stable he pulled out a fresh shirt, jacket, and slipped a biomask into his pocket. As he rode, he dressed in clean clothing. He was afraid the smell of sex and frustration would cling to his soiled garments. He doubted anyone had a nose that sensitive, but it bothered him, so he took care of the worry. By doing that, he freed his attention to focus solely on the crime scene he would see. It was what made him a very good lawman. When he was working a case, he didn’t let personal issues distract him.

  In under six minutes he had arrived at the home where the crime had occurred. He didn’t have to get any closer than the front of the house to know he needed to put the mask on before he entered. There was a large picture window that faced the street. Blood arched across the entire width. McBride wasn’t an expert, but it looked like a gush of arterial spray.

  He settled the mask over his face, climbed off his mount, tossed the reins to an underling, and then went inside. His blood-filled belly roiled. All the pleasure he’d gained from feeding off Caleb disappeared. Blood and body parts were strewn around the main room. In the center of the chaos was a crimetech in a full-body protector and biomask.

  “What can you tell me?”

  He shook his head and pointed back out the way McBride had come in. McBride returned to the front yard of the house. He thought they did this so they could talk without the masks, but the crimetech shook his head when McBride lifted his hand to slip his mask off.

  “Don’t remove it. Before you go home, we’ll burn it and everything you’re wearing.”

  In short, halting sentences that conveyed his obvious terror, the man described how the owner of the home had become increasingly ill. He hungered for his slammers more and more but felt less and less satisfied when he fed. Enraged when they couldn’t sate his bloodlust, the man, Larsden, brought them into the main room, one by one, and literally tore them apart.

  “With his bare hands?” McBride considered the kind of strength that would take.

  “With his bare hands,” the crimetech confirmed. “At this point it’s purely speculative, but I believe he was being overly satisfied by the blood he was drinking. At least physically, he was. Only in his mind did he not feel full.”

  McBride remembered reading of a case where too much blood had temporarily given a man superhuman strength. Most men stopped well before that point. Their bellies could only hold so much, and most men didn’t have the number of slammers it took to drink such a volume of blood.

  “But why the biomasks?” McBride stroked his finger over the curious contours of the unit. To him, the mask made everyone look like they had comically large blue lips.

  “I think it’s a blood-borne pathogen.”

  A tingle of fear raced down McBride’s spine. Such a disease could affect the populace in multiple ways. If they drank, touched, or breathed tainted blood, they could be exposed. McBride looked down at his boots. They were his favorite pair, but he’d walked in the house, so they would have to be burned along with everything else he was wearing. His entire body needed to be scrubbed down and rinsed with potent chemicals that would destroy bacteria, viruses—everything.

  “Something got into the blood and made him thirst uncontrollably.”

  “Like a virus?”

  Slowly, the crimetech nodded.

  McBride no longer cared how goofy the mask looked. He wouldn’t take it off even at gun point. A virus was what had turned the world into its present state. In the academy, McBride had learned that the Earth was once populated with two sexes—men and women. But a plague swept the globe, killing all the females and changing the men into blood drinkers. There had been eons of chaos until the present system had been constructed. Once the Earth had been stabilized they’d colonized other worlds. The very idea of another plague sweeping the populace and changing the blood drinkers into insatiable killers was chilling.

  “Keep this under wraps for now.”

  The man nodded.

  “Make sure anyone who goes in is protected and scrub them down when they come out.”

  “I’ve already ordered the shower units.” He pointed. “I had them set up in the backyard to avoid undue speculation.”

  “Good man.” McBride would go that way to have himself sanitized. He looked around at the neighborhood and was relieved to discover Larsden lived in an isolated area. They might just be able to get a handle on this before it got out of hand or started a panic. “Until we confirm what we’re dealing with, I want limited access to the blood. Eyes only. For now, we’re going to spin the tale of a deadly combination of blood, sexual, and emotional lust driving a master to insanity.” There was some irony to that as McBride had always feared that’s what would happen to him. Although, to be fair, he never had that fear until he’d found himself so inexplicably attracted to Caleb. “I want you to interview his coworkers and others who knew him.”

  “But I’m crimetech.”

  “I know, but you’re in the know here, and I want to keep this as quiet as possible.”

  “Understood.”

  “I’m sorry, what’s your name?” McBride realized since he’d been so overwhelmed with taking on his father’s job in addition to his farm he didn’t know half the names of the men he worked with.

  “Quintus.”

  McBride re
sisted the urge to extend his hand and shake. Instead, they nodded to one another.

  “Keep me updated via wireless.” McBride wanted to reach up and tap his ear, but again, he resisted the urge.

  Quintus returned to the house as McBride washed down in the bioshower in the back. Per regulations, he disposed of his clothing and put on the temporary paper garments that would get him home.

  Should the crimetech’s suspicions be true, there would be a panic of epic proportions when the information inevitably leaked out.

  Chapter 8

  Bailey woke with Ferris snuggled up against his chest. He kissed the top of his head and sighed. Never had he awakened with a smile on his face. Oh, he’d woken up happy, but not like this. He was blissfully cheerful. Bailey couldn’t remember ever being this excited to start a new day. What he felt was regular happiness times by about a billion.

  Today he would get to have his first taste of blood. He quivered with anticipation. Having never fed that way, he was curious about what to expect. He knew the taste of blood. Like most men, when he cut his fingers, his first impulse was to put the bleeding digit in his mouth. Bailey had enjoyed the slick, coppery taste, but he knew it was different to drink from another.

  As a slammer, he wasn’t guaranteed a companion. By law, he had no right to buy one or to even expect his master to purchase one for him. Most slammers never craved blood, not the way alphas like McBride did. McBride couldn’t live without a steady, frequent diet of blood and food. But Bailey was different. He could live on food alone and be perfectly content. However, if he ate food and drank blood, he would provide richer nourishment for his master. It was a good incentive to get the landed gentry to buy their slammers mates, but not all of them did. Some simply couldn’t afford the extra men, but McBride had seen fit to let him have a companion. Why he was so magnanimous, Bailey wasn’t certain. Yes, his blood would be better, but not so much to justify the expense of a thrall as fine as Ferris. Bailey had seen other slammers with companions, but they were generally sickly and weak. He supposed he could have asked, but there was an old saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Horses had died in the plague that changed the world, but Bailey still understood the gist of the sentiment. It would be unwise for him to question McBride’s generosity. So Bailey didn’t. Instead, he pulled his mate close and thanked his master for his munificence.