Frustration became a scream and Orin shoved himself up just as a hand locked on the damn tracking bracelet around his ankle.
Good God, didn’t she know when to quit?
“Orin, don’t leave. Please…”
Yeah, right. Like he was going to stay here. No way. There was no way he was going back down this road again.
“Fuck you!” Orin yanked away, almost fell again, and bumped into an end table with a lamp. It hit the floor with a clunk and the bulb burst. He walked right through the glass, not caring that he took half of it with him in the soles of his feet.
Orin headed for the elevator and wouldn’t you know it, Prince of Perfect had the fucking nerve to flash him one of those blue-eyed pissed off glares. The jerk opened his mouth to say something and turned a little like he might come at him, but Orin cut him off with a snarl. “Keep the fuck away from me or I swear to you I will eat out your throat.”
And then the asshole had the nerve to look at Orin like it was his life that was just thrown down the shitter.
Orin slapped the Lobby button and the door closed. On the way down he tried to button the shirt but someone had disconnected his hands from his brain. He gave up and yanked the overcoat tight around him, feeling all the more like a professional pervert. Didn’t matter, it would keep him covered until he could get out of here, and away from her.
God of Man, how could he have been so stupid? All these years of Females trying to mark him and he’d been so careful. But then, he’d never thought it would be Haley.
When the elevator opened into the lobby Orin moved, pulling what metaphysical heat he had left to hide himself and headed the only place he could.
An hour later and after almost two miles through night-covered side streets and private back yards, Orin fished out the key to his front door from under the stepping stone near the porch. He unlocked it, slid inside and shoved it closed. With a flip he threw the lock home. As if it would do any good if Haley came knocking. The scent of his domain filled his nose and the muscles in his chest eased a little.
Mr. Jingles encircled his feet and let it be known he was one unhappy cat, having been left behind. Orin managed two steps before his knees gave out. His exhaustion was a mix of violence, fear, shame and the metaphysical ties. All together it made for one hell of a suicide drink.
Mr. Jingles kept meowing, spinning, turning, purring. He put his dainty little feet on Orin’s shoulder and bumped his head against his cheek.
“Good to see you too.” Orin tried to raise his hand but it just weighed too much. Haley had taken everything he had. His strength. His metaphysical heat. His freedom.
Mr. Jingles let out a yowl, then darted into the kitchen. It sounded like he was standing next to the fridge begging for his evening hand outs. Poor cat was gonna waste away without his plate of fresh shrimp. Orin almost laughed but wound up with a burning wetness in the corner of his eyes which flowed like a river down his cheeks.
On some deep level Orin knew Haley had marked him to keep him from going to Rehbek’ah, but it didn’t change the results. He was owned. He belonged. He was forever a servant to Haley’s need. Stripped of who he was. And now…now there was all this stuff…feelings, sensations, and it hurt. Goddamn, it hurt.
Orin’s chest muscles jerked and were chased by a horrible sound coming out of his throat. The weight of it all was so powerful it drew him forward and onto his side, racked him…destroyed him.
It was then that Orin realized with a terrifying awe that he was crying.
Chapter 50
When Farley opened his eyes he was alone. Heikman was gone. Not that he was going to miss the son-of-a-bitch.
Fuck, he hurt.
And if that didn’t beat all, his face was glued to the carpet. The blood made a sticky sound as he peeled himself free.
He needed food and warmth but they were at opposite ends of the room. Farley dropped his head between his shoulders and decided to head for the shower first, only because it was closer.
In a slow crawl he made his way across the carpet, leaving a trail of green. When he hit the cold tile his legs kicked and his arms folded.
Maybe he should have gone for the food first.
Counting to three, with intentions of forcing himself up when he hit the magic number, Farley concentrated on getting his legs and arms to work. But there was no telling how long he’d laid there on the carpet stuck to the floor like a fly on glue. The damage Heikman had done was extensive; Farley didn’t need a mirror to figure that out. He could feel it. With the burn gone he only had the pain, because no one had offered him blood to heal.
In the Dens even the most violent encounters led Farley to feeding from someone. The need was like that, a two way street of want. Even the most dominant Male liked to have blood pulled, and after they were sated, they were more often than not in a pretty giving mood.
Apparently the same couldn’t be said for Heikman.
Though, it did occur to Farley that might be his fault. After all, he’d jacked the Lesser-Bred high enough to commit a carnal act of violence. Losing that kind of control screwed with a Human’s head. And there was enough Human in Heikman the man was probably speed dialing his shrink right now.
Maybe with any luck he’d throw himself off a balcony or eat a bullet.
Even though it was fun, fantasizing about the asshole offing himself it wasn’t getting Farley anywhere. It most certainly wasn’t getting him into the tub, which was where he needed to be.
No doubt, Human forms just sucked sometimes. They healed fast and took less food, but then they broke too easily. A trade off. Like everything else, it came with a price.
Farley tried again, pushing with his arms and then his legs. He got one elbow over the edge when the chills hit him all the way to his marrow. Not wanting to lose what little foothold he had, Farley held on while his back seized and the muscles in his thigh jumped like live wires.
It’ll pass, he told himself. He just had to hang on and not lose his grip. Gritting his teeth, he clung to the porcelain edge, praying for his body to give him a three minute break. Apparently the God of Man wasn’t in a giving mood, or maybe he just didn’t listen to the pleas of wyrms. Farley wasn’t sure which. Didn’t care really. He clenched his eyes shut and held on.
Then like magic, the bath water cut on.
Holy crap, there really is a God.
“Easy there, little one.”
Oh, no. God did not just call him little one.
Farley opened his mouth to tell God he could fuck off when warm hands picked him up and lowered him into the scalding water. The heat on his raw flesh was like jacking off with a dry palm. It hurt at first but eventually the feel-good part won out.
“Here, eat.”
A piece of meat was shoved under his nose. Farley glared at God trying to figure out why the hell he looked so damn familiar.
And what the hell was with all the face hardware?
“You’re not God,” Farley said. Shit, was that his voice? He sounded like a three pack a day smoker coming off a ten year scotch binge. “What the hell are you doing back in here?”
A wry smile tugged at Lor’s lips. Farley noticed there was an ugly bruise still fading out on the side of his face. Which meant the healing injury had been deep and very recent.
“What’s so funny?” ‘Cause the Kin was smiling and his eyes glinted like he was pulling one hell of an inner har-har. Farley tried to pull out of his grasp, succeeded, and promptly went under. Apparently that whole warning that it only takes few inches of water to drown, was true.
The only reason Farley came back up was because Lor hooked a hand under his pit and held him in place. This time the smile the Dominant wore cracked into a grin and Farley bared his fangs.
Lor shoved a piece of meat into Farley’s mouth. “Chew or choke.”
He chewed, cussing with every grind of his teeth.
“Something tells me you’re going to make a habit of this.” Lor’s yellow eyes flashed
and he brought another piece of meat to Farley’s mouth.
It took just about everything for Farley to keep his jaws moving to chew the food Lor kept shoving into his mouth. Several times his head dipped forward as he had minor black outs.
He knew he was losing time because during the first episode, the water quit running. The second one Lor brought him around with a pat to the cheek, by the third and fourth he just assumed that was the reason why he’d blink and the view would be changed when his eyelids came back up.
Lor reached down and stripped the remains of the ragged trousers from Farley’s legs and threw them on the floor. Farley didn’t fight when Lor rolled him to the side and took a good long look at his back, then tipped him to the right to see his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have lived through this. Last time I saw him feed like this, the Male didn’t last five minutes.”
“I’ve lived through worse.” Which was true. Darco was no picnic when he was in a mood.
Lor’s face darkened. “How did you get him to stop?”
Farley sneered, “Good sex has its uses.”
The Dominant made a face and forced Farley to swallow down more meat. “Heikman doesn’t fuck what he eats.”
Farley met the Male’s gaze head on. “He does now.”
Lore looked away. Very few Dominants would have done that. “You pissed him off, you know.” The Male reached over and grabbed the body wash left on the tub’s edge and squeezed out the entire contents, coating Farley’s shoulders and head.
Great, fucking strawberries all over again.
Farley had to shut his eyes and mouth as it ran down his face like paint. A slosh of water then a cloth hit his cheek, nose, mouth, neck.
When he could talk without getting a mouthful of suds he said, “I’ll buy him some flowers and we can make up.”
“He’s dangerous when he’s mad.”
Farley gave a snort. “Something tells me mad or happy, that motherfucker is just dangerous.”
Lor stopped for a second and made a sound that might have been a small laugh. “I’m going to roll you forward and wash your back. The wounds are closed enough. Let me know if it hurts. I’ll stop and we’ll wait a little longer if it does.”
“Why are you doing this?” Farley winced when the cloth swept over his wounds. “What?”
“This…” Farley said nodding. “This right here.”
The Male made a sound. “Because if I don’t you’ll die.”
“And let me guess, Heikman doesn’t fuck what he eats.” The Dominant stayed quiet. “So how long have you two been an item?” The cloth hit Farley in the face bringing on a wave of water. He sputtered. Two more and he was able to blink.
“Eight years.”Lor’s tone was flat. Bitter.
“I think you could do better.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
Farley eyed the Male. He was one of those who carved himself hard. A Strong face, all angles, and a mass of long hair so gold it didn’t look real. But he was a true Dominant. Not a submissive or mid-ranked using size as a bluff, or just a plain old bully. So he should have had loads of choices.
Farley said, “I don’t see a collar around your neck.”
Lor shook his head. “I was given to him by my Queen to pay a debt. That’s all the collar Heikman needs and he knows it.”
With remarkable gentleness Lor kept bathing him. The expression of concentration on the Male’s face seemed so natural for him. It should have been obvious to the Dominant Farley no longer needed help. The cramps had stopped minutes ago but Lor didn’t seem interested in giving up the job. Having something to take care of seemed important to him, so Farley let him.
Besides, it felt nice.
Lor pushed Farley’s head from one way to the next, running his hands through his hair and checking behind his ears. When Lor seemed satisfied he grabbed a towel and before Farley could stop the Dominant, he was being hoisted out of the water and wrapped up.
“I’ll be fine now.” Farley pushed, trying to get out of his grasp.
“No, you won’t.”
“Look, z’all good. Seriously.” Lor rumbled but stopped. “I’ll be fine, put me down.” Lor obeyed and as soon as Farley had his feet on the ground his legs went out. At least the spot of carpet he landed on was clean.
“Son of a bitch.” Then if that didn’t beat all, the shivers started up again. “Fuck.”
“Are you satisfied, little one?”
“Quit calling me that, I’m not a fucking puppy.”
Lor picked Farley up and carried him to the bed. He stripped off the top blanket, removing most of the blood stains. Even under the two bottom blankets and the sheet Farley couldn’t get warm. Lor peeled off his shirt. There were more bruises. Sharp dark lines, black and blue, painted across his dark bronze skin. The wounds had been deep. Really deep.
Lor slid in next to him.
“W-why am I c-cold again?” Farley asked.
Lor tucked Farley against his chest and curled around him. Heat broke over the Dominant’s skin like a sauna and Farley’s body unfolded, sucking up the warmth.
“Like I said. You shouldn’t be alive.”
Farley tried to crane his neck around to get a good look, but Lor brought his arm down, pinning him.
“Give it a few hours. You don’t want to throw up what you just ate.”
Christ. Okay, maybe he didn’t want to look.
“Sleep,” Lor said. He shut his eyes and kicked up a thrum in his chest. Metaphysical energy rippled the air. The warmth radiating from him felt good and sank into Farley’s bones, warming him like no hot bath could. He pressed himself closer to the other Male, letting his body drink every bit he offered.
With his head tucked under Lor’s chin Farley asked, “How often does he feed?”
“No questions. Rest.” Lor’s body temp spiked and Farley closed his eyes, savoring the pass of metaphysical energy back and forth.
After a few minutes Farley said, “I need to know. Heikman said if he can’t get what he needs he’s going after to Whom I Belong.”
Lor sighed. “At least once a day.”
At least? “Shit.”
“Which is why you need to rest.”
Rest? Hell.
“Now, sleep. You’ll need it.”
Farley closed his eyes, thinking it was going to be impossible with all the junk rolling around in his head. But he was gone in under five minutes.
Chapter 51
Nothing says up and at ‘em like a hollow point to the knee cap. Best alarm thirty-five cents can buy. Orin came awake screaming. His hands went to his knee—or what was left of it. Now it was a nasty wad of bone, cartilage, and flesh.
“FUCK!” Blood soaked his pant leg and pooled under his thigh. The burn of healing flared. The bleeding eased, then stopped. But it wasn’t going to heal much more than that. Nope, he was spent.
Orin looked up to see Brian Gilsp sitting on his sofa, sporting a make shift bandage around one hand, a Berretta in his other, and looking proud of himself.
“Damn, lizard-man, it took you a whole minute and a half to wake up to that. I always heard you bastards were heavy sleepers but that takes the cake.” He grinned.
For some fucked up reason Orin felt the need to correct the man on his evolutionary error. He said, “Whales.”
The cop frowned. Clearly he thought the Male was trying to pull a funny.
When Brian’s gun hand twitched Orin shook his head. “Not lizards, we’re…” Orin swallowed back the urge to vomit. “We’re more closely related to blue whales.” It was an over simplification of course. But he didn’t want to make things too technical.
The man’s cold glare conveyed just how much he gave a shit.
Hunger roared in Orin’s ribs, forcing him to curl on his side. Damn, it was worse than he’d felt in a very long time. Bad enough the cat food in the feeder was starting to look pretty tasty.
The springs in the sofa squeaked as Brian stood up. He held t
he gun out in front of him and moved it up, then down. Orin realized he was trying to decide where to put the next shot.
Orin couldn’t help it. He held up a hand and turned his face away like a pansy.
Brian made a sad sound. “Oh, I’m not going to shoot you in the head. Yet.” When he didn’t pull the trigger Orin looked at him. “What did you do with Mary’s body?” Brian’s words, the tone of his voice, might as well have been chips of polar ice.
With his brain clouded from pain, hunger and exhaustion it took Orin a minute to process the question. It was a minute too long. The cop pulled the trigger and Orin’s right ankle exploded.
“Fuck…fuck…Son-of-a-bitch…” He thrashed, smacking his head against the door. Another scream welled up inside him and he clamped it down. He didn’t want to give Brian the pleasure.
The cop drew little circles in the air with the muzzle. “I asked you a question.”
Orin gasped, “I don’t know.”
Brian moved the gun to the other foot, the one below the obliterated knee, and pulled the trigger. Orin braced himself but the pain was minimal. Most of the important stuff must have already been severed. The tracking bracelet was toast now. Not that it really mattered.
“Now…” Brian took another step. “Tell me what you did with her.”
Hunger roared inside of Orin, feeling every bit as dangerous as the RHage had been. “I don’t know.”
Laughter, harsh and ugly, burst from the man’s lips. “You don’t know when to quit, do you, wyrm? First, you lie about my baby sister being a whore, then your fucking high end lawyer trumps up some bullshit lab report…and now you steal her goddamned body.” The gun muzzle came forward and Orin shrank back. “There isn’t anything you won’t do, is there?”
“Brian…” God of Man, Orin didn’t know what was worse, the pain in his legs or the rising hunger. It clawed the inside of his ribs, twisting his gut. “I-I di-didn’t…” Shit, now he was shivering. Just beautiful. Orin dragged himself toward the cat food bowl. Brian followed him one slow step at a time. By the time Orin covered the few yards the muscles in his back were seizing up. He shoveled in a mouth food of kitty kibble.
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